Now she knows I remember her.
It was better when she thought I was an asshole who’d forgotten her. That was supposed to keep her at arm’s length. Make her hate me enough to stay away.
So much for that plan.
“Okay, yes.” I scrub my hand down my face, feeling exposed. “I remember you. But it doesn’t matter. It’s not happening again.”
She jerks back like I’ve slapped her. There’s fire in those grey eyes now, anger blazing hot enough to burn. But underneath it, I also catch something that looks like pain.
Shit. I don’t want to hurt her. I just need her to stay away.
“Are you serious?” Her voice is pure venom. “I don’twantit to happen again.”
She crosses her arms, which pushes her tits up in a way that makes my mouth go dry. I force my eyes back to her face, but the damage is done. Blood’s already heading south.
“You know what?” She snaps at me. “You were right before. We shouldn’t talk.”
I should take the out and walk away. But I’m still pissed about her freezing up during the fight, and I can’t let it go.
The image of her just standing there, frozen while chaos erupted around her, keeps replaying in my head. What if Matteo hadn’t been able to get to her in time? What if one of those bastards had hurt her?
“Let’s not get distracted by ancient history, sweetheart.” I keep my voice steady, controlled. “You should have gone backstage when the trouble started. What were you thinking, just standing there like that?”
Fire flashes in her eyes again. She gestures at my torn, bloody shirt. “Maybe I should ask you the same thing.”
She’s got a point, but that’s different. I can handle myself. Watching her stand like a deer in headlights while those animals tore up my club...it did something to me I don’t want to look at too closely.
I roll my eyes. “Go get dressed. The club is closing early.”
The remaining customers have been clearing out since the fight ended. Nothing kills the mood like a bar brawl.
“Come to my office after you’ve changed,” I tell her. “I’ll walk you out to your car. For safety.”
For a second, I think she might refuse. Her chin tilts up in that stubborn way that makes me want to kiss her and shake her at the same time. But she just shrugs and heads to the dressing room.
In my office, I strip off my jacket and start working on my shirt buttons. The blood’s made the fabric stick to the wound, and I bite back a curse as I peel it away. The cut’s jagged but not deep. I’ve had worse.
Much worse.
Nina appears in the doorway as I’m digging through my desk for the first aid kit. She takes one look at the gash across my chest and makes a soft sound of sympathy.
“Jesus, Alessio. That looks painful.”
The concern in her voice unsettles me. It’s too warm, too close.
She disappears into my bathroom without asking, emerging with a damp hand towel. “You didn’t have any washcloths.”
Before I can protest, she’s right there, close enough to touch. Close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her grey eyes as she starts cleaning the blood away.
My breath catches. Every nerve ending comes alive as her fingers brush my skin. It’s just first aid, nothing sexual about it, but my body doesn’t give a damn about logic.
What is it about this woman? She draws me in like no one else ever has. Something about her gets under my skin in a way that terrifies me.
She moves with gentle efficiency, cleaning the wound before reaching for the antiseptic wipes. The sting makes me hiss, and her eyes dart to mine.
"Sorry." She examines the cut more closely, her brow furrowing. "This should probably get stitches."
“It’s fine.” The words come out strained.
