Page 12 of Corso DeLuca

“Wanting a chaperone? Don’t tell me your shy… your nipples aren’t.” I give her a wry grin, shucking my jacket and shirt. Stiff with blood, the material peels away, a hull lifted away from the firm flesh beneath.

She’s off of the table in a flash, legs wobbly.

“Careful,” I chide. Her color has improved, a flush replacing the pale gray of blood loss.

“You are not getting me naked.”

Damn, I appreciate her thick curves. As far as bodies go, Jessie hit the goddess jackpot. She’s not flat anywhere. The swell of her belly is shapely with a smaller waist and generous hips.

“I’ll go first… since you flashed those tits to distract me earlier.” She opens her mouth to deny it, but I growl, “Don’t lie.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, criminal.”

“Not this shit again.”

The first time she said that word, it irked that she had preconceived ideas about who, or rather, what I am. I should be used to the DeLuca legend, but as much as I care for my family, I am my own man.

Now I see her taunts for what they are, a defense system to hit and run over her true feelings. Although, I have no right to delve into what’s behind her contempt for criminals. Trust me, her kind of hatred goes beyond the badge and gun I confiscated while she slept.

Like I have my reasons with finishing medical training for a career I would never see. Jessie NuCalla has ghosts that led her to that badge and alphabet agency. She needs me to be the bad guy to her good crusader, but a part of her wants me to be a decent guy. Is it because of Greg? It’s killing her to think he’s not the hero in her story. News flash, heroes are just flawed men who manage to pull off extraordinary shit on a day when the world is watching. Most of us go through life unseen. Jessie wants to see me through a glass that skews who I am. It’s her reasoning that intrigues me.

“Yeah… it’s the same shit, same day, asshole,” she pants.

I’ve spent hours nursing another man’s woman back to life, and for what? More shit. Since I understood the difference between boys and girls, women fell at my feet. What they don’t do is repeatedly call me asshole while their breasts are on display begging to be licked.

“Greg,” I call to the heavens, throwing up my hands, “you are a better man than me.”

“Of course he was,” she defends, without an ounce of consideration for anything that’s happened tonight.

“Ugh, fuck,” I bellow, rubbing one hand over my tired eyes. “It’s impossible for you to open your mouth and not kick off some shit.”

“Fuck you, Corso DeLuca.”

“Sweet invitation, princess. I accept.”

“You wish a good woman wanted your ass. This princess’ puss ain’t for the likes of you.”

“Then put your tits back in their holster,” I growl. Any semblance of calm is gone. I’m ready to wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze. Before she fires back, she lifts her injured arm to cover her cleavage. Her face twists in pain. I ignore her wince. Why do I care? Because of Greg, I remind myself. But I know it’s a lie. I actually like this name-calling harpy

“Look, I didn’t ask for your help. Don’t think ‘cause you patched me up, I trust you. Greg’s killer is all I care about. Not you.”

I stiffen at the jab. She tries to step around me, but I grab her arm. She tries to break free, but I don’t budge.

“Just because I’m going to fuck you doesn’t mean after I find Gregorio’s killer, I won’t throw you out on your ass.”

Without waiting, I storm off in the direction of the master suite. “I’m going to shower. Follow if you want.” When she doesn’t move, I toss a callous, “I don’t give a shit.”

Damn it. She’s already infected me. Now, we’re both reckless, in denial… and beyond ready to fuck each other’s brains out.

FIVE

Jessie

Teal and Donaldson made it out of The Governor, so why am I still here?

Literally… I have no answer for why the bureau hasn’t stormed the building. I must be crazy, but this might be the safest place for me. Until I understand Greg’s letter and the bureau’s inaction on his murder, I’m Corso’s willing captive.

I follow him at a measured pace through a grand foyer with museum-worthy paintings under spotlights in a bathroom the size of a metro train station. Wordlessly, he pushes two panels apart and disappears inside.