Page 76 of Dante
"My eyes are up here."
His voice is amused. Warm. Like he caught me doing something I shouldn't.
Which he did.
"I wasn't—" I start.
"You were."
"I wasnot."
"Marina." He says my name like it's a joke only he understands. "You were staring at my dick."
"I was staring at the towel." My face is on fire. "Because it's ridiculous. That's not even a real towel. That's a hand towel."
"It's what you had."
"I have bigger towels."
"This one was closest."
"So you just grabbed the smallest towel in my bathroom and wrapped it around your—" I gesture vaguely at his lower half without looking. "—yoursituation?"
"My situation?"
"Go get dressed."
He doesn't move.
I can feel him watching me. That same intense stare he's had since he showed up bleeding at my door. Like he's trying to read something written on my skin.
"You're going to get cold," I say. "You can't afford to get sick right now. Your immune system is already compromised from the blood loss. If you catch a chill?—"
"Are you worried about me?"
"I'm worried about having to explain to Lorenzo why his enforcer died of pneumonia in my apartment."
"I'm not going to die of pneumonia."
"You might if you keep standing there half-naked and dripping water everywhere."
He takes a step toward me.
I stand up from the couch. Put distance between us.
"Dante. Go. Get. Dressed."
"Make me."
The words hang in the air.
My eyes betray me. They drop to his chest. To the bandage wrapped around his ribs. To the bruising that spreads across his skin like a storm cloud.
Lower.
To the towel.
To the shape beneath it.
