Page 24 of Claimed At First Sight

I bend to pull a deep red bloom closer, bringing my nose to the petals to inhale the sweet, heavy scent.

“Are roses your favorite flower?”

I startle, the stem slipping from my fingers as I instinctively clutch my chest. My heart thumps frantically against my ribs.

“Jesus. You scared me.”

I didn’t hear a single footstep. How did I not hear him approach?

I’m usually more alert than this, but apparently no sleep and too much Maximo Marco have ruined my instincts.

He sits down beside me, and the urge to slide as far to the edge of the bench as possible is overwhelming. I want space between us, but I stay exactly where I am, my shoulder inches from his.

His aftershave reaches me, something dark and expensive that smells far too good on him. My pulse jumps some more.

“You should never let your guard down, Mialina,” he says after a beat. “Enemies lurk everywhere. Even in a beautiful garden.”

I turn my head just enough to catch the sharp line of his profile.

“I wasn’t aware the roses were armed. Or are you referring to yourself?”

Maximo smiles, and I hate how much more handsome it makes him look.

“I’m the only thing in this garden you don’t need to be afraid of. If you’d just listen to reason.”

I let out a short, dry laugh.

“Reason. Is that what we’re calling a declaration of ownership now?”

He smirks at me, not even trying to argue the point.

“You haven’t answered my question about the roses,” he reminds me. “There’s a beautiful rose garden on my family’s estate. It’s where we will live once I take over as don. I’ll have it expanded for you.”

I nearly choke on the sip of coffee I just took.

A cough tears out of me, and Maximo taps my back, his hand steady and warm between my shoulder blades until I can breathe properly again.

Where we’ll live?

God, he’s really not dropping this ridiculous pursuit of me, is he?

“So thoughtful, Maximo, but unnecessary.” My voice is hoarse from coughing, and his gaze drops briefly to my mouth.

Heat spreads through me, starting where his hand touches my spine.

“You might recall from last night that I refused your gallant offer of marriage. But then you are rather old. Your memory might not be so good anymore.”

Maximo’s hand doesn’t move. If anything, his fingers firm up against my spine, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line that makes my skin break out in goosebumps.

Sadly, he doesn’t seem offended.

“Old?” His mouth curves. “I prefer experienced.”

“Of course you do.”

“And I assure you, stamina isn’t a concern.”

He leans in, his breath brushing the shell of my ear. Between his aftershave and the heat of him beside me, thinking straight is becoming increasingly difficult.