Chapter 17
KATYA
I stagger to the guest room, feeling like a zombie.
Luna woke me gently, telling me the guys had returned but that it was late and everyone was staying at the main house rather than returning to the city or the guesthouse where Scorpion and I spent last night.
Since I’m tired, tipsy, and not in the mood to stir the pot, I listened when she told me which room was mine for the night.
Upstairs, fourth door on the right.
Luna hasn’t come up yet. She’s chatting with Priest in the bar area over a drink. I waved to them as I passed, exhausted again after another long day.
In a way, this one was even stranger than the last. My mind is muddled. I don’t want to like these people, but I do. I don’t want to feel this strange, reckless sense of belonging, and yet how can I not? They’re so welcoming, and the love the brothers have for one another is undeniable.
I make it to the guest room and head inside.
The light is already on as I close the door behind me, probably thanks to the efficient staff.
The room is large and tastefully decorated, with sage walls and a built-in window seat that beckons on the opposite end.
The wall is dotted with vintage botanical prints, and a big, brass, king-sized bed dominates one wall. It’s cozy and modern, yet stylish.
A night’s rest is what I need to recenter myself.
Tomorrow, I’ll start the day the way I usually do, with yoga.
I’ve been out of my routine for way too long.
Even if I can’t train, having my morning practice is important.
It keeps me flexible and strong and grounded, all of which I need more than ever.
I’m so caught up in my thoughts as I reach behind me to unzip my dress and shimmy out of it that I don’t realize I’m not alone until I’m standing in my thong and bra and Lorenzo saunters out of the en suite bathroom with a towel slung around his hips and nothing else.
I let out a mortifying squeak, my heart pounding, and dance behind a bureau, trying to use it as a shield. The tats on his hands go up his arms. All the way up. There’s ink over his beautifully carved chest. Hello, eight-pack. Also, holy shit.
And my God, I can’t seem to stop staring at him.
His hair is wet and slicked back from his high forehead.
He looks even better out of his suits than in them, and that’s saying something.
I can’t stop the rush of instant awareness that hits me, my nipples going hard behind the lacy demi cups of my bra.
“What are you doing in here?” I demand.
He gives me a searing look. “This is our room, isn’t it?”
Our room? Wait a minute here. Luna didn’t say anything about putting me in a room with Lorenzo.
I shake my head. “No, it’s my room.”
I’m so busy ogling him that it takes a second to realize there’s an alarming amount of red mingling with those elaborate tattoos on his left arm. And it’s not ink. It’s blood.
Lorenzo is bleeding.
I gasp, moving around the bureau and going toward him. “You’re injured.”
He glances at his shoulder. “I got nicked.”
“By what?”
“An ice cream cone,” he drawls, flicking his brilliant gaze back to me. “We all had a fight down at the Dairy Queen over who could eat the most soft serve.”
I reach for him but then stop myself, remembering I’m practically naked and he’s injured. “Very funny. Are you telling me you got shot tonight?”
“This is a fucking scratch. Sorry to disappoint you, cara, but I’m not easy to kill.”
A shiver goes through me, and I’m shocked to realize it’s because something could have happened to him. A few inches in the other direction, and tonight would be a different story. He wouldn’t be standing here in my room, dripping and half naked.
“Does this happen often?” I ask, trying to prepare myself.
I’m stuck in this marriage for at least the next year, or until I can find a way to get out of it early.
He rubs a hand along his sharp jaw. “Hoping to become a widow?”
That’s the last thing on my mind, but he doesn’t need to know that.
My eyes flit to the wound on his upper arm. It’s bleeding more now.
“You need a bandage.”
He lifts his uninjured shoulder in a careless shrug. “I’ll be fine.”
“You played doctor for me this morning. Now it’s my turn to repay the favor.”
My feet are still sore from my poorly thought-out attempt to leave the guesthouse. Note to self: next time, make sure you’re wearing shoes before you leave in a huff.
“If I needed a doctor, I would have called one.”
Water droplets glisten from the ends of his hair. One falls on his chest and streaks downward. I think about leaning into him and catching that drop on my tongue.
He moves past me, and the scent of him hits me like a drug.
Maybe I’m drunker than I thought, because all I want to do is wrap myself around him and climb him like a tree.
I turn to watch him saunter away, his back muscles rippling with each step.
My husband is jacked. His shoulders are a work of art, covered in beautiful tats that do nothing to hide all the effort he puts in at the gym.
Blood rolls down his forearm to his wrist.
That jolts me into motion. I turn away from him, wordlessly going to the bathroom. Priest and Luna have this place stocked. It’s not unreasonable to expect a first aid kit in the medicine cabinet.
I find what I’m looking for in seconds. Bandages, alcohol wipes, and even antibiotic ointment.
The bathroom smells like him, and I hold my breath to keep from breathing in too much of it.
I’m still in only my bra and panties, and I’m trying to pretend like I’m completely unaffected, but I don’t know how much longer I can last. I need all the help I can get.
Keep your mind out of the gutter, Katya.
“Found some first aid supplies,” I announce cheerfully, trying to ignore everything that doesn’t involve tending to Lorenzo’s wound. “Your sister-in-law is really on her A game, you know.”
I’m one hundred percent sure the state of this place is all her. If a man were in charge of stocking a guest room, you’d be lucky if it even had soap and a clean hand towel.
“We’ll get you bandaged up in no time,” I add when he doesn’t say anything, putting the rest of the first aid kit back in the cabinet where it belongs.
In typical Lorenzo fashion, he allows his only response to be silence.
I head out of the bathroom, first aid accoutrements in hand, and stop in my tracks. Because Lorenzo’s back is still facing me—he’s clearly on his phone, head bowed, concentration riveted on a glowing screen. But the towel has fallen to the floor.
All I can do is drink in the sight of my husband’s bare ass for a moment, stunned. Because what an ass it is. Toned and tight like the rest of him.
Look away, Katya. Look away.
But I can’t. How can I? I move toward him, my brain firing at half capacity. His ass is…
He is…
I have no words.
And then he spins to face me.
His cock is massive. I mean huge. Thick and long and jutting upward. He’s hard.
Holy shit.
He’s hard, and he’s not even paying attention to me. He’s just thumbing away at his phone, typing out a text, brow furrowed in concentration.
I swallow thickly and force myself to continue to him, stopping at his side. “Um, got the stuff I’ll need,” I tell him awkwardly, like I wasn’t just ogling his naked body and his giant dick while he stood there barely aware I was even breathing.
How mortifying. He hasn’t given me a second glance. I really need to get it together. And never touch another lemon drop in my life.
“Playing wife now?” he asks sharply. “You don’t need to, Katya.”
I like the way my name sounds in his deep voice. That’s not all I like. Fuck my life. Why does he have to smell so good? Look so good?
“Like I said, I’m returning the favor,” I say, grateful that my voice doesn’t reveal a hint of what I’m feeling. I set the supplies on the bed nearby and pick up an alcohol wipe first, tearing open the packaging. “This might sting.”
He snorts but keeps tapping away on his phone. I take that as his consent.
Moving closer, I inspect the gash on his upper arm.
It’s not all that deep—I don’t think it will need stitches, but I’m hardly an expert.
I apply the alcohol wipe gently, not wanting to cause him further pain or make it bleed more.
It’s a slow ooze now, though I imagine it was bleeding a lot more when it first happened.
This injury was obviously discussed in the phone calls, but Luna and Isla decided not to tell me. Noted, I’m still an outsider here. Not that I want to be anything else.
“Harder,” he tells me.
I look up, startled to find his bright-blue eyes on me. “What?”
“You don’t have to be gentle with me. I’m not some fragile dancer like your boyfriend Jacob. I won’t faint if you press on my wound.”
“Dancers are tough as fuck,” I defend, insulted. “And so is Jacob. Also, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Not anymore,” Lorenzo growls. “If I find out you’re fucking someone, I’ll chop him into pieces and feed him to the fucking fish.”
I pick up the small packet of ointment and rip it open next.
“He never was my boyfriend, and this goes both ways, Andriani. If I can’t be with someone else, neither can you.
” Annoyed with him and newly furious at the thought of Chiara in his bed, I smear the antibiotic cream on with more force than necessary.
He doesn’t even flinch.
But his attention is on me now, not the phone. His stare bores into me, making my heart kick up and heat rush to my clit.
Terrible timing.
I grab the large bandage, my fingers fumbling as I struggle to tear it open and remove the shiny backing before I smooth it onto his wound.
“There you go,” I say, starting to move away. “Hopefully you don’t bleed to death now.”
He tosses his phone onto the bed and grabs my wrist, lightning-fast, holding me there. “Wait.”