Page 9 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

THE BATTLE

A lessandro

“Never thought I’d be so happy to see you, cuz.” I heave out a breath and finish fastening the last button on my shirt. The wheelchair sits by the door, and I’m so damned tempted to slide into it. Less than a half hour on my feet and every muscle aches.

Matteo stands in the foyer, that typical mocking grin stretched across his face. “Did you forget about our chess date?”

Fuck, I did.

In the past month of recovery, it had been the only activity I looked forward to. The weekly chess match with my cousin was the only constant, the one thing that hadn’t changed since the damned explosion.

Every week I look forward to kicking his ass.

And that little Irish bombshell had made me forget all about it.

“A chess date, aye?” Rory appears from around the corner, and Matty’s eyes nearly pop out of his head as he regards her.

“Well, hello there, cutie, and who might you be?” His gaze lingers for a minute longer than necessary, and an unexpected pang of possessiveness lances across my chest.

“Your cousin’s worst nightmare.” She tosses me a smirk before extending her hand to Matteo. “Rory Delaney, pleased to meet ya. I’m Alessandro’s new nurse.”

I cringe at the word, hating the sound of it and all that it implies. That I’m weak, broken, useless. In need of a woman to take care of me.

Matty takes her petite hand, distracting me.

It engulfs it in his oversized one, and a flirty smile crosses his lips.

“Matteo Rossi, hacker extraordinaire and all-around tech-genius. And damn, my cousin is a lucky man. I think I’d suffer through an explosion if it meant you giving me a sponge bath. ”

“Shut the fuck up,” I hiss.

With a mischievous grin, she releases his hand, shaking her head. “Oh, dear Matty, you couldn’t handle all this. Trust me.”

“I don’t know about that. I had an Irish girl once…”

Positioning myself between my feisty new nurse and my annoyingly flirtatious cousin, I tick my head toward the living room where the chess table stands in the corner. “Are you here to talk or play, cuz?”

“Well, actually,” Rory interrupts, “I was just about to?—”

“No,” I snarl, whirling around to face her. “It can wait.”

Her narrowed gaze rakes over me, undoubtedly taking in the tension in my jaw and the pain that radiates across every inch of me.

“Fine, if you prefer to suffer that’s your problem.

” Then she jabs her petite finger into the left side of my chest, avoiding the bandaged section.

“But you will let me do my job, Rossi. I won’t have you dying on my watch. ”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” I mutter.

Wrapping a hand around my good arm, she totes me a few feet down the hallway.

She lowers her voice, rising to her tiptoes, and it’s the closest I’ve been to her yet.

The smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks catches my attention, and now she’s close enough to count each and every one.

I don’t, of course, because that would be insane.

Lifting my gaze to meet blazing emerald eyes, I’m pleasantly surprised by her discretion as she whispers, “I’m not being dramatic. Sepsis is real and life threatening. If the wounds aren’t kept clean, bacteria can form and enter the bloodstream.”

“I’m fine. I’ve been replacing the bandages on my own for nearly an entire week now.”

“We’ll see how fine you are when I get you naked in the tub.

” Her jaw snaps shut, her cheeks flushing an enticing crimson at that slip of the tongue.

And that look has a whisper of heat surging below my belt.

Is that…? No, it can’t be. My stupid cock hasn’t shown the tiniest bit of interest in any woman in months.

Clearly evidenced by that disaster with the server at Thanksgiving dinner.

Taking a step back, she waves a dismissive hand. “You know what I mean.”

“Of course,” I mutter. “I would never expect anything but the highest level of professionalism from you.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” She nods quickly before turning toward the kitchen. “While you boys are playing chess, I’ll get myself settled in the adjoining room.” Her eyes meet mine, full of defiance as she spills the last part. As if she’s daring me to contradict her.

It’s a battle for another day. Whether this woman stays in a room next to mine or across the entire damned penthouse, I doubt I’ll be able to avoid her. “Fine.”

“Good.” A smile flashes across those pretty pink lips, lighting up the flecks of sparkling jewels in her irises. “Now go sit down already. You look like you’re a second away from passing out.”

A rueful grin twists my lips as I hobble past her. Less than an hour together, and I’m impressed she can read me so well. My own family has never even noticed the pain I hide behind the icy mask.

“So are we playing or what?” Matteo slaps me on the good shoulder when I reach him.

“Damn right. My week isn’t complete if I haven’t kicked your ass at chess.”

“That’s a lot of talk. I hope you can back it up.”

“Don’t I always?”

As we sit down at the table and arrange the pieces, I can pretend for a minute that everything is as it once was.

That after I beat Matteo, we’ll go to a bar for a celebratory drink and the women will fall at our feet, desperate for a night with one of the Rossis, two of the most eligible bachelors in Manhattan.

But as I lift my arm to move a pawn, the bandage beneath my shirt snags tight against my skin, and I barely suppress a wince. No, booze and women are not in the cards for me tonight, not with the prescription pain meds I inhale like candy or my sad, broken cock.

“Your move, cuz.”

I glance up at Matteo, forcing my thoughts from the dismal truth and attempt to get my head in the game. “Right.” If I lose this, it’ll be one of the last things in my life that still brings me pleasure.

When I reach my bedroom, my feet dragging, I mutter a curse as my gaze lands on the red-headed devil lingering in the doorway of our adjoining rooms. She’s got her surgical gloves on, wearing a maniacal grin. “Bath time.” She says it like she’s actually excited about the prospect.

“Not again,” I grit out, and I’m tempted to send another scathing text message to Bella and Serena for siccing this woman on me.

Stomping toward me like she owns the place, like she owns me , her fingers find the buttons of my shirt.

“I said no,” I shout as I leap back, instantly regretting the move as fiery pain lances across every frayed nerve in my body.

Those bejeweled eyes jump to mine, fiery determination setting them ablaze. “And I said yes.”

“You work for me, and I decide when I will or won’t be taking a bath. I’m a grown man for fuck’s sake.”

She clucks her tongue, shaking her head. “Mistake number one, signore . I work for your father , and it’s my duty to make sure you don’t rot in your own ego and your own filth.”

She takes another step forward, like a lioness cornering prey. “Mistake number two?” she adds with a smirk. “You think this is optional.”

I open my mouth to argue again, but she’s already undoing the top button of my shirt, slowly, like she dares me to stop her.

My pulse kicks up. My breath hitches. And my cock… thickens.

I should shove her hand away. I should bark out another order and remind her who the hell I am. But all I do is stand there, frozen because this is the first time in months that I’ve felt anything.

Her voice drops to a whisper. “You think you’re proving something by resisting help? You’re not.” Another button. “You’re proving that the fire didn’t just scar your body… it burned out every bit of sense you had.”

My jaw tightens. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Good,” she snaps, eyes locking with mine. “Because I don’t do pity. I do healing. Now shut up and let me help you, or I swear to God, I’ll haul your burned arse into that bathtub myself.”

I stare at her.

No one threatens me like that. Worse, I think she might actually do it. And if she does, she’ll see my raging erection.

That is not how this is supposed to go.

I have about two seconds to decide how I’m going to play this because her fingers are getting dangerously close to the last button. And after the shirt? The pants. And then she’ll get a front and center view of the effect she’s having on me.

Trapping her hands against my chest, I squeeze her wrists until she lets out a squeal. “Get out of my room now,” I growl.

“I will not.” Those eyes glare up at me so full of defiance they have my palm twitching. Dio , the old me would’ve had her on the bed by now, mouth silenced, legs spread, and that smart mouth begging for mercy. But the new me… he’s stuck gripping her wrists, pretending this isn’t killing him.

“You will or I will heave you over my shoulder and toss you out of my apartment.”

“This is not a game, Alessandro,” she hisses, attempting and failing to wriggle free. “This is my job and your life.”

“And I’m telling you—no, I’m asking you to just leave it alone for tonight.” I pause, searing my eyes to hers in a desperate plea. “Can you do that?”

“Feckin’ hell, fine.” She tries to squirm out of my grasp and this time I let her. Slapping her hands on her hips, she skewers me with a narrowed glare. “But tomorrow, and from this day onward, you’re doing exactly as I say. Are we clear?”

“Perfectly,” I grit out.

Without another word, she whirls around and stomps out of my room, slamming the door behind her. I heave out a breath. Why do I have a feeling I may have won this battle but I’m nowhere near winning the war?