Description
"So, you really can't remember anything? And yet my ex has hired you to babysit our daughter?" "No..." Sahara blushed. "I have partial amnesia. I can't remember anything that's happened to me since I was 15." Marco stared at Sahara with his charming yet critical green eyes; with a disappointed and disdainful expression. With tattoos up and down his arms, Sahara found the famous German footballer to be nothing short of terrifying. "And how old are you now, exactly?" "I-I'm 19, mister-" Those green eyes, witness to 31 years, flashed; stopping Sahara mid-sentence. His next words were decisive and merciless. "Then you're fired. You understand, yes? She's the daughter of someone famous, and she can't have a nanny with the mental capacity of a 15 year old." Something about Sahara provoked him direly. Maybe it was the fact that he'd been having an illicit affair with her dead sister for years, before the recent suicide. Sahara didn't protest. Her eyes, so beautiful and demure, flashed with pain; her cheeks went red with humiliation. And yet Marco, being so ruthlessly arrogant, didn't care in the least about her dejected feelings. What he did care about, as she turned and walked away, was how readily she obeyed his harsh command--how eagerly she pleased him without a fight. "Wait," breathed the German, just as she prepared to exit the mansion. Sahara turned around, cheeks still rosy, lips parted. The handsome and beguiling athlete spoke once more. "Can you at least remember your first time, then?" He smirked, smugly; mockingly. Irresistibly. "Or will somebody have to remind you of what it's like to be touched, also?"