ROMEO | 18+

10.

"I never asked you to—"

"You're my twin sister, Isla," he cuts in aggressively. His eyes are blazing with such fire—a wildfire she loathes to see. "I don't want to see you heartbroken again. God knows boys like Romeo will make you suffer. That's what they do, the Quinn's, they ruin people."

"You just hate him," she whispers bitterly. "You hate him and that's why you can't stand the idea of him and I."

She doesn't even know why Luca hates Romeo so damn much. Because Romeo is team captain? Stole his spot? Because he's rumoured to be the first overall pick in the NHL draft? Gods, when do boys ever grow up?

Luca shakes his head, his nostrils flaring. He opens his mouth and closes it momentarily. Then, his gaze softens—just enough for her to decipher the sorrow in his green eyes. "This is just me caring for you. I'm just trying to save you."

She flickers her eyes between his and ensures her next words are loud and clear and simple. "I don't want your help. I can take care of myself."

Perhaps it is hurting her to be in a conflict with her brother because of some hockey player who would shatter her heart in a fragment of a second. But then again, Isla can make her own decisions. Can decide who she can and will see.

Luca only wants her best interests at heart, but is this really the way to express it?

♣ ♣ ♣

Air gets knocks out of her lungs when she collides into a toned chest.

Bergamot and black pepper with hints of grapefruit and pink berries envelop her senses. Romeo Quinn smells divine. He looks so pretty, grinning like the devil, his mere purpose to poison her senses until she becomes addicted to him.

"In a rush, angel?"

No matter how many times he has called her 'angel', she'll never fathom the way her body reacts to his deep, hoarse voice—palms dampening, chills cascading down her spine like an excruciating glacial sequence until goosebumps appear on her arms.

"Yes," she snaps, cocking her head to one side. "Trying to get away from you."

Romeo barks out a laugh—mocks her. Head thrown back, a shallow chuckle escapes his mouth, the column of his throat on display and strangely enticing.

When he looks back at her, his eyes gleam with amusement. "Stop it, Presley. I know you're happy to see me. I see that blush on your face." He flicks her cheek with a finger, and the simple touch makes her breath hitch inside her throat.

"What blush?" she scoffs, eyes narrowing into slits. "That's just your imagination playing tricks on you, loverboy."

"Whatever you say," he snickers in amusement.

When he leans against the bathroom's doorframe, she realises he is only wearing grey joggers. His biceps contract with the way he folds his arms across his toned torso, his silver chain glinting beneath the soft light of the corridor.

"Like what you see?" Even when she isn't looking at his face—well, how could she when he's right there, standing and appearing like a Greek God—she hears the smug grin in his voice.