I almost smile. Almost.
“I don’t think that’ll work.”
“Mm-hmm.” Ruffo turns to face the dog and says in a completely serious, calm voice, “I won’t eat my wife right now, Taffy. Now, get lost.”
Taffy?
The dog lets out another quiet growl, then trots out of the kitchen.
“Look at that… I didn’t even need to use any annoying PR people.”
Glass crunches under the soles of Ruffo’s shoes as he crosses the puddle of wine and sets me down on the edge of the island counter.
“Now, let me see your feet.”
I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my lips. The only thing I’m capable of doing is staring, dumbfounded, as Adriano Ruffo crouches before me.
“Does anything hurt?” His palms glide along my right calf as he slowly and methodically inspects my flesh, then cups my left ankle. “Did you step on the glass?”
A shiver I can’t suppress races up my spine when his hand moves over my heel and the soft arch of my sole. His touch is so gentle, almost reverent, that it catches me completely off guard. I never would’ve expected this kind of tenderness from Ruffo.
“Um… No,” I murmur. “But, I think, um…I might’ve got nicked. On…uh…on my other foot.”
“Let’s take a look.”
Every nerve ending in me lights up like a live wire as his palm glides over my right foot. The slow way his fingertips drag over my skin reminds me so much of the way my silent guest caressed my face just before we kissed. How he slid his palms over my bare back as he claimed my mouth, like he was claiming my whole being with that kiss. Pressure builds in the pit of my stomach, and lower, between my legs, growing more intense with every stroke. I close my eyes, hoping it will help banish this unwelcome sensation.
Ruffo’s fingers explore the outer part of my foot and freeze near my little toe. “There. It doesn’t look too bad, but we should clean it out.”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. Too quickly, because awareness is surging through me in an unstoppable torrent. Everywhere his hands have touched, heat followed. “There are Band-Aids in my purse, so I’ll just go…”
My words fade away as Ruffo stands up, straightening to his full towering height. His arms cage me as he grips the edge of the counter on either side of me.
“You’re not going anywhere, Little Iris.” His eyes bore into mine from behind his glasses; the piercing blue is beautiful and terrifying at the same time. There’s a strange tone to his voice. Like a promise. Or a warning.
I nod.
He nods back. “Glad we’ve cleared that up.”
I watch as he walks over to the sink, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up in the process. The silence in the room hangs heavy, disrupted only by the sound of running water while he washes his hands.
“What are you doing up at the crack of dawn?” he asks as he takes a kitchen towel from the drawer and wets it under the stream. “You could have rung for the maid if you needed something.”
“I didn’t want to wake anyone. I was just a bit hungry, but you…uh…don’t seem to have any groceries in this house.”
“Apologies for that. I mostly eat out or have my meals delivered. Breakfast should be here around six.”
I stare at his back. Who in the world orders out for breakfast?
“In the future, if you get tempted to hand-feed the wild dog, don’t.”
“He didn’t look that wild to me.”
“Mm-hmm.” Ruffo’s steps echo in the vast space as he returns. Standing right in front of me, he takes his glasses off and tosses them onto the counter; a casual action that still manages to be graceful somehow. “Well, looks can be deceiving, can’t they?” He holds my gaze captive. “Let’s check out that cut.”
With his free hand, he gently palms the heel of my injured foot and lifts it to the edge of the countertop, making me scooch back a little on the island to maintain my balance. Then he carefully cleans the skin around the minuscule nick. Soft. Tender. Delicate is his touch. Odd how a man with such huge hands can manage that.
“Hurts?”
