Page 62 of Because I Need You
“I’m not struggling with it. I’m fine.” He dropped his hands, glared right back. “Just leave.”
“No.”
“No?” he raised an eyebrow. “Get the fuck out, Isabel.”
“No.” I held my ground, even though hearing those words coming from his mouth hurt a little.
“You gonna let me touch you, then?” His eyes narrowed.
“With what hands, Giovanni?”
“I don’t need my hands.” His gaze smoldered. It was so sudden, that change from cold to hot, that I physically shivered.
“No,” I said again.
“So, no.” He shrugged, those wide shoulders of his.
“For the love of God, please let me help you do this.” I looked at him for a long moment.
I hadn’t reached for his hands yet, but I wanted to so badly. Instead, I set a hand on the edge of his shoulder. It wasn’t meant to be interpreted as anything more than that. Joey could’ve touched him there and he wouldn’t have batted an eye, but the moment my skin touched his, he shut his eyes and inhaled sharply. He opened them and pinned me with his gaze. There was a storm brewing in there. I felt it inside me as well.
“Isabel,” his voice was a whisper.
“Let me help you.” I took my hand from his arm and turned it over, holding it out for him to place his hand in it.
He didn’t. He was trying to rattle me. He was trying to get me to cave, to kiss him, to touch him, to fuck him, I knew it. I could feel it because those were the things I wanted to do. But I wouldn’t. I’d said no and I meant it. I truly wasn’t ready to do that again, not after what he knew, not after how he’d handled it, by disappearing and not coming home and making me feel dirtier than I already felt. Finally, he set his hand on mine and I couldn’t stop the relieved exhale that left my lips. I unwrapped what he’d already wrapped and hissed when I saw his hands.
“Jesus, Gio,” I whispered, looking up at him. He gave nothing. “Did you disinfect this?”
He nodded at the counter. I grabbed a cotton ball and pressed over his wounds, applying balm after and a gauze on top before I began to wrap it. “You could’ve been a nurse.”
My lip twitched. “I thought about it.”
“Why didn’t you go for it?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time.” He angled his body toward me. My glanced up and stared at his abs, wishing I could lick him there, then looked back down and continued to wrap.
“I’ve already told you enough about myself,” I whispered.
“I want to know more.”
My eyes snapped to his. “Why?”
“Because I’m nosey.”
I snorted a laugh, went back to the task. “I had a neighbor. Luke and Noah’s mom, actually. She was a nurse. Is a nurse. Sometimes she’d take me to work with her for daughter-mother-work-day.”
“Where was your mother?”
I shrugged. “Who cares?”
“I’m pretty sure you care. I care,” he said, voice so low I almost missed the words. I looked up at him again.
“I don’t.”
“My mother left us,” he said suddenly. “Just picked up and went. Didn’t tell us about it, didn’t call, write, nothing.”
“That sucks.” I finished wrapping that hand and moved on to the next.
“Yeah.” He chuckled. I felt it in my core. “It did suck, actually. It still sucks.”
“And your dad is a complete asshole,” I said, “so that didn’t help.”
“How do you…” he started, but stopped, probably remembering that I’d been present when he’d spoken to him on the phone. “Yeah, he is an asshole, but so am I. It was fine.”
“You’re not.” I looked at him again. “I mean, you are, but you’re not.”
“That makes a lot of sense.”
“It does in my mind.” I felt myself smile as I tossed the cotton on the counter and started wrapping the hand.
“I want to know what’s in there,” he said, jutting his chin up, “In your head.”
I shook my head, unable to look at him. “Nope. I told you enough.”
“Not nearly enough,” he growled softly. My insides shook.
“More than enough.” I looked at him then. Fuck, I wanted to kiss him. I looked away.
“Let me touch you.”
“Nope.”
“What if I beg?”
“Will you beg?” I raised my eyes and eyebrows as I looked at him.
“No.” He scowled.
I had to laugh. Of course, Giovanni drew the line at begging. It was good to know. We slept with a pillow between us on the bed. It was massive. Custom. Bigger than a king size. A replica of a mattress made for Shaquille O’Neal, he’d said. When I asked why he wanted a bed so big, and followed up with, “For orgies?”
He’d only laughed. I got the feeling it wasn’t for that, but still, it left a bad, jealous, taste in my mouth and despite how comfortable it was, I kind of felt like burning the damn bed.
