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as he relinquished his supportive grip on the glass.
‘I don’t make a habit of almost fainting. It’s just…I can’t skip meals.’
She seemed perfectly serious and Marco, who was accustomed to women who only ate carbs on days without a D in them, glanced towards the crumbs on the empty plate.
Sophie intercepted the direction of his gaze and said defensively, ‘That was not a proper meal—it was sandwiches.’
The twitch of his lips suggested she was about to lose the credibility she had struggled so hard to establish so Sophie plunged on without pause, veering sharply away from the subject of her appetite that was as unfashionable as her figure.
‘We can do the job, and we can do it well. Check out our track record.’
He still looked distracted, probably shocked by the idea of a woman actually eating…The article she had read on the plane had included a large and growing back catalogue of disposable girlfriends, none of whom looked like they had ever eaten a full meal in their lives. Clearly, they considered starvation not too high a price to pay for being seen on the arm of someone as famous and rich as Marco Speranza, she thought cynically.
Her cynicism wobbled slightly as her glance moved over the strong angular contours of his face, coming to rest on the firm sensual curve of his mouth.
He had money and fame but he also had animal magnetism oozing out of his perfect pores—and he had that mouth.
Maybe they weren’t so stupid.
You’re staring at his mouth, Sophie.
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