Chapter 7
POV: Amanda
He didn’t slow down until we were halfway up the stairs, his arms still locked tight around me, his chest rising and falling like he was fighting to control something far more dangerous than his temper.
“Adrian, put me down,” I hissed, though the words sounded weak even to my own ears. My fingers had curled into his shirt, clutching fabric I had no business holding onto.
He didn’t answer. Not until we reached the bedroom.
He pushed the door open with his shoulder, strode across the room, and set me down on the bed as if I were glass.
For a heartbeat, he hovered there, palms braced against the mattress on either side of me, his face so close I could feel the warmth of his breath.
His eyes locked onto mine, so unyielding, so consuming, I swore he could see the parts of me I tried to keep hidden.
My pulse thundered. I should’ve looked away. I didn’t.
I drowned in the flecks of gold in his light brown eyes, every second dragging me deeper, closer to the edge of something I couldn’t name.
My gaze betrayed me, falling to his mouth.
My lips parted before I could stop them, heat flooding my body with the reckless thought of how it would feel to kiss him.
Shit, Amanda. Focus. But God—I wanted to.
Then his eyes dropped, just once, to my mouth—and the air shattered.
The tension snapped so tight between us, I thought it might break me in two. For one insane heartbeat, I was certain he would kiss me. And if he didn’t, I would. God help me, I would.
“Adrian…” My voice trembled, not from pain. “You don’t need to—”
His jaw flexed, his hands curling into fists against the sheets as if restraining himself from reaching for me. “You don’t get it, do you?” His voice was low, raw. Dangerous. “You were bleeding in my arms. I thought I was going to lose you.”
The words cut me open, left me breathless.
I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. “It’s my job to take risks, not yours.”
“And it’s my job,” he bit out, eyes blazing like fire locked to mine, “to make damn sure you don’t end up in a grave because of me.”
The silence that followed was molten, charged, every unsaid word vibrating in the air. I couldn’t look away. Neither could he.
Then—too suddenly—he tore himself back. Straightened. The walls slammed down again, snapping into place like armor.
“You need rest,” he said, the words clipped, final. “Eat. Heal. That’s all you’re allowed to do right now.”
He turned toward the door, his control so sharp it felt like a blade carving through the room.
But I’d seen it. I’d felt it. That slip in his armor, that heat burning in his stare. And it wasn’t just duty.
I had only meant to close my eyes for a minute.
But every time my lashes fell, all I saw was Adrian leaning over me, his breath brushing my skin, his voice breaking when he said he thought he’d lose me. Sleep was impossible. My pulse still hadn’t settled, and my leg throbbed in time with the memory of his touch
But it wasn’t only that that kept me awake.
The agency’s words rang in my head like a warning bell. The first week, no contact. No calls. No reports. No mistakes.It was the only way to keep suspicion away from this house. A week of silence, then I’d have to deliver something.
The problem? The deadline was breathing down my neck. And with a bullet in my leg, even standing felt like betrayal to my body. How the hell was I supposed to slip out unseen?
The frustration was a knot in my chest by the time a knock hit my door.
“Come in,” I called, straightening as best as I could on the bed.
The door swung open, and Bella appeared, radiant and mischievous, pushing a sleek wheelchair like it was a throne she was offering.
“Absolutely not,” I said instantly.
She grinned, rolling it in anyway. “Oh, absolutely yes. Unless you want to crawl to the dining room, which—don’t get me wrong—I would also love to witness.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I can walk.”
“You can limp,” she corrected, sing-song, then leaned against the chair with a wicked smirk. “Besides, Adrian insisted.”
The mention of his name made my stomach dip, and she noticed—of course she noticed.
“Oh my God,” Bella gasped, eyes lighting up like she’d just discovered gold. “He carried you upstairs yesterday, didn’t he? That’s why he came down after looking like he’d been hit by a truck.”
Heat shot to my face. “It wasn’t—it’s not what you think—”
“Oh, it’s exactly what I think.” She pushed the chair closer, trapping me. “Adrian doesn’t let anyone tell him what to do. Anyone. But you? You gave him orders, and he didn’t even blink. Do you know how historic that is?”
I shook my head, refusing to play into it, but Bella only leaned closer, her voice dropping. “He listens to you. You scare him. And somehow… I think he likes it.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to give her the satisfaction of being right. “You’re imagining things.”
She arched a brow. “Then why are you blushing?”
I groaned, sinking back against the pillows, but she was already wheeling the chair around with triumph. “Come on, soldier. Dinner’s waiting.”
The dining room was grand but warm, filled with the scent of roasted meat and herbs. Adrian sat at the head of the table, Riccardo beside him, already chattering about something. Two other men lingered near the walls, silent, their Italian murmurs drifting low.
When Bella rolled me in, Riccardo’s face lit up. “Amanda! You’re here.”
I smiled despite myself. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
His eyes dropped to my leg, worry flickering. “Does it hurt? You’ll be okay, right?”
My throat tightened. He was too young to wear that much concern. “I’ll be fine, Riccardo. I promise. Just need a little time.”
I forced a smile for him. “It’ll be okay soon. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“She won’t handle anything,” Adrian cut in, eyes still burning into me. “She’ll heal. And she’ll be back on her feet faster than the doctor predicted—because I’ll make damn sure of it.”
The way he said it—low, rough, final—made heat crawl up my neck. It wasn’t just protective. It was possessive. And everyone at the table felt it.
Riccardo nodded, satisfied, and dove back into his story about some chess match he’d won.
I focused on him, but I could feel Adrian’s gaze, heavy, constant, burning from across the table.
“You didn’t have to send the wheelchair,” I said finally, my voice steady but my skin prickling.
Adrian’s jaw ticked. “Yes, I did.”
“I could’ve walked.”
“You could’ve torn your stitches,” he cut in, tone edged with steel. His hand curled around his glass, but his eyes never left me. “You’ll heal faster if you stop being stubborn. And you will heal.”
The way he said it—final, absolute—sent a shiver through me. Not a request. A command.
Bella tried to smother a laugh behind her napkin. The tension at the table was thick enough to chew, everyone sensing it but no one daring to interrupt.
I lifted my chin, refusing to back down. “I don’t need you deciding what I can and can’t handle.”
His gaze darkened, unyielding. “Then get used to me doing it anyway.”
For a moment, the air stilled, molten and dangerous, until Riccardo broke it with a bright, innocent question about dessert. Bella jumped in to tease him, the men at the walls murmured, and the world kept moving.
But all I could feel was the weight of Adrian’s stare, heavy with something I wasn’t sure I was ready to name.
I barely made it back to my room after dinner before my body gave up on me. My leg throbbed in steady waves, and the minute I lay down, exhaustion pressed heavy on my chest.
I thought I was alone—until the door clicked softly behind me.
Adrian.
He stepped inside without a word, that steady, commanding presence filling the room like he owned the air itself.
His jacket was gone, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, veins standing out against his forearms the tattoos in his forearms glowing in the amber light.
He carried a glass of water in one hand, a plate balanced in the other.
“You didn’t eat much,” he said, his voice low, almost gruff. He set both items on the nightstand. “Try later, even a little.”
I wanted to tell him I wasn’t hungry, but something in the way he looked at me—the sharp edge of worry softening into something else—kept me quiet.
Instead, I watched him crouch beside the bed, his hand hovering above my leg.
“May I?”
The question startled me. Gentle. Respectful. Coming from a man who usually bulldozed through orders like a storm. I swallowed and nodded.
He pulled the blanket back with careful hands, his gaze fixed on the bandaged wound. His fingers brushed close to my skin, checking for blood, for swelling, for God knows what. I should’ve felt exposed, vulnerable. Instead, my pulse skipped, heat crawling up my throat.
When he finally looked up, we were too close. His face only inches from mine, his eyes locking onto me with the kind of intensity that could burn a person alive.
I forgot how to breathe.
His hand lingered on the blanket near my hip, his knuckles brushing the fabric, and the world narrowed to that single touch. My gaze dropped to his mouth before I could stop myself. God, I wanted to lean in. Just a little. Just enough.
Adrian’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring like he was fighting the same battle. For a second, I swore he was going to kiss me. My heart leapt, reckless, ready—
But then he moved. Pulled back sharply like the distance between us was the only thing keeping him sane.
He stood, adjusting the blanket over me with precise, careful movements, like I was something fragile he had to keep intact. His voice came out rough, forced.
“Rest. That’s all I want from you tonight.”
And then he turned toward the door.
I pressed my lips together, hard, trying to steady my breath. Because if he had stayed one second longer, I would’ve closed the space myself.