Rhea Everwood
I walked back to my hostel my mind reeling with the encounter I just had with Luca De Rossi, I was wearing his sweatshirt he gave to me because there was no way I was returning back to the hostel wearing only my nightie.
My fingers unconsciously clutched the soft cotton of his shirt, I hated how my body reacted to his touch and how the faint, masculine scent that clung to his shirt awakened something deep and unsettling inside me.
This wasn’t me.
This wasn’t Sofia Chris, the quiet, devout girl who spent Sundays in church and her free moments volunteering. Sofia Chris didn’t feel a jolt of something akin to desire when a man’s eyes lingered on her, didn’t feel her pulse quicken when his voice dropped to a husky whisper. I wasn’t supposed to feel this way.
It was wron
