Rafe pours water on a towel and uses it to wipe across his face and chest. I recognize it. It’s one of the fluffy white ones from Villa Egeria. From his en suite bathroom. The room smells like man and sweat.Not vanity muscle, then, I think.
Is this what he trains for?
His expression is the most unguarded I’ve ever seen. Tired, and resigned, and angry. I’ve seen him half naked before. Imassagedhim. But somehow, seeing him like this feels different. He must be in pain.
I followed him expecting to meet his lover and found this instead.
He runs the towel down one arm, wiping away grime. “Wilde, what the fuck were youthinking? Don’t ever do that again.”
“You snuck out again. Out of our bedroom. And I was angry, and you wouldn’t tell me where you go, and I thought…”
His hand comes to rest beside my head. “You don’t follow me again. Do you hear me, Paige? It doesn’t matter if I leave the house late. You donotfollow me. Promise me.”
My mouth is dry. The intensity of him is almost too much to bear, and there’s nowhere to go.
“Promise me,” he says. “I don’t want you near these people. You ever come here again, and it’s over. It’s all over.”
I nod shakily. “Okay. Yes, I promise.”
It should relax him. But it doesn’t seem to, his jaw working. “This place isn’t for you.”
“It’s not for you, either,” I say. The things out there… He must be in pain. “Why are you here? Why fight?”
He laughs darkly, but it cuts off with a wince. His ribs must be shot. “I didn’t have a choice with that second fight.”
“You don’t have a choice?” I shake my head, the possibilities endless. “Are you in trouble? In debt? What?—”
“No,” he says. “It’s not like that. But these fights… they’re not exactly open to the public, darling. Fabrizio enforces the rules.” He starts unwrapping the gauze around his knuckles with slow movements, like it hurts. “It’s usually guys high on their own supply who get taught a lesson. It’s never pretty young women.”
It’s hard to think. “So you fought him… because of me.”
He flexes his now-bare fingers. “I’ve avoided Fabrizio so far. He’s older now, but he still knows how to throw a punch. He likes to go for a knockout. I had to avoid that to get you home.”
My eyes drop to his long fingers, with the broad knuckles and the short nails. I focus on his hands. They’re familiar now. “You took off your ring,” I say.
It’s a ridiculous thing to comment on.
But there it is.
His lips curve in a near-humorless smile. “Yes. But it’s in my bag, and it’s going back on after we leave. Don’t get any ideas about yours again.”
“Let me do that.” I reach for his other hand. He lets me take it, and I slowly unwrap the tape. There’s a dark-red smear on the bandage from where he punched the other guy in the face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says.
“Are you sure? You got hit.”
“That’s the point.” His voice is quiet.
“I like our games better,” I say.
His hand flexes once in mine, fingers brushing over the pulse point in my wrist. I wonder how sore they are. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound concerned.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I murmur, but there’s no bite to it. The words are a reflex at this point. “We’re in this together. I need you.”
He sighs. “Can I get you to say those last three words again?”
I toss the tape to the side but keep his hand in mine. “No.”
