He smiled at her, and damn if her knees didn’t feel a little weak. “Would you like to share what you’re thinking about?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking about,” she warned.
“No, I probably don’t,” he said, watching her carefully. “But I’ve heard that too much thinking can be dangerous.” She almost wanted to laugh at his comment. She had always been an over thinker, and now was no exception.
“Everything about what’s happening is dangerous,” she said.
His gaze didn’t waver. “Yeah, it is.” Silence stretched between them, and she could feel her pulse quicken. That seemed to happen anytime Luca got too close to her now. Her body rebelled against her and wanted to be closer to him, even if her brain was yelling at her to get as far away from him as possible. She became aware of everything at once—the distance between them, the tension in his shoulders, and the way his eyes tracked every movement she made. The way he looked at her made Isabella want to beg him to claim her now, and not wait for their wedding day, as he told her that he would.
When they set the date to get married, Luca had promised her that he wouldn’t lay claim to her until their wedding night. She thought that he was just being old-fashioned, but she liked that she had a bit of a reprieve. She didn’t want to give her virginity to someone she had just met. Hell, she didn’t want to have to tell Luca that she was still a virgin at all. It wasn’t something that she thought about, let alone talked about. But once they were married, she was going to have to come clean with him and tell him the truth—she had very little experience with men, and that had everything to do with her overly protective father and his guards. No one was allowed to touch her, and now, she was beginning to think that it was part of her father’s plan. If she were pure, she’d be worth more when he needed to use her as leverage. She just hoped that she was wrong about her father and his involvement in trying to have her kidnapped.
She looked him over and gasped when she saw that he was hurt. “You’re bleeding through your shirt,” she said quietly, rushing to his side.
His eyes flicked down briefly at the red spot growing in size on the side of his body. “It’s nothing,” he insisted. “It’s not a problem.”
“It will be if you ignore it,” she insisted.
“I’m not ignoring it,” he said.
She barked out her laugh. “You’re standing here talking to me instead of taking care of it.”
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I wanted to check on you.” Her stomach did a little flip-flop—damn him. She didn’t know how to react to Luca when he talked to her like that—like he cared about her. Like he wanted to know her better. She couldn’t allow herself to get caught up in feelings if she was going to survive him and his vendetta against her father.
“Sit down,” she ordered. It came out sharper than she intended. He didn’t move, but he also didn’t argue. He seemed to be waiting for her to make the next move. It was almost like he was testing her, but that shouldn’t be a surprise since Luca seemed to like testing her around every twist and turn.
“So you want to bleed out?” she added.
“No,” he breathed.
“Then sit down so that I can look at your wound,” she ordered again. He paused and then slowly sat down in the chair that she pointed to. It wasn’t because she ordered him to do it—she knew that much for sure. It was because he chose to let her take care of his wound, and that mattered, even if she wasn’t quite sure why.
Isabella moved toward him, grabbing a clean cloth and antiseptic from the cabinet she had looked through earlier. She had practically gone through the entire kitchen because if she was going to have to stay with Luca, she wanted to know hersurroundings. Maybe it was her trying to control her life just a little bit, but knowing where things were made her feel better about having to stay in his home.
She stopped in front of him, and her fingers hesitated for just a second before reaching for the edge of his shirt. “Don’t move,” she murmured.
His eyes darkened slightly. “I wasn’t planning to.” Carefully, she pulled the fabric aside, exposing the wound. Her breath caught—just for a second. It wasn’t nothing.
“You call this nothing?” she asked.
“It didn’t kill me, so yes, I’d call it nothing,” he said.
“You have a gash in your side, the size of my hand, and you’re bleeding. This isn’t normal,” she spat, grabbing some gauze and pouring antiseptic over it. She dabbed the wound, and he sucked in his breath, biting back curses.
“It is for me,” he said. “This is nothing,” he lied. Her jaw tightened. Of course, it was normal for him. As the head of a mafia family, he had probably had much worse happen to him.
She leaned in slightly, focusing on cleaning the wound, forcing her hands to stay steady even as her awareness of him sharpened. She was surrounded by his heat and his scent. She noticed the way that he didn’t flinch, even if it must have hurt like hell every time she touched him. He didn’t react or even breathe differently. But she could feel it—the shift in how he was reacting to her being so close to him. It was subtle, but she could still feel it.
“You’re tense,” she said quietly.
“I’m always tense,” he insisted.
“Not like this,” she breathed.
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess I am a bit more tense than usual.”
Her fingers stilled for a second. “Why?” she asked.
“Because you’re too close,” he whispered. Her breath caught, but she didn’t pull away or step back. Instead, she met his eyes.
