“Mr. Diamond.”DeMarco sighed. Would it have been too much to ask her to stand in front of him? Didn’t she know it was dangerous to stand behind a man like him? It was unusual for him to relax and DeMarco was ready to use his Krav Maga skills at a moment’s notice. A man like him had to be prepared for anything. But when he turned around on the chaise lounge to get a better look at his old friend’s little niece, he quickly realized that he was prepared for anything . . . except her.When Mitchell kept referring to her as his little niece, DeMarco expected her to be about eighteen, given Mitchell’s age. In fact, the woman was young, but not quite that young. Beneath the ill-fitting suit and cheap shoes, he imagined that she had quite a body on her. But it was that skin—light brown and radiant—that transfixed him. There wasn’t a nick, scratch, or mole on that baby smooth face of hers. He figured she was a combination of something: black, white, Native-American, Brazilian, hell, he could believe she had a little of his own Italian blood considering the jet-black hair she wore in a prim, matronly bun. He didn’t know her heritage, and at the moment he didn’t care. Beauty was beauty. And this exotic beauty was quite unexpected.Nervously, she blinked at him but held his gaze.
