“What does that mean?” Lightning illuminates the entire living room, so bright it’s like a sunny day for a few seconds. The thunder follows quickly, and we both jump. Leo stares out the window into the darkness. With the power out, it’s nothing but an abyss beyond these walls.
“Means I have almost no sensation in my right hand.” He uncurls his fingers. Half a dozen red welts cover his palm.
“Oh, Leo. What happened?” Setting the plate aside, I take his hand in mine. The contact seems to surprise him. He tenses for a moment, closes his eyes, and blows out a breath before meeting my gaze.
“Your cactus is a dangerous weapon. Should probably license it with the National Police.”
“Dios mio. Do they hurt?” Gently, I stroke my fingers over the wounds. His skin is a study in opposites. Calloused, yet still soft in places, and as I reach his wrist, I find smooth, almost shiny scar tissue obscuring the small veins there.
“Can’t even feel them.” He pulls his hand back, his entire body stiff. “I heal quick. They’ll be gone in a few days.”
“I should have asked last night.” Shame has me staring at the polished marble floor, at my black pumps dotted with flecks of dirt from splashing through puddles to get to the bakery. “You risked your life for me, and I did not think you might have been hurt. I am sorry.”
“Don’t,” he says sharply. “You had your own shit to deal with. I’m the one who grabbed the cactus. I knew what I was doing. And getting my bell rung? That’s nothing.”
With a frown, I peer over at him. “Getting your bell rung? What does that mean?”
His left eyebrow arches. “Taking a punch to the head. Jaw, in my case.” He rubs his chin gently. “That asshole had some power behind his cross. At least my beard hides the bruising.”
I touch my swollen cheek, then immediately drop my hand. “Why is it called that? ‘Getting your bell rung’?”
Leo shifts on the couch so he’s facing me, his back against the arm, and one of his legs bent at an angle. “Get hit hard enough, your ears ring. Like you’re standing inside the bell tower of one of the churches in Old Town.”
“You have been hit that hard before?”
He holds my gaze, and with the candles casting flickering shadows over his face, he looks so dark and dangerous. “More times than I can count.”
I don’t know why this surprises me. But my knowledge of what spiesreallydo is limited to a few non-fiction books and action movies.
“Leo—”
Pushing to his feet, he takes a couple of uneven steps and grabs my plate from the end table. “You want another slice?”
“No. I…” He’s already in the kitchen. I join him, mug in hand. The space is so small, we’re almost shoulder to shoulder—or we would be if Leo were not at least eight inches taller than I am. “I did not mean to pry.”
He spins around, but he’s off balance and slams into the counter. “Shit.”
I grab his hips to steady him, and his obliques tense under my fingers. Every inch of him is hard, strong, and…safe.
He slides an arm around my waist, pulling me even closer. “Domina…” His voice is deeper than usual, and despite the heat building between us, I shiver. “My right knee and ankle had to be completely rebuilt.”
“Mierda. Why?” As soon as I ask, I know he does not want to tell me.
With a tiny shake of his head, he meets my gaze. Or, tries to. But only his left eye focuses on me. The right…is off somehow. “You see it now?” he asks.
The vulnerability in his voice shocks me. This is not the confident, protective man who saved me last night. This man is hurting.
“Your pupils are different sizes. That happens with head injuries. From last night? Do you need a doctor?”
He smiles—lopsided as usual—then taps on his right eyeball. “It’s fake.” I gasp and jerk against Leo’s hold. His grin fades immediately, and he steps back with a muttered swear. “Shit. Sorry. I’m being an idiot. You didn’t need to see that. Get your things. I’ll walk you home.”
Oh, God. He thinks I’m disgusted by him.
Pulling a flashlight from one of his kitchen drawers, he gestures to the front door. “Don’t forget your bag. And take the Huevos de Leche. I don’t want them.”
“Leo, stop.” With one hand on my hip, I block the narrow opening between the kitchen and the living room. “Before you lost your eye, if someone had done what you just did, would it have taken you by surprise?”
His mouth opens, but he must rethink what he was about to say, because he closes it again and nods.
