The Bachelor. Marie FerrarellaЧитать онлайн книгу.
leaned forward, first shaking Miguel’s hand and then that of his wife and daughter.
Miguel’s dark eyes shifted from Jenny’s face to Eric’s and then back again. He raised a dark eyebrow. “Su novio?”
At the speed of light, Jenny’s complexion turned from white to a deep pink. “No, no,” she uttered emphatically, afraid that Eric understood Spanish. “Eric’s just a friend.”
Unconsciously resting his hand on her waist, Eric leaned into her. He liked the shade of pink he saw creeping up her cheeks again. Pretending he didn’t speak Spanish, he asked, “What did he just ask?”
Stop touching me, Eric. I can’t think if you’re touching me.
“I asked her if you were her intended,” Miguel replied. Then, obviously not satisfied with the word he’d used, he looked at his daughter for help.
“Fiancé,” Alma supplied.
The word did nothing to help Jenny’s skin tone return to normal.
Taking pity on her, Eric explained, “I’m her brother’s best friend.” Then he leaned over and whispered into Jenny’s ear, “Pink looks good on you.”
His warm breath sizzled against her skin. Her embarrassment deepened.
Jenny struggled to focus, to somehow shut out Eric’s presence. To shut out the feel of his breath on her skin, his whisper in her ear. It was like trying to suck up smoke with a vacuum cleaner.
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