Donovan (Face-Off 3)

“Perv,” I said through clenched teeth.

Lean muscles brushed against my legs as he moved.

“What? You can’t fault me for checking you out”—he tilted his head to the side, his gaze falling over each of my curves—“especially when you’re shoving some of your best features in my face.”

He propped himself up onto his elbow and reached for my waist with his other hand, but I swatted his hand before he could touch me.

“You’re a feisty one. Got a mouth on you, too.” A fire blazed behind those beautiful blue eyes. “What I’d like to do with that dirty mouth of yours,” he said, rolling his tongue over his lip.

Damn, he had nice lips, both full and perfect. Every part of me wanted to lean in and kiss him and shove my fingers through his dark waves. No boy had ever affected me this way. But he was a man, not a boy. With radiant olive skin, chiseled features, and toned in all the right places, he could be a model.

My breath hitched at his comment.

I wasn’t sure, but I swore I could feel his erection pressing against my thigh, which should have freaked me out. Instead, I looked down, irritated that it turned me on more than I cared to admit.

He followed my gaze to his crotch and grinned, confirming my suspicions. “You should come to Delta Sig’s annual beach party. The less you wear, the better.”

“Well, you know what they say. Less is more.” My strange attempt at a joke only fueled the tension between us. “But, no, thanks.”

Tiny bumps ran down my arms and legs, a result of our close proximity. And, of course, he noticed the effect he had on me. He didn’t skip a beat.

Now aware of my body and how it reacted to him, I needed an escape. I stood over Luca, desperate to stop the electricity pulsating through me. Every part of me ached for him, craved his touch. Since I’d knocked him over, I stretched my arm out to help him up, and he accepted. I didn’t have the right to be a total bitch, maybe just a partial one.

Luca wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, the rest of his bare skin glistening in the sunlight. Eye contact proved to be too much for me.

He picked up the pigskin at his feet and pushed a hand through his cropped black hair. Luca had thick hair that moved back into place, like those people in shampoo commercials. With the football held against his hip, he could have been posing for the cover of a magazine, one I would have shamelessly hung on my wall.

I recognized the boy from Broad Street walking toward us in a Phillies baseball jersey. As our eyes met, he folded his arms over his chest.

“You rich bitch,” he said, his voice coming off like a growl. Cold and calculated, his hardened stare was similar to that of a trained killer.

What was it with Philly boys? They were so rough around the edges, like rabid dogs ready to claw their way out of a cage.

Luca pushed me behind him, his hand on my hip, sparking a new level of excitement within me. I damn near salivated on his tan skin as he came to my defense.

“Talk to her like that again, and you’ll be picking up your teeth off the ground.”

The guy moved his jaw back and forth, drawing attention to his cleft chin, and cracked his neck. No way was he close to backing down. Idiot.

“I’ll talk to her however the fuck I want to. Stay out of it. Bitch threw a soda in my car window.”

I slid out from Luca’s shadow and stepped between them. “You almost ran me over. Maybe you should watch where you’re going next time.”

Luca hooked his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get back in your car and forget it ever happened.”

I should have moved because I expected the boy to take a swing. But Luca smelled of sweat and citrus, a delicious combination that made me want to lick his skin.

“She owes me!” he yelled in Luca’s face, pointing at the tiny brown stains on his jersey. “Her soda exploded when it hit my dashboard.”

He was close enough that I got a whiff of stale cigarettes on his breath.

Nothing seemed to faze Luca, not even this crazy person invading his personal space. He took a wad of cash from his pocket, plucked a few twenties from the stack, and threw them at the boy. “There, consider the debt paid. Now, get outta here!” he spoke with a thick South Philly accent.

His over pronunciation of vowels wasn’t what caught my attention though. No, Luca commanded a presence, a sense of authority, that I felt in my bones. He didn’t back down. He just stood there, grinding his teeth together. I looked over my shoulder at Luca’s fraternity brothers huddled around us like an army.

“Keep your bitch on a leash,” the boy said, his body angled toward the street.

With that, I lost my damn mind. As I attempted to lunge at the guy, Luca clutched my bicep, holding me back.