Page 72 of Brutal Heir

She doesn’t pull away.

So I tilt my head.

An inch.

Another.

My nose brushes hers, and her lips part, soft and slow, like a door cracking open to something dangerous but sacred.

“Tell me to stop,” I rasp, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheek, down to her jaw. “Say the word, and I’ll back away, Rory.”

Her eyes lift to mine, bright and blazing and filled with something that makes my knees go weak. She doesn't say a word.

I don’t need permission after that. I make the choice, and that choice isher.

I close the distance, and my lips brush hers.

Not rough. Not hungry. Not yet.

It’s slow. Intimate. A breath shared between two broken souls that should’ve never collided but did anyway. Her lips are soft, hesitant at first, but then she leans in, and that’s all it takes. My world implodes.

My hand slips into the damp tangle of her hair, the other finding her hip, drawing her closer. She melts into me with a breathy sigh that shatters what little control I have left. The kiss deepens, my tongue gliding against hers, then her fingers are fisting the front of my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.

AndDio, I want more.

I want all of her.

I kiss her like I’ve been starving for this exact moment. Because I have. Every stolen glance, every sarcastic jab, every night she bathed me, and I pretended like it didn’t undo me. I kiss her for all of it.

Her lips move against mine with a desperation that matches my own, a clash of tongues and teeth and unsaid things. It’s messy and real and so fucking raw that I don’t realize I’ve made a sound until I feel the vibration of a groan rumble in my chest.

Suddenly, she pulls back, gasping. Her eyes are wide, stunned, lips swollen from the heat of it all.

My hands drop to my sides like I’ve just been burned. “Rory,” I breathe.

She takes a step back, not far, but enough that ice douses the fire surging in my veins.

“I can’t,” she whispers, eyes flickering away.

And those two words wreck me. But I nod, swallowing the ache clawing its way up my throat. “Okay,” I whisper.

CHAPTER 29

A RAZOR’S EDGE

Rory

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.