Page 48 of The Savage

The nurses return after the table and chair Renzo demanded are brought in and placed next to his bed, wheeling in a tray that smells of pastries, butter and espresso. Steam curls upward in delicate ribbons. My stomach betrays me with a growl, but I press my lips together, ignoring it.

He notices. Of course he does.

‘Go on. Eat,’ he says.

‘I’ll wait until you’ve been served,’ I counter automatically.

He cocks an eyebrow. ‘You planning to wait all day? I’m not hungry.’

‘Then I’ll wait until you are,’ I repeat.

He smirks, eyes glittering. ‘Fine. I’ll eat. But only if you feed me.’

I blink, certain I’ve misheard. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You heard me, Sister.’ His grin widens, dangerous and amused. ‘You want me to eat? Make it worth my while.’ There’s an audible gasp from one of the nurses, but he doesn’t even glance her way. His focus stays on me, eyes gleaming and daring.

‘Besides.’ He lifts his cast-encased, partially bandaged hand, ignoring the perfectly capable one lying next to mine. The one he used to hold mine all night. ‘I’m an invalid.’

Heat climbs my throat. I should refuse. I should call his bluff. But something in me wants to show him, and me, he doesn’t unnerve me. That this fluttering inside me is nothing but a natural reaction to being kidnapped.

‘Fine,’ I say quietly.

I move to the tray, pick up the spoon. The honey-drizzled porridge steams faintly as I bring it to him. He opens his mouth obediently, lips parting around the silver. My pulse thrums so loud I barely hear the nurses whispering as they retreat.

When he swallows, his gaze doesn’t drop from mine as he licks his full lower lip. The lip I can’t seem to stop staring at. ‘Hmm, yummy.’ He nods at the bowl. ‘Again.’

The word drips like honey, but something else hums beneath it. Gratitude, maybe. Or fascination.

I feed him another spoonful. Then another. The silence grows dense and intimate.

‘Your turn,’ he says eventually.

‘I’m not⁠—’

He nods towards the tray. ‘Eat, Giada. Don’t make me mad at you.’

I lower myself onto the edge of the bed, feeling the heat of his body through the thin sheet. My knees brush his. I lift a small piece of toast, bite into it, aware of his eyes following every motion. He watches me through bite after bite, and I… Heavens, why do I not hate everything about this?

Why do I want… breathlessly… more of it?

He shifts in the bed. And when I glance up, I see it – him. The unmistakable evidence of his desire beneath the sheet.

My breath catches. I look away too fast, cheeks burning. My hand trembles as the last piece of toast falls from my nerveless fingers.

‘A decent man would apologise. But I’m not a decent man, angel. Besides, I can’t help it,’ he says softly. ‘You’re so fucking beautiful. Over the years, I’ve driven myself crazy wondering how you would turn out. How you would’ve changed. I should curse God for making you even more breathtaking. But how can I when He gave me something to worship again?’

I shake my head, mortified, though my pulse is singing wild and oh so reckless. ‘That’s blasphemy.’

‘Maybe,’ he murmurs. ‘But it’s also true.’

‘Do you always say things like that to women?’

‘Only the ones who stop my heart.’

I glare at him, though it’s weaker than I intended. ‘You’re impossible. And incorrigible.’

‘Good,’ he says, mouth curving. ‘Way better than being boring and predictable.’