Page 28 of Brutal Heir

He hisses softly between his teeth.

“Sorry,” I murmur, glancing up.

His lips twitch. “You keep apologizing and I might start thinking you like me.”

“I like you just fine, Rossi,” I mutter, smoothing the ointment with slow, steady fingers. “When you’re not being a colossal pain in the arse.”

He chuckles, low and rough. The sound skates down my spine like a drag of heat. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He grunts, the muscle beneath my hand twitching as I continue the slow circles.

“There won’t be many more coming so you better savor it.”

He narrows those mismatched eyes at me, like he’s debating whether to strangle me with the towel or devour me. Maybe both. “Are you always this mouthy with your patients?”

“Only with the ones who deserve it.”

He leans in slightly. Too close. Close enough that I catch the scent of that fancy soap I made him use. Something smoky and expensive that clings to his skin like sin. “You haven’t seen anything yet, Red.”

My breath hitches, and I curse silently. Not because I’m flustered. I’m not. But because my body is clearly a traitor, and I should’ve brought thicker gloves. “Red, how original.” I smirk. “That’s not a nickname I’ve heard about a thousand times.”

“It suits you.” His dark gaze drags down the length of my body, lingering a second too long at the apex of my thighs. I can almost hear his unspoken question. Yes, I’m red down there, too. Not that he’ll ever get the chance to see it. Because he’s an arrogant bastard and most importantly, mypatient!

And yet… I still want to trace every scar with my tongue.Ugh. Brain, no.

Instead, I force my thoughts to the tattoo inked beneath my breast. The permanent reminder of everything I’d left behind in Belfast.Saor óna slabhraí. Free from the chains.Get your shite together.

“But I have other nicknames if you prefer,” he continues, dragging my thoughts out of the gutter, “how do you feel about wildling, leprechaun, or tiny tyrant?”

“It’s not as good as McFecker.”

Another chuckle, the warm sound only intensifying the building heat. “I actually like that one. It suits me.”

Rolling my eyes, I tape down another bit of gauze, patting it, maybe a bit harder than necessary. He flinches. Good. “There. Chest all patched up. You’re welcome.”

Alessandro doesn’t move. Just stares down at me, chest rising and falling slowly beneath the compression bandage. The raw edge in his voice catches me off guard. “You treat me like I’m not broken.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re not broken. You’re just a little overcooked. Happens to the best of us.” I try to focus on wrapping another bandage around his hand, but my fingers are trembling now, damn it.

He actually laughs. Low and rough, like he’s not used to doing it anymore. It shoots straight through me like a shot of whiskey.

Careful, Rory.

I reach for the final bit of gauze, but my fingers brush his skin again, just above his hip. His abs tense under my touch. That towel isn’t hiding much. Not with how close we are. Not with the way his gaze flicks to my mouth like he’s trying to decide if kissing me would be worth the pain.

There’s something magnetic between us… something I can’t name and yet can’t deny either.

Still, I steady myself and wrap the final bandage around his thigh, ignoring the very obvious and enormous erection.Jesus, Mary and Joseph, keep it together, Rory.

“You’re not even scared of me, are you?”

I shrug, rising to my feet and tossing my gloves in the trash like I’m not two seconds away from internally combusting. “Should I be?”

His gaze darkens. “Most people are.”

“Well, I’m not most people. I’ve survived worse things than your death glare, Rossi. Like airplane food. And one very unfortunate Tinder date involving a magician when I first arrived in Manhattan.”

“Tragic.”

“You have no idea.” I turn, making for the door, mostly because I need to put space between me and his smoldering nakedness before I do something that violates every professional boundary I’m pretending to maintain.