Page 17 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

D DAY

A lessandro

Day seven. D-Day. Decision, desire… or disaster. Depending on how this morning goes.

I stand in the doorway of our adjoining rooms, leaning against the frame and watch her sleep.

Silky auburn locks are splayed across her pillow like a demonic halo, her expression soft in sleep.

Without those piercing green orbs peering up at me, I’m able to fully take her in.

My feet are restless beneath me, my legs urging me to move closer.

To revel in her quiet breaths, in the perfect bow of her pink lips, to count every freckle on that cute, pert nose.

Cazzo, get a hold of yourself, Ale .

Only a week with this woman, and she’s turned my life upside down. She’s brought light into the darkness, given me hope when I was trapped in a sea of endless misery. What would she do in a month or a year? And that’s exactly the problem. Letting someone in means I’d have something to lose again.

Today, I have to decide whether to give into the little spicy leprechaun and sign a long-term contract making her my official live-in nurse or send her packing. Just the idea of the latter has every bone in my body screaming in protest.

I never wanted this. Never thought I needed her .

But here we are.

I draw in a breath, a monumental effort in restraint to keep my bare feet planted to the spot.

As if she’s heard the sharp intake of air, she stirs beneath the comforter, then rolls over to her side. Bright eyes pop open, meeting mine.

My mouth opens and closes, like a complete coglione , not a sound coming out.

“Were you watching me sleep?” she asks around a yawn.

“No,” I blurt. “That would just be weird.”

“Agreed, McFecker. So what are you doing looming in my doorway like a lost pup, huh?”

A rueful smile finds its way to my lips, and I attempt an air of nonchalance. “I came in to make sure you weren’t dead. I thought you Irish lasses woke up with the roosters.” I glance at my watch. “It’s nearly eight.”

She jolts up, eyes impossibly wide. “Eight? It can’t be.”

“Oh, but it is. Guess you shouldn’t have stayed up so late watching all three parts of The Godfather.”

Something unreadable flashes across those expressive orbs, but it’s gone before I can untangle it. Or dodge the pillow she hurls in my direction.

After my meeting with Lawson yesterday, I’d been in a shitty mood. Some asshole who I’d hired was definitely skimming money from the Velvet Vault. I could not, would not let that stand. The traitor must be found and punished, then made an example of. No one steals from Alessandro Rossi.

As irritated as I’d been about the confirmation that I was being robbed, I couldn’t deny the thrill of excitement that came along with it. To have purpose, a mission. For a second, I felt whole again, not the half-monster, half-man I’d become.

And as much as I hated to admit it, this fiery woman is the one who can get me there. In one week, I felt more like myself than I had in months.

So I don’t know why I have such a hard time forcing the words out. “I’d like you to stay.”

Rory’s eyes jump up to meet mine, wild tendrils of hair falling across her forehead. “What?”

“You’ve passed the probationary period, okay? You win…” I skulk closer, then linger just a few feet from the edge of the bed.

“You’re going to have to repeat that, Rossi. I don’t think I heard you right.” A shit-eating grin flashes across her face as she holds her hand up to her ear.

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

“You bet your damned arse I am.” She slides off the bed so we’re standing toe-to-toe, and now I’m suddenly painfully aware of those skimpy pajamas she insists on wearing. Every day is a test of my restraint. Her nipples are peaked beneath the thin material, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“I need you,” I force out on an exhale.

“And?”

“And what?” I bark, forcing my eyes to remain pinned to hers instead of trailing down her hot little body.

“Something along the lines of what a great job I’m doing, how much progress you’ve made, and how you can’t imagine your life without me…” Her grin only grows more brazen. “If you expect me to tie myself to you for an extended period of time, you’re going to have to beg, McFecker.”

“Absolutely not,” I snarl.

There’s mischief in her expression, but also something else. Something I can’t quite get a read on. Doubt? Fear? I’ve never seen anything like it from the fiery redhead. I never even considered she might not want to stay…

The errant thought has me dropping to my knees before I can re-think the incredibly stupid move. The skin graft on my right knee pulls as I hit the floor, but I ignore the pang.

Her eyes grow to nearly comical proportions, like a pair of the most radiant jewels razing over me.

“Please, stay.” The words dribble out in a rush. “To work for me,” I add as an afterthought, noting my rather compromising position. I never thought I’d find myself on my knees under any circumstance for the insufferable Rory Delaney.

She regards me for a long moment, not saying a word, and the silence is so unlike her, it’s unnerving.

I find my good hand reaching up to find hers. Her fingers easily intertwine with me, and I’m suddenly breathless. “I’m begging here, Red.”

A smile flashes across her face, setting those lively eyes ablaze. “Well, when ya say it like that, how can I refuse?”

Thank, Dio .

She hauls me up off the floor, and not for the first time, I marvel at all the strength wrapped into such a tiny package.

“Good.”

She releases my hand and the rush of excitement from a second ago begins to wane.

“Now, I just need you to send all the official documents to our family lawyer, Stew Reynolds so he can draft the contract.”

“Uh, what documents do you need? I sent your father everything when I applied for the job.”

“He’s going to need the hardcopies not just the e-versions. They’re probably still unopened beneath the hundreds of other emails in his inbox.”

“Oh, right.”

“You think you can get those to him before the end of the week? I’d like to get this finalized.”

“First, you couldn’t wait to get rid of me and now, you can’t shackle me to you fast enough, eh, Rossi?” She tosses me a cheeky grin, and an unfamiliar sensation ravages my chest.

It’s not the burgeoning heat her presence usually incites but something deeper and much more frightening. “Seems that way,” I mutter. “So is it going to be an issue? Didn’t you go to nursing school in Ireland?”

“I did.”

“I assume you had to have gotten some sort of license to practice here in the States?”

“That’s right.”

“So you’ll be able to give it to Reynolds?”

“Sure.” Her head bobs, but this time I’m certain I see it. That twinge of reluctance and possibly… fear?

I open my mouth to ask more, but she squirms around me, her arm brushing mine as she passes and disappears into her closet.

Something’s off. And not just her avoidance, it’s the way her tone dipped, that shadow in her eyes.

My gut, the one that kept me alive for years in this world, doesn’t like it.

“I’m going to get ready, and then it’s bath time for you,” she calls out.

I barely restrain a groan. “You know with all these damned baths, one would think you’re just trying to find excuses to see me naked, Red.”

Her cackles erupt from the depths of the walk-in closet. “Please. If I wanted to see you naked, Rossi, I’d just rip the towel off.”

I choke on my own damn tongue. “ Cazzo , woman.”

She emerges a second later, wearing a smug little smirk and holding a bundle of clothes. “You started it, McFecker. Don’t throw out bait unless you’re ready to get hooked.”

“I’m starting to think you're trying to kill me slowly.”

She shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go. Now come on, the bath is calling, and I’ve got bandages to check.”

I grumble under my breath as I trail after her, but she’s already disappearing into the bathroom.

“And try to keep that overly friendly cock of yours in check this time,” she calls out over her shoulder. “I’m still recovering from the last bath.”

A surge of heat races up instead of down, blanketing my cheeks. I can’t remember the last time a woman made me blush. Instead of giving into the embarrassment, I adopt her blasé attitude. “Not making any promises.”

I follow, still grinning. But a whisper of doubt follows too, one that no bath can wash away.