Diavolo

ii

PRESLEY

I didn't know how I'd gotten myself into this situation tonight. I didn't know why I hadn't just refused his offer for a ride despite the commanding tone behind his voice and caught myself a taxi back home. But then again I did know. It was all because of him.

Silvio Rossi.

The silent and brooding man who'd always remained in the background of the show while everyone was in the center of it. He hated the spotlight, hated any kind of light and he hated me. And yet, here he was like a knight in a neatly pressed turtleneck standing beside me in a McDonald's line.

I couldn't believe it. This man opened the door for me, and then proceeded to walk into the McDonald's store instead of the drive-through which I was very much familiar with. I looked oddly and out of place in a black blazer which reached to my knees—barely—and pink heels.

As we entered the restaurant side by side, I took a minute to examine us standing together. We were such opposites even standing next to each other. It was clear he preferred dark colors but I was loud in every aspect with my bold lipstick, and pink heels, I always managed to draw attention to myself.

A pair of dark sunglasses covered his expressive eyes from me as if he was shielding himself from revealing more than he already meant to.

Though I was a bit taller than the average woman, standing at a proud five inches and nine feet, I didn't expect to look so small next to him.

And the way he stood so close to me in the line, the soft wooly material of his turtleneck brushed past my bare arms. My whole entire body literally shivered.

Damn it.

I fought the urge to gasp before rushing to the other side of the line to put a bit of distance between us in any way I could. Even if it meant bumping into a hard and unfamiliar chest.

Everything inside me winced when I made contact with the strong chest, and immediately I felt a hand on my arm. Holding me tightly so I wouldn't lose my balance. Although it wasn't any random arm. It was his.

Silvio.

It was the first time he'd ever touched me; His gloved hand strong yet gentle on my arm pulled me upright and held me from falling on my ass.

        Originally I'd planned to apologize profusely to the man which I'd bumped into because it had obviously been my fault but when I caught the look on Silvio's face, I was rendered silent.

The man looked dangerous. There was a look of fury vibrating from him; His dark brows were arched like he was trying to persuade himself not to do something.

"Shit." A ripple of smothered laughter circled the man's voice until it turned into silence when he met my eyes. It was the same look I'd gotten from men every single time a slice of cleavage appeared. Lust. Desire.

        I had gotten so used to the looks I'd almost forgotten I wasn't responsible for their reactions. Neither was I responsible for their actions.