Page 57 of Wounded King

"I should go," I say after a moment.

"Hmm," he rumbles in that deep voice that sends shivers down my spine. "Stay." To emphasize his words, he pulls me closer to himself.

But I'm worried I'll get too comfortable with him. I can't give up my heart this easily. Not to a man like him. I haven't really come to grips yet with him being a mob boss and all the not-so-little details that job involves. I was nearly killed once already, and I was only his nurse, then, an incidental victim; I'm not sure I'd survive a more direct attempt.

I've made it all the way down to the horror basement in my mind. It's dark down here, filled with shadows of unknown dangers. Further down, a figure hovers, promising safety, security, and incredible sex. Marcello. I want to run to him, straight across the scary, dark basement, but it's not only me I'm worried about. If it were, I might have just thrown all caution to the wind, saidFuck itand watched like a bystander where this adventure would lead me. But it isn't just me. I don't think my mom would survive another loss. She appears strong on the outside, but deep down, she's never recovered from losing my father. I worry about what losing a child would do to her. And then there are my siblings, Elaine and Sebastian. We're close, closer than most brothers and sisters. They'd be heartbroken if something happened to me. They'd be okay, eventually, I'm sure of that. What I'm not sure about is if they'd be able to take care of Mom, or how they'd react if they lost her too. Some call it middle child complex, being the pleaser of the family, the peace maker, but I call it being responsible. I don't mind, but it's why I can't indulge in this fantasy of being with a dangerous mob boss. It would be too easy to lose myself completely to him. I realize I might be projecting here. This might not be more to him than a fling. But that would make it only that much more important for me to get out of here before I lose myself completely.

My hand moves over the hard plates of his abdomen and chest. God, he's built like a statue. Contrary to a statue, though, he's warm, pulling me to him like a magnet.

I stretch and swing a leg out of bed. He groans.

"I do need to go." I reiterate.

Having lost track of my panties, I pull up my skirt and put on my bra.

"It's the middle of the night. You'll be back here tomorrow anyway, so what's the rush?" He wants to know, sitting up.

My hands shake as I button my blouse, or what's left of it. Just the memory of him ripping it off me sends a burst of liquid down my pussy.

But my mouth doesn't want to comply. It and my brain have a mind of their own, in utter contrast to what the rest of my body wants, "I don't think I can do this," I blurt out, unable to look up at him.

"This?" He sounds confused, but also edgy. I'm still refusing to look at him.

"I'm sorry. But you're almost healed, and?—"

A dry laugh interrupts me. "Are you dumping me or quitting?"

This time, I do look up, I have to. I owe him that much. "Both."

He raises an eyebrow, "I didn't realize I was that bad?"

I blink, confused. Is he joking?

"It was the best sex of my life," I confess, "which is why I can't do this… us."

Understanding blooms on his face right before it closes off. For a split second, I see it—hurt. Deep, raw, and real. And then it's gone, like it never existed. "Oh."

I nod. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too." He moves out of bed and strides to his walk-in closet, giving me a view of his perfect ass, broad shoulders, and a muscular back that is just as chiseled as his front. Fuck, how in the hell do you break up with someone who looks like Adonis?

Remember the guy who was going to kill him in the hospital, Vi?

Faintly.I try to talk my rational mind out of where this is going.

You do remember thinking he was going to shoot you, though, right?

I do, and I concede the point. People have tried multiple times to kill Marcello, uncaring of any collateral damage.You could have been that collateral damage,I'm reminded.

Marcello returns, wearing black sweats and a black shirt. He looks devastatingly handsome, and my heart gives a light twitch. I'm worried that the light twitch will soon turn into something decidedly more painful.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking you home," he says, putting his shoes on.

"I can get a cab," I protest.

He doesn't look up, but the grunt that escapes him says it all.