Page 34 of His Nephew's Ex
“Are you—” She swallows hard, her cheeks flushing pink. “Do you always sleep like that?”
“I sleep naked, actually.” I move toward the bed with predatory grace, enjoying the way she tracks my every movement. “The briefs are a courtesy to your delicate sensibilities.”
“My sensibilities are fine,” she protests, but her voice cracks on the last word.
“Are they?” I pull back the covers, noting how her eyes follow the play of muscle across my chest and shoulders. “Then why are you staring?”
“I’m not—” She turns away abruptly, fumbling for her overnight bag. “I need to change.”
“The bathroom is through that door. Take your time,stellina. I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”
She flees toward the en suite with a haste that would be comical if it weren’t so revealing. The woman who faced down a mafia don in his own office, who walked into the Viper’s Den demanding an audience with the devil himself, is running from the sight of my half-naked body.
Because she wants what she sees. And she’s terrified of how much she wants it.
I settle against the headboard, arms crossed behind my head, and wait. The sound of running water carries from the bathroom, followed by the rustle of fabric and soft cursing that makes me smile. She’s taking her time, gathering courage or building walls—I’m not sure which.
When she finally emerges, my breath catches in my throat.
She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt that falls to mid-thigh, her legs bare and perfect. Her dark hair tumbles around her shoulders in waves, and without makeup, she looks younger, more vulnerable. More mine.
“Better?” she asks, hovering near the bathroom door like she might bolt back inside.
“Much.” I pat the mattress beside me. “Come to bed,stellina.”
She approaches like I’m a loaded weapon, which isn’t entirely inaccurate. Each step is measured, careful, like she’s afraid sudden movement might trigger something she’s not prepared to handle.
“Which side do you prefer?” she asks stiffly.
“Whichever side puts you closest to me.”
“Simeone—”
“Left or right, Loriana. The choice is yours, but you’re sleeping in this bed either way.”
She chooses the left side, as far from me as the mattress allows, and slips under the covers with her back turned. I can feel the tension radiating from her rigid form, see the careful way she grips the sheet like armor.
“Relax,” I murmur, reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp. “I gave you my word.”
“Your word.” There’s something bitter in her voice. “What exactly is that worth?”
“Everything.” The darkness makes honesty easier, strips away the games we play in daylight. “I’ve never broken a promise to a woman I’ve fucked, and I don’t intend to start now.”
She flinches at the crude language, but doesn’t protest. In the silence that follows, I hear her breathing gradually slow, feel some of the tension ease from her shoulders.
That’s when I notice the dark stains on the white sheet near her feet.
“Stellina.” I sit up, reaching for the lamp. “Your feet.”
“What about them?” But she’s already pulling her knees up, trying to hide the evidence.
“They’re still bleeding.” I throw back the covers, ignoring her protests as I examine the damage. “From the glass in your apartment. Why didn’t you say something?”
“It’s not that bad—”
“It’s bad enough.” I swing out of bed, moving toward the bathroom. “Stay put.”
I return with medical supplies and a warm washcloth, kneeling beside the bed to tend to her wounds. Her feet are small, delicate, marked with several cuts from her desperate flight across the glass-strewn floor of her apartment.
