Chapter 20
1667 Words
CHAPTER 20
BONNIE
His hands were warm.
Very warm.
One supported my heel while the other turned my foot carefully toward the light.
The contrast was absurd.
I’d seen those hands command armed men.
One gesture from them had stopped an entire room.
Now one was cradling my heel with extraordinary care.
He touched the cut.
I hissed.
“That hurts.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“Your personality reached it first.”
His mouth twitched.
He soaked gauze with antiseptic.
“This will sting.”
“I survived you. I’ll survive Dettol.”
“This isn’t Dettol.”
“Rich-people antiseptic, then.”
He pressed it against the cut.
“f**k!”
My leg jerked.
Lorenzo caught it immediately.
“Hold still.”
“That burns!”
“I warned you.”
“You dramatically understated it.”
I tried to pull my foot away.
His hand slid higher around my ankle.
“Bonnie.”
I froze.
Not because of the warning.
Because his thumb had landed against the inside of my ankle.
It moved once.
Slowly.
My breath caught.
His eyes lifted.
Fuck.
He’d heard it.
Of course he had.
Neither of us spoke.
Then his attention returned to my foot.
He cleaned another cut.
I bit my lower lip.
His thumb moved again.
A small circle against my skin.
Completely unnecessary.
I looked down at him.
“Are you actually treating my foot?”
“Yes.”
“That didn’t feel medically necessary.”
His gaze rose.
“What didn’t?”
“You know exactly what.”
“I don’t.”
Liar.
He shifted his grip.
His fingers slid from my ankle to the back of my calf.
Slowly.
My lips parted.
There.
That was definitely not necessary.
His palm travelled several inches upward before stopping.
A shiver ran through me.
Lorenzo watched it happen.
His eyes darkened.
“Cold?”
The bastard.
“No.”
His thumb stroked once along the inside of my calf.
A tiny sound escaped me before I could stop it.
Barely more than a breath.
But in the silent bathroom, it might as well have been a scream.
Lorenzo went completely still.
So did I.
His gaze lifted to my face.
I wanted the marble to swallow me.
“Don’t.”
His voice dropped.
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know.”
His hand remained around my calf.
Warm.
Heavy.
Possessive enough that I could feel every individual finger.
His thumb moved again.
My breath left me more slowly this time.
His eyes fell to my mouth.
“There.”
I swallowed.
“There what?”
“You stopped talking.”
Oh, f**k him.
I tried to pull my leg away.
He didn’t let me.
“Let go.”
“No.”
“Lorenzo.”
“You’ve had an answer for everything since I met you.”
His fingers moved fractionally higher.
My towel suddenly felt very short.
“And now?”
I glared at him.
“I’m considering where to kick you next.”
His mouth curved.
“There she is.”
He finished wrapping my foot.
Then the other.
But by then I was no longer paying attention to the bandages.
I was paying attention to his hands.
The way his fingers moved.
The obscene care with which someone so dangerous touched something as insignificant as my ankle.
When he finished, he didn’t release me.
His palm rested beneath my calf.
I looked down.
“You’re done.”
“Yes.”
Neither of us moved.
“Then why are you still holding me?”
His eyes met mine.
“Do you want me to stop?”
The question landed differently.
No joke.
No command.
No arrogance.
Just a question.
I stared at him.
His thumb became completely still.
Waiting.
“If I said yes?”
“I’d stop.”
“Immediately?”
“Yes.”
I searched his face.
For the first time all night, I couldn’t find the game.
That unsettled me more than the game ever had.
“Why?”
Something changed in his expression.
“Because keeping you in this house and touching you are two very different things.”
My heartbeat stumbled.
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“It doesn’t need to.”
His hand released my leg.
The absence of it was immediate.
I hated that I noticed.
Lorenzo stood.
Suddenly he was between my knees.
I hadn’t realised how close the stool had been until he rose.
My head tilted back.
His body occupied the space in front of me, broad enough to block half the bathroom from view.
My towel was the only thing between us.
His shirt was still open at the throat.
Too far open.
My eyes dropped.
Ink crossed his chest beneath the white fabric.
I could see the hard line of muscle beneath it.
A small scar near his collarbone.
His pulse.
I realised I was staring.
Again.
His fingers touched beneath my chin.
He lifted my face.
“Eyes up.”
Heat flooded through me.
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Probably.”
His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth.
My lips parted.
His eyes changed.
My body knew that look now.
He wanted me.
The realisation hit differently when there was no gun, no chase, no water between us.
Just him.
Me.
Steam.
And the soft sound of my own breathing.
His thumb moved over my lower lip.
Exactly as it had in his office.
This time I didn’t pretend it did nothing to me.
My breath trembled.
His gaze followed the movement of his thumb.
Then his hand slid along my jaw.
Down my neck.
Slowly enough that every inch seemed deliberate.
His fingers traced the side of my throat.
My collarbone.
Then stopped.
At the top edge of the towel.
My entire body tightened.
His eyes returned to mine.
“Tell me to stop.”
My mouth was dry.
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
I studied him.
“You’re very certain.”
“About this?”
His fingers rested motionless against the towel.
“Always.”
Something about that answer broke through the fog in my head.
Not because it cooled anything.
Quite the opposite.
Because suddenly the decision was mine.
And that was infinitely more dangerous.
“Then why are you still touching me?”
His eyes darkened.
“Because you haven’t told me to stop.”
Silence.
My heart pounded.
He waited.
No movement.
No pressure.
Nothing.
Just those icy eyes watching me.
Waiting for an answer.
I should have told him to leave.
I should have remembered the gunshots.
The warehouse.
The chase.
Every reason this man was dangerous.
Instead, my hand rose.
I caught the front of his shirt.
Lorenzo’s gaze dropped to my fingers.
Then back to my face.
This time, I wasn’t angry.
And he knew it.
I pulled him closer.
Only slightly.
His eyes became almost black.
“Bonnie.”
A warning.
Or an invitation.
I wasn’t sure.
I didn’t care.
“You talk too much.”
Something almost incredulous crossed his face.
Then I kissed him.
For one heartbeat, Lorenzo didn’t move.
That single second nearly destroyed my courage.
Then his hand came around the back of my neck.
And everything changed.
The kiss deepened with startling intensity, all the restraint he’d shown a moment earlier snapping into something hotter and far less civilised. I gasped against his mouth, and he used the breath to pull me closer, one hand buried in my wet hair while the other closed around my waist.
God.
His mouth.
I’d wondered.
I’d f*****g wondered.
I shouldn’t have.
Because now I knew.
And knowing was much worse.
My fingers tightened in his shirt as he stepped between my knees, bringing me to the very edge of the counter.
The kiss wasn’t gentle.
Neither was I.
I caught his lower lip between my teeth.
A rough sound came from his throat.
The sound went straight through me.
His hand tightened at my waist.
I kissed him again before he could say anything, and this time I felt the moment his control slipped.
His palm travelled over my back, spanning bare skin beneath the damp ends of my hair. He pulled me against him until the only thing separating my chest from his was the towel and his half-open shirt.
My body reacted instantly.
A shiver.
A sharp inhale.
My knees tightened against his hips.
Lorenzo broke the kiss just long enough to look at me.
His breathing was no longer perfectly controlled.
That pleased me more than it should have.
“What?” I whispered.
His eyes moved over my face.
“You.”
“What about me?”
His thumb dragged slowly along my lower lip.
“You’re going to be a problem.”
I was still trying to breathe.
“You kidnapped the problem.”
A brief, dark laugh.
Then his mouth was on mine again.
This kiss was slower.
Somehow that was worse.
The first had been collision.
This one was intention.
He kissed me as though he had all night to learn exactly what made my breath catch. As though every tiny reaction was information he intended to keep.
His fingers traced my spine.
My hand slid beneath the open edge of his shirt.
Warm skin.
Hard muscle.
Lorenzo inhaled sharply against my mouth.
I froze.
Then smiled.
His eyes opened.
“Don’t.”
“Was that a reaction?”
“Bonnie.”
“Oh my God.”
I moved my palm deliberately across his chest.
His jaw tightened.
“You do have nerve endings.”
His hand closed around my hip.
“Keep going.”
The warning in his voice should have stopped me.
Instead, it made heat curl through my stomach.
“Or?”
His forehead touched mine.
“Don’t ask questions you aren’t ready to have answered.”
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD