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What sucked worse was having to admit Jack was right.
I’d jumped in, literally, without thinking, and now my body—and my pride—were bearing the consequences. At least the asshole hadn’t said I told you so, but the sentiment was there in the way he’d laughed as I’d climbed onto the boat. Before he realized I was hurt.
Then he’d been kind, finding me a towel and getting us back to the hotel fast, then asking Carlo for the first aid kit. It was almost like he cared.
Drying off carefully, I returned to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around my waist, and when Jack looked up and saw me, then swallowed, I gloated internally. It was nice to know we were both feeling the same things. I also liked knowing I had the power to unsettle Jack, to rattle his control just a little.
“Did you find anything?” I nodded at his computer.
He nodded. “Yep. Amarena Martora is Azzura Scivolo’s granddaughter. I was only able to confirm it by hacking the hospital’s cameras. She walked into the building not long afteryou took off into the harbor, and another camera shows her in the maternity ward. She is registered as a guest under a fake name, but it’s definitely Azzura.”
“So what do we do now?”
Jack put a hand to his heart and let his mouth drop open dramatically. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat the question? Because it sounded an awful lot like you were deferring to me to make a decision regarding our next steps. Did you hit your head when you got stuck in that canal?”
Any previous thought I’d had about how kind Jack had been in the canal faded away. “Fuck you, Jack.”
A wry smirk tipped his lips, but he didn’t grab at the low-hanging fruit or offer any innuendo. The tension between us, especially while sharing a bed, was already thick enough to almost be tangible.
He cleared his throat and shut his laptop. “To answer your question, we’re going to pay Azzura a visit at the hospital.”
“Why? She was clearly here for her granddaughter. You said yourself that you didn’t get the vibe that she had the painting.”
“Doesn’t mean she doesn’t know something about it.”
“Fine.” While we’d been talking, I’d slipped into a pair of boxers. “Where did you put the first aid kit?”
Jack reached over to the nightstand on his side of the bed and picked up the small metal case. He held it out to me, but when I went to take it from him, he pulled it back. He kept his gaze locked on the box. “Can I help you? You won’t be able to reach the worst of the cuts.”
“Uh, sure.”
“Lie down.”
For the first time since the night I’d met Jack—back when I thought he was just some hot guy I’d met in a Colombian bar—I obeyed without hesitation. Instead of resting my head on the pillow, I flipped so my head was near the foot of the bed.
“Shit, Cal. Some of these scrapes are deep.” His fingers gently probed the edges of some of the injuries, his touch light. “The superficial ones are already healing.”
I grunted in response.
He’d set the kit on the nightstand on my side of the bed, and I heard the metal clasps open and clang against the case, followed by a faint tearing sound.
“This is probably going to hurt.”
“Just do it.” The first touch of the antiseptic pad against my shredded flesh felt like a million tiny knives, and I gritted my teeth against the intense sting.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered the words before I felt his breath against my skin as he gently blew across the scrape, easing the sting.
My cock twitched, and I was grateful I was lying down on my stomach, my dick trapped between my body and the mattress.
Jack finished cleaning the cuts, then started applying antibiotic cream. Having his hands on me was the worst kind of torture, and it took everything in me not to work my hips against the mattress as his fingers skimmed over my skin. There was nothing inherently erotic about his touch, but I’d always liked a little pain with my pleasure, and having my fated mate’s cypress, salt, and warm honey scent in my nose and his hands on my body had my libido in overdrive.
“Can you turn on the television or something?” My voice came out rough with arousal, and I needed some sort of distraction.
“Uh, sure.” Jack looked around the room, found the remote, and punched the button to turn the TV on. I didn’t need to speak Italian to get the gist of what the news anchor was saying. Someone had taken video of an orca swimming through the Venetian canals, and everyone was wondering where it had come from and if it was still in the city. Luckily, the footagewas from before I’d gotten myself stuck, but seeing it made me realize how stupid the move had been.
“Never mind. Turn it off.”
I expected some sort of snarky response, but Jack just turned the TV off again.
