Page 19 of Renata Vitali (The Five Syndicates)
He shook his head. “No.”
My eyes drifted to the pool. “Take off your pants.”
“Listen, you’re attractive, but—”
Good Lord, have mercy.
“No, I mean take off your pants, so you can soak the dried blood off.”
I turned the water heater on, and when I turned around, he’d barely gotten his pants a few inches down. I couldn’t image the pain he was in. Without a word, I pushed his hands to the side and slid his pants slowly down his legs. Neither of us said anything as I squatted, fully aware of the intimate view. His boxers would have to remain, or I wouldn’t be able to get anything done.
When I stepped back, his eyes stayed on mine as I slipped my shirt over
my head. Back when Angelo had walked in on my bath, Damian hadn’t bothered to stare at my body. Today, he was shameless in his perusal.
His hooded eyes crawled their way down my body, relentless in the way he watched me slide my sweats down my legs until I stood in front of him in black lace panties and a matching bralette. The only cute things I ever bothered wearing.
If anything, he inspected me on purpose. To make me as uncomfortable as I was sure accepting help from me made him. I watched him step into the bathing pool. He had to be in pain, but he didn’t show it. Stoic as ever.
This shouldn’t have been erotic, but my heart battered my chest as I waded to him. He watched me, his attention so focused on me as I stepped around him until I stood at his back. Cupping water into my hands, I let it run down his skin. After a few repetitions, the dried blood began to clear.
His muscles tensed as I ran my hand down them. For the first time ever, I felt truly off kilter. I pushed my emotions out of my mind and grabbed a bottle of shampoo.
“What are you doing?”
I popped the bottle open and squeezed some onto my hand. Forming a lather, I ran my hands over his head. His skin felt hot against my fingers. “I’m betting you haven’t showered, and you won’t be able to lift your hands high enough to wash your hair for at least another day.”
I’d expected him to fight me on this, but he didn’t. So, I massaged the shampoo into his hair, taking longer than necessary. My toes pointed as I used them to push me higher, trying but struggling to reach his head. My chest nearly bumped into his wounds, so I stepped back and walked to his front.
From this angle, we couldn’t avoid staring at each other as I ran my hands through his hair. I still stood on my tiptoes, but this time, he helped me. His arm wrapped around my back, and he held me still against his chest. My nipples pebbled beneath my bralette. They pressed against his bare chest through the thin fabric.
His breath fanned my face as I massaged his scalp. He closed his eyes. I took the opportunity to study him. The distinct jawline. The high cheekbones. He could be a model or a movie star if he fled this town, ran away from this mafia life, like I’d always wanted to.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “It’s hard to hear. Okay? Every night, it’s hard to hear.”
He said nothing. I cupped water into my palms and poured it over his head. When the water ran clear, I stepped back.
His eyes shot open. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Okay.” I figured I owed him as much.
“Make sure I don’t fall asleep. I could have a concussion.”
“He hit your head?”
“Kicked it. On the side. My hair hides it. No bruises that way.”
“He can’t get away with this.”
“He won’t.”
And if I wasn’t so focused on his pain and how close we stood, I would have realized what his words meant. Damian had a plan to get back at Angelo. Maybe even take him down. That was treason, and he’d just confessed it to me.
Trust.
He trusted me, and I didn’t even realize it.
In the end, you have to choose whether or not to trust someone.
