111 A War

"And you're confident that you can change my mind?" Angela retracted her hand from his grasp and folded her arms in front of her.

"I prefer the term 'optimistic'." Gael mimicked her movement, and the muscles in his arms bulged when he did.

It didn't intimidate her that he was taller, bigger, and definitely more masculine. If anything, she felt proud of herself that she could stand in front of him—someone who, according to others, was a ruthless mafia. She just couldn't see it in him. Or maybe… he just hadn't shown it to her yet.

A tinkling sound from a bicycle bell came from the side, and just as she turned her head to look, Gael had circled an arm around her waist and pulled her towards him.

She was pressed against his hard chest like sliced cheese being forced between sliced ham and bread—she instantly melted in his warmth—yep, cheese.

"Careful," he muttered when a bicycle passed behind her.