Page 13 of Corso DeLuca

I freeze. Wow, just wow. My mama did teach me how to act when I’m visiting other people’s houses, but I’m pretty sure Mom never saw the regal opulence Corso’s money can buy. In the center of the room is a glass bottom bath, the size of an outdoor swimming pool, with steamy tendrils rising from the water. On inhale, I breathe in the warm musk and soft leather fragrance, Corso’s scent, in my lungs. To my left is a gilded Italian wash basin mounted in a counter long enough to double as a chorus line dance stage.

Fine.

I was a tad bit harsh about the bath, but hey… I’m a gunshot victim. That’s my excuse for acting out of character with a man who surprisingly, has been kind, funny… charming. He’s partially to blame. If he had mentioned that his bathroom is large enough to instruct a Pilates class it would’ve helped to allay my concerns. The tub and shower weren’t visible to the other.

I acted a hot mess for no reason.

My eyes swing past the bath pool to the opposite wall. It’s a mirror of the other, except Corso deposits clean towels, a robe, and a lady’s lounge set on the sink’s edge.

Ugh, I need to apologize. I hate that he acted like the bigger person. Gosh, I was so ugly to him… after he helped me. Fine. You can do this, Jessie.

“I’m sorry,” I grunt, my stomach strangely calm at owning up to my bad behavior.

“Huh, that sounded painful,” he taunts. Okay, I deserved that. “There’s a plastic sleeve. Use it to keep your bandages dry,” He points behind him. “The showers are beyond the massage room.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say.”

When I don’t move, he starts to undress.

“Fine. I did my part.”

“Not wrong often, or can’t admit you’re wrong?” The top two buttons on his pants expose an ever-expanding canvas of man fur. My fingers ache to touch the curls. Would they be as soft as they look, or hard like the man searing me with his gaze?

“A little of both,” I say absently. His chest, a sinewy landscape of peaks and valleys is a magnificent work of art. Toasted golden with darker nipples and just a dusting of hair, like a warm donut sprinkled with powdery goodness waiting to be devoured, trail down to a washboard abdomen.

“Guess mistakes are not allowed in your world, huh?”

My mouth… it actually waters at the thought of running my tongue over one of those Italian nipples.

“Ah… no. No, they aren’t.”

There’s a birthmark, no, a scar. I narrow my eyes, focusing in—it’s a stab wound. Old and well-healed.

I notice old defensive wounds on his forearms that only add to his masculine appeal. The sound of his zipper lowering rumbles loud, like a classic Mustang’s engine roar. I lick my lips in anticipation of getting a glimpse of his swinging stallion. Before what I hope is the big reveal, he spins away, flashing a hint of butt crack which totally upsets my voyeuristic nasty girl.

Oh, that big tease. I’ve been robbed! Asshole is on the tip of my tongue when I see his back.

“Dear heavens,” I gasp. There’re two bullet wounds. One high, the other disturbingly close to his lower spine.

A crippling shot.

I can’t help the emotion that washes over me. My brain says he’s a criminal, getting hurt is an occupational hazard. But my heart has begun to feel the gentleness of the man. The Corso I know wouldn’t turn away, wouldn’t run from his enemy. These are the wounds inflicted by a coward… a surprise attack. He’s paid a blood toll for everything I’ve touched tonight.

Over his shoulder he regards me.

“You okay?” he asks, genuine concern in his timbre.

I recover quick. Masking my vulnerability with sarcasm.

“You’re showing me your ass.”

He smiles. “Returning the favor.”

The sound of Corso’s laughter lightens the mood.

“That was for medical services rendered,” I say, giving him a playful shove. His skin is warm and solid. Touching him feels… right. I’m so confused by this man. I know that I should feel disgust, but I don’t. What I feel is attraction. It scares the shit out of me.

“Shall we discuss payment?”