Page 20 of Wounded King

Pink, full lips come into focus.Christ, Brigitte Bardot had nothing on those lips. Fuck, I want to own that mouth. Not just kiss it—ownit. Taste her. Silence her breathless gasps with mine until she forgets her own name and remembers only mine.

"Here, let me get some eye drops," she says, having no idea where my mind has gone. She tries to move past me, but my hand reaches out, my fingers close around her wrist, shaky but firm. My body may be broken, but some things I don't need strength to enforce. She's here. She stays.

I wasn't prepared to stare into the iciest eyes I've ever seen. Light gray, they pierce me with an intensity that stops my breath. I was attracted to him before, but now? He is so fucking gorgeous, I want to lick every inch of him. I stiffen at the thought.Lick every inch of him? Where the hell did that come from? Around this patient, I have lost all professionalism.

"Let me get some eye drops," I say, right before a hand grabs my wrist in a viselike grip, sending shivers of desire down my back. Suddenly, a vision of him pinning me against a wall and moving up my skirt makes my ovaries explode and sends a flow of wetness down my pussy. I'm sure my panties are soaked.

His eyes are still on me, and my breath hitches. Every fiber of my being tells me that I should be afraid of him. He is one of the heads of the Italian Mafia, the Cosa Nostra, but all I can do is stare back at him as flutters spread through my stomach that I haven't experienced in… forever. He is as dangerous as a cobra, and yet I'm attracted to him in ways… that choke me.

Stay away from the bad boys, Vi, my mom always told me. And I did because mom knows best.

But now? I take another few of those steps down…He is engaged, Vi!

That thought sobers me.

"What happened to your face?" Marcello demands. Yes, demands. He doesn't ask. His voice is a bit scratchy from disuse and the intubation during surgery, but it's firm and strong. Which only adds to the surge of desire already screwing with my last functioning brain cells.

"Someone sent two men last night to have you killed. She took the brunt of it." Luciano explains.

Marcello cocks his head, "My apologies. I'll have you compensated for that."

I wave my hand. "I only did my job."

"See, I told you she's going to want to cash out," Mina screeches, reminding us of her presence, and Marcello lets go of my wrist. Hastily, I step back, far enough so he can't reach me again—the skin where he touched me tingles and burns.

"What happened?" Marcello asks, ignoring Mina.

I shouldn't be hearing this, I know I shouldn't, and yet, I can't help but stay in the room, pretending to fiddle with the monitors and type into the computer. It's stupid; I'm sure people have been killed for far less than overhearing this.

"Marcello, I thought you would die. It was terrible. I was so scared." Mina interjects again.

"This is business, Mina. Thank you for coming. I'll see you later." Marcello stares her down relentlessly. This! This right there should be my last warning. He's treating her like shit, but all I can hear is that teeny tiny little voice in my head saying:she deserves it. What kind of person am I? Watching a man treat a member of my gender like this?

She deserves it.

Oh, shut up.

Mina leaves with a huff, and I take my cue as well, closing the sliding glass door behind me and pushing by the six guards stationed on either side. Their presence interrupts the routine of the ICU—if there is anything like a routine left—but I've gotten used to them constantly being here.

"He's awake?" Stacy, the head nurse, asks me when I enter the nurse's station. "What's he like?"

What's he like? An excellent question.Intensecomes to mind. Also charismatic, controlling, and demanding. To hide my slightly trembling hands, I sit down on them.

"Scary," I say what she wants to hear. Also, to remind myself that despite his magazine-cover good looks, this man is a cold-blooded killer who treats his fiancée like shit. There is no difference between him and the men who came to kill him last night. He's the very type of person I should hate. Instead, I take another step down the damn stairs.

"I don't know how you do this, how you've been able to stand being in the same room with those… those… gangsters." Stacy pets my shoulder. "But be sure to take a week off after his release, and I'll put you in for a promotion. God knows you deserve it."

"Thank you, Stacy," I reply, meaning it. A week off sounds fantastic. She's right, too. I need it. Just not quite in the way she thinks I do.

My family returned to their normal lives after I caught Doctor Waspo trying to kill Marcello. Luciano assured me they would be safe. He said he even stationed some men to watch them just in case whoever got to Waspo decided to try blackmailing me next. Something I shouldn't be grateful for. I really shouldn't be…

"We're all very proud of you, Violet. The way you're handling these… men. You are an example of professionalism to all of us." Stacy continues to praise me.

A praise I surely don't deserve. A praise she wouldn't give if she had seen me touch his hand or brush the hair from his face, or if she had any idea about the dirty thoughts running through my head.

I'm too surprised by her sudden sweet demeanor toward me to follow the path of guilty thoughts—she rules the ICU with an iron grip that would make any dictator tremble.

"Violet, a word?" Luciano calls from the door.