Page 33 of Wounded King

"Mr. Orsi, are you flirting with me?"

"I thought I told you to call me Marcello."

"Marcello," she allows. The sound of my name from her mouth sends another wave of desire through me. "You haven't answered my question."

"You'll know if I flirt with you." I wink, and she blushes again.

I don't know what to think of this man. I know he is the head of the Italian Cosa Nostra here in New York, but he isn't at all what I would have expected a ruthless mafia boss to be like. He's almost playful with me and obviously flirting.All while, I remind myself,he just dumped his fiancée. Not hisgirlfriend, his fiancée. And from what I saw, it didn't seem like he was heartbroken about it. It was downright cruel. This man is more than ruthless and dangerous; he could not only order me into a shallow grave with a wink of his eye, but I have a gnawing suspicion he could also tear my heart in two should I be foolish enough to not keep my distance.

Besides, how morally wrong it is to develop feelings, sexual feelings, for a patient? And that's what he is, I force myself to acknowledge,my patient. Yet, it's hard to resist those piercing eyes, that chiseled face. The white bandage around his head only emphasizes his sharp features, framing the hawk nose that sits a little crooked in the center of his face. Black hair pokes out through the white of the gauze, inviting me to run my hand through it. Satisfied that at least my fingers aren't shaking, I undo the bandage around his upper arm and shoulder, marveling at how wide and well sculpted they are. There is some ink on him. Normally, I'm not a big tattoo fan, but on him… it fits.

The gauze is stuck to his skin in places, and I apply warm saline solution to loosen it.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Impatiently, Marcello rips the gauze off, making the skin underneath bleed.

"Good job," I mumble, dabbing at the irritated flesh.

"Sometimes you just have to rip the bandage off," he replies. His face is so close that I can feel his soft exhale toying with a few lost strands of my hair. My body is already trembling enough inside that I don't need these additional stimuli, but I can't stop imagining his lips on mine.

His phone rings, and he picks it up, while I busy myself with what I was hired to do.

"Pronto?"

He falls silent for a moment, then shoots off a string of Italian words that sound like machine gun fire and music all at once. God, can this man get any sexier?

When he's finished with his call, I'm done with his shoulder and working my way down to the wound on his hip. Before he can rip the gauze once again, I catch his hand and shake my head at him.

"You're paying me a lot of money to take care of you, so let me take care of you."

"Ah, Chirps, you shouldn't have said that." His words are little more than a rasp.

"Chirps?" I echo, fingers trembling slightly as I loosen the gauze.

"When I was out, I heard you sometimes," he murmurs, his tone rich and smooth as honey, sending a ripple of pleasure down my spine. "You sounded like a little bird… so I started calling you Chirps in my head."

"Oh." Bereft of words, I stare at him. That is the most romantic thing anybody has ever said to me.Remember the fiancée, remember the fiancée, echoes in my head.

"Now if you really want to take care of me…" he trails off, his gaze drifting to where I bunched the blanket to the side to clean the wound by his hip. His obvious erection creates a tent.

"Oh," I repeat, dumbfounded. This is so inappropriate, but I'm unable to tear my eyes away. The tent stimulates my overactive imagination, forming images of thepole'ssize in my head that have me shuddering with pleasure.

"Uhm, this is completely natural… nothing to be ashamed of… it happens…" I mumble.

"Do I look like I'm ashamed of it?" His voice sounds amused enough that I keep my head down, which has to be flaming red by now.

"This looks good. It's healing just fine…" I keep mumbling like a teenager, applying another self-adhesive bandage to the long gash by his hip.

"Alright, leg next." I shuffle down, feeling his hot gaze on me and refusing to look up. I try to work up outrage that he thinks sexual favors are included in the service he hired me for, but we both know that the sexual tension between us has nothing to do with money.

I don't like the red rims around the healing gunshot wound on his thigh. He was lucky the bullet hit neither artery nor bone, but it's still the slowest healing of his injuries.

"Why did they do this to you?" I can't stop myself from asking as I wipe antibacterial ointment over the red area.

"They want what I have," he answers simply.

From the corner of my eye, I notice he's still intently staring at me. I can't help but revel in it. Apparently, all it takes to fix my self-esteem is one dangerously hot mafia heir staring at me like I'm his next obsession. "I'm glad they didn't get it." I pull the blankets over him and straighten.

"Me too." His black pupils dilate, smoldering at me. Ah shit, how's a girl supposed to keep a clear head with a man like him staring at her like that?