Page 73 of Brutal Heir
He stands there like a statue carved from fire and fury. His broad shoulders are taut, jaw clenched, eyes wild. And when his gaze crashes into mine, something in me fractures. It’s notat all what I discussed with Paddy. I had a plan and this, the way I’m feeling certainly is not it. I was supposed to walk away…
He storms toward me, every movement sharp and unrelenting. I should say something, anything, but all the words are stuck in my throat.
Then suddenly, his forehead is pressed against mine, then his hands are on me. One cupping my jaw like I’m something breakable, the other settling against the small of my back. He’s breathing hard, nostrils flared like he’s barely holding himself together.
“You scared the fucking life out of me, Red,” he growls, voice hoarse with something dangerously close to pain. “Don’t do that again. Please.”
His nose brushes mine, warm breath ghosting over my lips.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasps, his thumb tracing my cheek, down my jaw. “Say the word, and I’ll back away, Rory.”
I beg my mouth to form the words, to tell him I can’t do this, but my tongue refuses to cooperate.
His mouth crashes down on mine, and God help me—I kiss him back.
It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s everything we’ve both been trying to deny. Weeks of tension, nights of unspoken glances, near-touches and unspoken truths. All of it combusts in that kiss.
And Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it is so good.
For a moment, I completely lose myself.
His lips are fire and desperation, moving over mine like he’s trying to carve himself into my memory. I grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until there’s no space between us, until I can feel every beat of his frantic heart against mine.
And I let myself feel it. The hunger. The hope. The danger.
Because for a few impossible seconds, I want to believe this could be real. That we’re not broken people playing house in a borrowed dream.
His hand on my jaw tightens just slightly, like he’s anchoring me to the moment. I lean in again, just barely, but then it hits me. The echo of Conall’s voice. The blood. The fear. Alessandro is the life I ran away from. No matter what I feel for him, I refuse to let him drag me back under.
My body locks up before my mind can catch up. I tear my mouth away like I’ve been burned, breath shuddering out of me in one broken gasp. I pull away, breathless, my fingers still fisted in his shirt. His eyes are dark, wild, and burning. They search mine like they’re begging me to stay.
“I can’t,” I finally whisper, the words barely making it past my lips.
“Okay,” he rasps.
Silence stretches between us. Charged. Fragile.
His jaw tics. He nods once. Not in agreement, but in understanding or maybe even defeat.
And that, somehow, makes it hurt even more.
Running my finger over my lips, I can still feel him. Taste him. It’s as if his mouth has been permanently imprinted onto my own.
My feelings for Alessandro Rossi have become dangerous…
I would be lying if I said I didn’t see this coming. I was a blind fool pretending this thing between Alessandro and me was strictly professional. Or even just physical. From the very first day I showed up at his apartment, I knew this would be a mistake. And did I cut and run like Da taught me?
No.
I settled right in. Ready and eager to play the role of live-in nurse to the Gemini heir.
I knew exactly who and what he was… It was easy to turn a blind eye, but the truth had been there all along. The grisly scene at the nightclub wasn’t a surprise, not really. I’d spent enough time around ruthless men to know one, even if he was hidden beneath fire-ravaged skin.
And now after that kiss, what the hell was I supposed to do?
Sitting in my bed, I eye the door between us, too much of a chicken to make the first move. But I must. It’s my job. I get up every morning, rouse the grumpy millionaire and tend to his bandages.
Today would be like any other.
