Page 142 of Caterina
Before I can answer, the door opens.
Caterina steps inside.
For one second, I forget the pain.
She is wearing a robe.
Dark silk, tied at the waist, loose enough at the throat to show the delicate line of her collarbone.
Her hair is down, smooth over her shoulders, and her face is bare. No heels. No armor. No careful casino polish.
Just Caterina in the dim light of the moon through the window, one hand on the door, eyes already on me.
She closes the door softly and locks it behind her.
The sound is like a gunshot.
Every muscle in my body tightens.
“Caterina.”
Her name comes out lower than I intend. Huskier.
She turns back to me, and there is nothing uncertain in her face tonight.
That is the first warning.
The second is the way her gaze moves over me.
Not over the room. Not to the bed. Not to the window or the bandage or the gun on the nightstand.
Me.
Bare chest. Towel. Wet hair. Bruising. Scars. Wound.
Her eyes linger at my side, and something flickers there. Concern, yes. But not only concern.
Then her gaze lifts to mine, those sexy lips move into a pout.
“Why didn't you tell me you were showering? I would have helped.”
My mouth goes dry. Helped? In the shower?
Dear God...
My dick springs to life before I've even processed her words.
The towel suddenly feels flimsy.
“Caterina.”
She takes a step into the room. Her bare feet make no sound on the rug. “You’re hurt.”
The observation is simple, direct, and entirely true.
“I am aware," I say stiffly.
As stiff as my cock...
