10. Bouquets and Bad Ideas #3
“No,” I argued. I definitely could, but out of principle, I wouldn’t. “I’m not going to interrupt other people’s important jobs to do mine for me. And anyway, isn’t that what you are here for? To keep me safe? What can happen to me in a public hospital?”
I stormed past him, refusing to wait for an answer because I knew he probably had a long list of horrifying possibilities, but I wasn’t willing to hear them.
With my chin held high, I walked purposefully down to the main reception and could feel Damiano’s intensity at my back.
He was hypervigilant, and I couldn’t deny that it was putting me on edge.
But my curiosity has always been my biggest downfall.
After filing the paperwork, I headed to the vending machine directly in front of the ER ward. I bought a coffee and a chocolate eclair, telling myself not to look up and search the ER beds for his face like a mantra.
“Would you like anything?” I asked Damiano because he hadn’t had a break from watching over me since we left my father’s house.
“That’s very kind of you.” He gave me a quick smile. “But I’m fine.”
“Do you need a toilet break? They’re just there.”
“Again, thank you, but your safety—”
“Damiano,” I cut in. “I’m in a public hospital corridor full of my work colleagues. Nothing is going to happen to me. You can take a moment to empty your bladder. I don’t want to be the reason you end up with a UTI.”
His lips twitched as he fought his amusement. “I can wait a little longer, Signorina. Until you are back in your office.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” I sighed, pouring two sugars into my coffee and stirring. “I’d have wet myself by now. I have such a weak bladder. When I need to go, I need to go. Sorry, too much information?”
Damiano let out a low chuckle, but the sound didn’t register over the dark gaze that slid down my back like a teasing caress.
Every hair on my body bristled instinctively.
It was as if my skin sensed him before my eyes even made contact.
I glanced over my shoulder, searching the beds, and there he was, sitting on the edge of a narrow hospital gurney with leather biker trousers stretched across his thighs, a tight black T-shirt emphasising muscles you didn’t just get from the gym, but from a life lived in violence.
His open hand rested on his thigh as a male nurse stitched a wound.
A thin trail of dried blood ran down his forearm, as if he hadn’t even bothered to wipe it away.
Cristo, those eyes. God help me. They didn’t blink.
They were entirely fixed on me as if I were all he could see.
The predatory hunger in them was unapologetic and daring, yet he looked completely calm.
Amused almost. He had that sexy half-smile on his lips that wasn’t of a man seeing me by chance, but with the anticipation of someone waiting.
I could almost hear his deep, seductive voice.
What’s your move, beautiful rebel?
He was waiting for me to confront him. Or run.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins the same way it did when you come face-to-face with a dangerous animal.
My fingers tightened around my coffee cup, indenting the paper as I struggled to decide what to do.
The feisty, stubborn part of me wanted to storm over and demand he leave me alone, but my logic knew that wouldn’t be a good idea, especially not here and with Damiano at my back, reporting everything to my father.
The nurse said something to Santino as he wrapped his hand in a bandage.
He nodded, but his eyes never left mine.
His smile slowly grew wider, as if he saw something in my gaze that pleased him.
I swallowed, trying to ignore the fear that skated across my skin at that devastating smile because I knew what it meant.
I’m here for you.
My stomach twisted, and my brain screamed at me to leave. Run. But I stood there like an idiot, my body refusing to cooperate.
“Signorina?” Damiano’s voice pierced through the panic in my head. I forced myself to turn away from the man who had me trapped, backed into a corner, with merely his gaze, and plastered a smile onto my face. “Are you okay?”
“Si, I’m fine. Let’s get back,” I said, breezing past him.
As if Santino had a magnetic force field around him, my body refused to leave without one last glance.
When I looked his way, he was still watching.
His eyes had grown impossibly dark, as if he were drinking in every subtle reaction I tried to hide: the tremble of my hands, the pounding of my heart, and the deep flush creeping across my skin.
I averted my gaze once more, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other until I reached my office and shut myself inside, exhaling a trembling breath.
That was when the fear truly took root somewhere deep.
Not because I thought he was going to hurt me, even though I wasn’t na?ve enough to believe he wouldn’t, but because, even after knowing who he was, a part of me was still hooked on the thrill of him.
Yes, I wanted to run. But I wanted him to chase. And that was the scariest thing of all.