The Chemistry of Love(55)

She made it sound so simple, and it wasn’t feeling that way at all. Plus, I wasn’t so much concerned about hooking up with him because I couldn’t imagine that happening, especially given that he didn’t see me as a potential hookup partner. He treated me like I was his kid sister or something.

And I didn’t want to be a joke. Or someone he felt sorry for.

My biggest problem was that I didn’t want to be in love with Craig and lusting after his older brother. I needed an off switch.

There was a crashing sound on her end, and she swore and then said, “I hope that helps. Rufus just knocked something over. I’ve got to go. Good luck, though. Call me if you need me.”

Rufus was her dog, and he hated everyone in the world except Catalina. He never seemed to like it when she and I were chatting. I could only imagine how he treated the men she dated. I hung up the phone and put it back in my pocket.

Which left me alone in Marco’s condo with my lascivious thoughts. I walked over to his bookcase and started going through his books. Some thrillers, some that looked like college textbooks, nonfiction business books. I ran my fingers across their spines, not really seeing the titles because I was again thinking about what he looked like when he showered. All that water running down that perfectly sculpted chest and—

“Anna?”

I shrieked and then dropped the book I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Marco was not helping my current situation—he looked like he hadn’t even bothered to towel off. Droplets of water shone in his dark hair, and his clothes stuck to his skin, outlining some of those incredible muscles that were begging to be explored. Not by me, of course, but somebody should be doing it. It felt like a disservice to all women everywhere that it wasn’t happening.

“You’re like some kind of half-elf, sneaking up on me like that,” I told him, putting a hand over my chest in an attempt to keep my rapidly beating heart in place.

“Did you just compare me to Legolas? I’m flattered.”

“Unintentionally. I kind of see you as more of an Aragorn.”

He somehow managed to move a little closer. “Even more flattered.”

I was discovering that all kinds of Marcos were dangerous, but damp Marco was particularly concerning.

Then he bent over to pick up the book and put it back on the shelf, given that I was frozen in place. He leaned to put it away, in a spot behind my head.

Which brought our faces and bodies close together. My heart beat double-time in response to his nearness. And after he slid the book back into place, he didn’t move. He stayed where he was, and I found myself mesmerized by his face. That jaw, those full lips, those dark eyes.

We stood there, my glasses fogging up while I tried to stifle my loud breathing so that I wouldn’t sound like a wheezing cow, and I wondered if he felt even a fraction of the attraction I felt for him, then remembered that he didn’t.

Friends only. Nothing more.

We were on a mission. For me to land the man of my dreams.

Whose name I’d completely forgotten for an entire eleven seconds as Marco’s lips parted slightly, and I was so caught up in the soft sound he made and the gentle movement that I couldn’t remember his brother’s name.

“Can I just . . .” His words trailed off as he reached up to take off my glasses, his long fingers on either side of my head gently lifting them up and off my face. I held my breath the entire time.

Please don’t let him say anything about them being fogged up, I prayed to whoever was listening.

“How can you see through these things?” he asked, sounding amused.

“They’re, uh, the only way I can see.”

I could only make out the blurry image of him lifting up the edge of his shirt to clean them, and I cursed the genes that had given me such poor vision that were keeping me from seeing that patch of abs he was currently exposing.

He finished, and instead of handing them back to me, he put them back on my face, so carefully and gently that it surprised me. My skin tingled in response to his nearness, and I fought off the desire to lean my head against his hand.

“Craig!” I practically shouted when it finally came to me. That was the name of the guy I was in love with and the reason I was here. Craig. Craig Kimball.

“What?” Marco asked.

“You brought me here to talk about Craig. I’m assuming.”

His expression shuttered, and he moved away from me. “In a roundabout way.”

It took all of my personal willpower not to grab him by his shirt and pull him back to where he had been just a second ago.

He walked over to his big sectional couch and sat down. He patted the cushion next to him, but I was still feeling jittery from what had felt like an almost-kiss (although I knew it hadn’t been), so I didn’t join him.

With him finally being out of the shower, it was like I could suddenly pay attention to the rooms around me. “This place is not what I was expecting,” I told him.

“What were you expecting?”

“From you? An army of servants and an overinflated sense of self-worth.”

He put a hand over his chest. “That flattered feeling is gone. You wound me.”

“It’s only a flesh wound,” I said with a smile. “As to what I was expecting from your house? Chrome, steel, glass, and a whole lot of white.” Instead, his condo had an upscale-dorm feeling. The furniture was nice and obviously expensive, but it was like he hadn’t put any thought into design and cared only about his own comfort. There was a treadmill in one corner and in the other . . .