Rafael’s lips tilt into a devious smirk. “Is that a Russian pet name, vespetta?”
“It means ‘moron’!” I sneer through my teeth, grab his arm, and pull him toward the exit.
Shocked faces stare at us while people part to let us pass. Rafael doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that I’m basically dragging him through the hotel lobby. There’s actually a slight smirk flashing across his features.
“I guess this means we’re not staying for cake?” he asks as we step outside.
“You guessed right.”
“Mm-hmm. I think you might like me after all, Vasilisa, just a tiny bit. Skipping dessert for my sake? I feel rather special.”
Ugh. This man. I watch him closely, throwing frequent looks at him as we traverse the parking lot to Rafael’s SUV, looking for signs of distress. He seems fine. Is that normal? How much blood has he already lost?
Once we reach the wicked-looking Maserati, I tug on the lapel of his suit jacket. “Bend over, please. I need to check your pupils.”
Rafael braces a hand on the car roof and leans forward until his face hovers right in front of mine. I cup his jawline with my palms and tilt his head slightly to the side, toward the lamplight. My God, his eyes are so beautiful. There’s a glint to them that reminds me of the sea glass I found at the shore. Opalescent. And brazenly focused on me. And when he looks at me as he is now, I get the impression that he wants to swallow me whole. Every time, it makes me weak in the knees.
“Why are you checking my pupils, Vasilisa?” he asks, his voice rumbly.
“I’m not sure. Doctors do it in the movies all the time.” I move a stray strand of hair off his forehead.
“A pupil test is done to check for brain injury. It has nothing to do with bleeding.”
“Well, I’m checking them regardless. Stay still.”
His eyes appear normal to me. But his skin feels warm. I touch his temple with my fingertips, then his cheek with the back of my hand. Fuck, I can’t figure it out. Lifting on my tiptoes, I press my lips to his forehead.
Rafael goes stiff as a board, his every muscle rigid with tension.
“What are you doing?” he asks. The tone of his voice is strange. I can tell he’s uneasy, but I haven’t a clue why.
“Checking for fever.” I reposition my lips to his temple. Then back to his forehead. Nope, his temperature seems fine. For now. I brush my knuckles down his cheekbone. “We should hurry. You need to take antibiotics.”
Rafael cocks his head to the side and dips lower, his eyes boring into mine. “I already took some. But if it’ll make you less worried, I’ll take them again.”
“I don’t think that’s how meds work,” I choke out, mesmerized by the dangerous glint in his eyes.
“And I didn’t expect you to fret about my well-being.”
“Of course I’m worried! We’re practically in the middle of nowhere. It’s at least a half-hour ride back to the estate. How are you going to drive in your condition?”
“What condition?”
“The you’re-bleeding-all-over-the-place condition!” I shout while tears gather in the corners of my eyes.
“My blood vessels aren’t doing the driving, vespetta.”
A frustrated whimper leaves my lips. I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, then grab his arm, shaking him.
“How can you be so fucking unruffled? You’re hurt! What if you go into shock? Or bleed out? I don’t know first aid, Rafael! And what if I need to get you to the ER, and you’re unresponsive? I don’t even know your blood type! Or if you have any allergies to drugs. What if—”
Rafael’s mouth crushes mine. As usual, when he kisses me, I completely forget everything but him.
“You can drive,” he mumbles into my lips. “Or we can just get in the car, and you can ride my cock. Make sure my blood is redirected elsewhere.”
I bite his lower lip. Hard. Then, force myself to break the kiss. “Keys.”
Rafael’s eyes narrow into smirky slits while he takes the keys out of his pocket and drops them on my extended palm. I hoist myself into the driver’s seat, reaching for the wheel. But it and the pedals might as well be in a different time zone.
“Umm . . . Where is—” I start to ask, but I’m already sliding forward.
“Here,” Rafael says while holding the switch on the outward edge of the seat base. “I don’t have any extra cushions,” he continues while pressing another control to raise the seat, “but I’ll make sure there’s one in the vehicle from now on.”
“Cushions?”
“Yes.” He rounds the car and gets in on the passenger side. “It’ll be easier for you to see over the wheel with additional padding.”
I shake my head. Did The Sicilian just tease me?
“Do you have GPS?” I ask as I start the engine. “I can’t find my way over those damn winding dirt roads.”
“I like the winding dirt roads. One of the main reasons I love the Taormina area is because there aren’t many highways around here.”
“What’s wrong with nice solid highways?”
“They fuck up the landscape.”
I steal a look at him with the corner of my eye. “How are you feeling?”
