Page 31 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

A RAZOR’S EDGE

R ory

The burn of his kiss hasn’t faded. Not from my lips. Not from my chest. And now I’m supposed to unwrap his bandages and pretend I’m not still unraveling?

You’re a feckin’ eejit, Rory Delaney . I say it over and over again, a mantra I’ve been repeating since my eyes opened this morning, and the tingle of Alessandro’s lips still ghosted over my own.

Never get involved with a patient .

That is rule number one of nursing. Sister Agnes would have my hide for this. Still my traitorous thoughts fly straight to the night before.

I barely make it two steps into the penthouse before I see him.

Alessandro.

He stands there like a statue carved from fire and fury.

His broad shoulders are taut, jaw clenched, eyes wild.

And when his gaze crashes into mine, something in me fractures.

It’s not at all what I discussed with Paddy.

I had a plan and this, the way I’m feeling certainly is not it. I was supposed to walk away…

He storms toward me, every movement sharp and unrelenting. I should say something, anything, but all the words are stuck in my throat.

Then suddenly, his forehead is pressed against mine, then his hands are on me. One cupping my jaw like I’m something breakable, the other settling against the small of my back. He’s breathing hard, nostrils flared like he’s barely holding himself together.

“You scared the fucking life out of me, Red,” he growls, voice hoarse with something dangerously close to pain. “Don’t do that again. Please.”

His nose brushes mine, warm breath ghosting over my lips.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps, his thumb tracing my cheek, down my jaw. “Say the word, and I’ll back away, Rory.”

I beg my mouth to form the words, to tell him I can’t do this, but my tongue refuses to cooperate.

His mouth crashes down on mine, and God help me—I kiss him back.

It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s everything we’ve both been trying to deny. Weeks of tension, nights of unspoken glances, near-touches and unspoken truths. All of it combusts in that kiss.

And Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it is so good.

For a moment, I completely lose myself.

His lips are fire and desperation, moving over mine like he’s trying to carve himself into my memory. I grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until there’s no space between us, until I can feel every beat of his frantic heart against mine.

And I let myself feel it. The hunger. The hope. The danger.

Because for a few impossible seconds, I want to believe this could be real. That we’re not broken people playing house in a borrowed dream.

His hand on my jaw tightens just slightly, like he’s anchoring me to the moment. I lean in again, just barely, but then it hits me. The echo of Conall’s voice. The blood. The fear. Alessandro is the life I ran away from. No matter what I feel for him, I refuse to let him drag me back under.

My body locks up before my mind can catch up. I tear my mouth away like I’ve been burned, breath shuddering out of me in one broken gasp. I pull away, breathless, my fingers still fisted in his shirt. His eyes are dark, wild, and burning. They search mine like they’re begging me to stay.

“I can’t,” I finally whisper, the words barely making it past my lips.

“Okay,” he rasps.

Silence stretches between us. Charged. Fragile.

His jaw tics. He nods once. Not in agreement, but in understanding or maybe even defeat.

And that, somehow, makes it hurt even more.

Running my finger over my lips, I can still feel him. Taste him. It’s as if his mouth has been permanently imprinted onto my own.

My feelings for Alessandro Rossi have become dangerous…

I would be lying if I said I didn’t see this coming. I was a blind fool pretending this thing between Alessandro and me was strictly professional. Or even just physical. From the very first day I showed up at his apartment, I knew this would be a mistake. And did I cut and run like Da taught me?

No.

I settled right in. Ready and eager to play the role of live-in nurse to the Gemini heir.

I knew exactly who and what he was… It was easy to turn a blind eye, but the truth had been there all along. The grisly scene at the nightclub wasn’t a surprise, not really. I’d spent enough time around ruthless men to know one, even if he was hidden beneath fire-ravaged skin.

And now after that kiss, what the hell was I supposed to do?

Sitting in my bed, I eye the door between us, too much of a chicken to make the first move. But I must. It’s my job. I get up every morning, rouse the grumpy millionaire and tend to his bandages.

Today would be like any other.

Just because he kissed me doesn’t change anything.

Only it does.

It changes everything .

Because now, when he strips down before me, I won’t simply be able to look at him with a clinical eye. It had been hard enough before, but now that I’ve felt the muscled planes of his body against my own, nothing will ever be the same again.

I should quit.

That would be the professional thing to do.

Not to mention the most sane.

The longer I stay, the harder it will become.

But the idea of not waking up and seeing Alessandro every day guts me. A sharp pain streaks across my chest, siphoning the air from my lungs.

Feckin’ hell, how had I let this happen?

Paddy was right. I need to find another job and leave Alessandro in my past, just like Conall. Maybe without the stabbing this time.

A soft knock on the adjoining door sends my heart ricocheting across my ribcage. Oh, bollocks . I’m not even dressed yet.

“Coming,” I shout, shoving the comforter back and raking a hand through my wild hair, still a mess from last night’s rain-soaked run home. Before I open the door, I pause, attempt to collect myself and draw in a steadying breath.

My hand closes around the knob, and I force my wrist to twist, despite every muscle in my body suddenly locking up in fear.

The door swings open, and Alessandro fills the entryway in nothing but low-slung pajama pants.

His torso is exposed, the right side a patchwork of bandages while the left remains a pristine work of art.

A muscled chest honed to lethal beauty, perfectly chiseled abs and that sharp V that descends…

Stop that ! Still, I can only imagine what he must have looked like before.

No wonder women fell to their knees for the great Alessandro Rossi.

Blinking quickly, I force my eyes up to meet his.

“Good morning,” he whispers, a tightness in his tone that wasn’t there before.

“Mornin’,” I reply, dropping my gaze to my bare feet.

“I need to take care of something at Gemini Corp today, so I’ll be heading into town for a few hours.”

“Oh.” A part of me wonders if he’s lying. If he’s simply trying to find a way to avoid me after last night. We still haven’t talked about what really caused me to flee after seeing Amber’s body.

He assumes I was shocked at the sight of a corpse, and for now, that explanation will do. I can’t ever tell him the real reason. That in that moment, he reminded me too much of Conall, and my body reacted on pure instinct.

“No need for you to come,” he adds before I can get my mouth to form a cohesive sentence.

“But I can,” I blurt. “I suppose I owe you after running off without any sort of explanation.” I attempt a light-hearted tone, but it sounds too high-pitched and fake even to me.

“You don’t owe me anything, Rory.”

Rory? No Red or little leprechaun?

The formality in his entire demeanor has the next words flying out before I can stop them. “I’m sorry I ran the other night. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He shakes his head, the harsh cut of his jaw softening a touch. “You were in shock. It’s to be expected.”

“And then when I came back?—”

He lifts a hand, cutting me off. “I’m sorry, but I’m in a bit of a hurry if we can just get to the bandaging portion of the morning? I need to be in the office in an hour.”

“Oh, right. Sure.” So, we’re pretending the kiss didn’t happen? Fine. I can do that.

He turns back to his room, his footfalls slow but deliberate as he marches to the master bathroom.

Once we’re inside, the silence stretches between us, thick and awkward and laced with all the words neither of us is brave enough or maybe stupid enough to say.

I stand at the edge of the bathroom counter and wait for him to assume the position in front of the mirror. When he does, I inhale a steadying breath, but it only backfires, filling my nostrils with his tantalizing scent. Focus, damn it, Rory .

Carefully unwinding the compression bandage from his chest, I pretend my hands aren’t shaking just a little. That I don’t remember exactly how his lips felt on mine last night. How desperately I kissed him back. How abruptly I pulled away.

Alessandro stands in front of the mirror, shirtless, jaw locked, staring at the floor like the silver veins on the marble are suddenly the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

“After all this time, you could at least pretend you don’t hate this,” I mumble, trying for levity, but my voice comes out thinner than I want it to.

“I don’t hate this,” he mutters back, still not looking at me.

I blink down at the gauze in my hand, revealing the newly pink skin beneath the healing graft. “You’re healing well,” I murmur, because it’s easier than saying I don’t know what last night meant . “The new layer’s taking nicely.”

He grunts. It’s noncommittal and entirely unhelpful.

I cut a piece of fresh bandage and smooth it over his ribs with gentle, clinical fingers. But the moment my skin brushes his, we both flinch. Not from pain.

From memory.

That kiss.

It’s everywhere now, soaked into the fabric of our silence, clinging to every breath. I see it in the way his chest rises faster under my touch. In the way his gaze flicks up to meet mine for half a second before darting away.

“If you need more time,” he says suddenly, voice low and rough. “You could take a few days off. If you still need space, I mean. To recover from what you saw at the Vault…”

I pause, tape in hand. My pulse stutters.

“No, I’m fine,” I lie. “And honestly, I don’t want to sleep on Shelly’s couch again. Her boyfriend snored like a feckin’ chainsaw.”

Alessandro huffs out a breath, half laugh, half sigh, and something about the sound loosens the knot in my chest.

Another few minutes of endless silence stretches between us as I focus on the gauze, his mending skin, and meticulous snips of the bandages.

“Do you regret it?” he asks after a beat. He doesn’t clarify. He doesn’t need to.

The kiss.

So, I guess we’re not pretending it didn’t happen anymore...

I focus too long on the tape as I attempt to switch gears. “Do you?”

“No,” he says quietly.

I swallow. “Then neither do I.”

Another silence falls, but this one feels different. Not cold. Not charged.

Just waiting.

“Even if it can’t happen again.” I force the words despite the physical pain it causes.

His eyes lift, meeting mine through the reflection. “Right,” he murmurs.

“Because we should keep this professional,” I continue.

“Of course.”

“Because I think what we have is pretty great, and I don’t want to risk that or all the strides you’ve made toward recovery.” I smooth the last piece of bandage down and step back. “All done.” Then I reach for the medical tape to pack it away.

“Thanks.”

I don’t look at him as I rinse my hands in the sink, heart thudding too loud in my ears.

Whatever we are or whatever we’re becoming is teetering on a razor’s edge. And I don’t know if either of us is ready to fall.

But God, do I want to.