Our thighs are close enough to brush as I shift, and I try to ignore the zing of sensation that makes my pulse spike when they do. I can feel his dark eyes fixed on me, as though daring me to falter. But I don’t. I keep going, stitch by stitch, sparing only a moment to sneak a glance up at his chiseled face.
And when I do, my breath catches.
Our eyes meet, and the air between us crackles, suddenly charged, electric with the unspoken intensity of his gaze. It makes my task feel astonishingly… intimate. And my heart begins to race.
Swallowing my sudden nerves, I force my eyes back to the task at hand.
And I don’t dare look up again until the wound is closed, neat and clean.
By the end, my chest is light, filled with something close to exhilaration. I tie off the suture, snip it carefully, then press gauze over the site. “There,” I murmur, suddenly shy.
Sandro looks down at my work, then back at me. “Nicely done,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”
The words send a flutter through my chest. His gratitude feels rare. Precious.
Then he pushes off the counter, rolling his shoulders as he steps around me and crosses to the shower without so much as glance back at me. I hear the water turn on, hot steam billowing out almost instantly, and a pang of disappointment stirs in my chest as I get the distinct feeling that I’m being dismissed.
Willing away the emotions, I busy myself cleaning and tidying the supplies before putting them away.
Then his voice rumbles low across the room. “Evi.”
I look up, and our eyes meet in the bathroom mirror. My cheeks warm instantly at the sight of his glorious body on full display, every thickly corded muscle making the veins lift beneath his golden skin.
His are darker now, the heat unmistakable. “You want to join me?”
My breath stutters, my pulse thundering against my ribs. I set down the scissors with fingers that suddenly feel unsteady once again.Do I? God, yes.I nod, unable to find words.
His mouth curves faintly, a wolf’s smile, and he tips his head, silently inviting me to follow as he moves beneath the spray. My hands shake as I peel off my dress, dropping it onto the tile. My skin prickles with nervous energy, every movement amplified by the awareness that he’s watching.
When I finally step into the steam, he’s already there, water cascading down the lines of his body. Somehow, his bandaged wound only makes him look more powerful—like a warrior who survived the fire and came out more impervious than before.
And when his eyes slide down my body, slow and deliberate, I see it.
He’s already hard.
Heat surges through me, melting away the last of my hesitation. I step closer, water plastering my hair to my shoulders as I lift my chin.
His hand cups my jaw, his thumb brushing over the pad of my lower lip, and the hunger in his gaze makes my knees weak. The world narrows to the sound of water, the heat of his body, the knowledge that this man—this brutal, scarred, relentless man—wants me. And as he leans in, slowly, purposefully, stealing the oxygen between us, I want him just as desperately.
15
SANDRO
Something about Evi unsettles me. Not in a bad way. Not even in a way I can name. Just… deeply. I stand under the spray of the shower, hot water running pink down the drain, and I can still feel the ghost of her touch—steady, sure, and impossibly gentle. The sting of the needle didn’t bother me. It’s not the first time I’ve been stitched up. Hell, I’ve done worse to myself in the field.
But Evi made it mean something. She handled me like she couldn’t stand that I was hurt. And if I had to guess, it wasn’t fear that made her hands shake but the idea of causing someone pain—even a man like me. Still, she persevered, revealing that silent courage I’ve only caught glimpses of but find fascinating.
God, it turns me on. And as she steps into the steam, I can’t help but admire her beauty. Her chestnut hair is already damp, clinging to her shoulders as it darkens to near black, and for a second, I forget to breathe. She hesitates on the threshold, nervous, unsure, but determined.
That’s the thing about Evi—she’s braver than she realizes.
Any other bride would have taken one look at me and fled.
But not her.
Her bare feet slap softly against the tile as she approaches, and when she finally looks up at me, I feel the warmth radiating from her like the sun.
I move before I think, closing the space between us, my hand finding her jaw. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away. Her skin is warm from the steam, soft beneath my rough fingers. Silent need thrums through me as I stare down at her lush lips, and I brush my thumb across her full bottom one.
