The hum of the Christmas party swirled around Bella, but her focus was elsewhere. Her skin still tingled from Marco’s words, his daring, his presence. She tried to sip her eggnog, but her hand trembled slightly, betraying the storm raging inside her. Across the room, Marco leaned casually against the fireplace, his dark eyes flicking toward her every so often, that smirk playing on his lips. Bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing to her.
Ryan was busy regaling their cousins with some exaggerated hunting story, and Mom was fussing over the dessert table. Grandma sat in her usual armchair, knitting away, her sharp eyes darting around like she could sense the chaos brewing. But it wasn’t chaos—it was heat. And it was aimed squarely at Bella.
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