I sigh deeply as the newly sculpted clay collapses into an unrecognizable mess. Vincenzo has a smug smirk on his face that I wish l could claw off.

He expertly sculpts his clay into a bowl, eyeing me the whole time. Scowling, I look away and gather my clay again.

As it repeatedly falls, my frustration grows. A shadow falls over me. I don't have to look to know it's Vincenzo.

Instead of leaving, he steps close enough that our bodies touch. His arms snake around me, his hands covering mine, making my skin feel as if it's caught on fire.

He presses on the pedal with his foot and guides my hands to form the clay into a bowl. Effortlessly, he does it. His nose brushes against the shell of my ear, and, as much as I hate it, I shiver when he whispers, " You're welcome." Not in the mood to hear his

aggravating taunts, I grit out, "Leave me alone, Vincenzo." When he pulls away, my body immediately craves his warmth.