CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE LOOK
Luca climbed back through the window. I balked at his casual return, studying all the thin lines of blood that were streaking his body. He didn’t look at Nic again and Nic didn’t apologize to him. He was too busy arguing with Dom.
Luca shrugged off my concern and pushed by us.
‘Hey!’ I called after him.
‘I’ll go get cleaned up.’
‘You’re hurt,’ I said to the back of his retreating head. ‘You need to go to the hospital.’
He swatted his hand in the air as he disappeared into the hall. ‘I’m fine.’
Like hell he was.
I left the room and followed him up the marble staircase, trying to decipher the feelings that were lurching inside me. There was worry – sure, his face was bleeding and his arms were cut up. There was anger, too, at Nic, because he had been a royal asshole for targeting Luca’s wound and then for throwing him through that window. But there were other things that I couldn’t place and they swirled inside me, filling me with anxiety. I wondered at the eagerness of my steps on the floor, desperate not to lose Luca as he climbed higher and higher with no regard for my shadow.
I kept staring at him, at the way he clutched his side, at the weariness in his slow steps. He had started to pick the glass out of his arms, breaking apart his skin and removing the shards without so much as a flinch. He was many things to his brothers – a constant, protective presence, wise and focused, and loyal. He was so important to the family and yet, wounded, he retracted into himself.
It wasn’t right.
He had opted to leave Nic without verbal or physical retaliation, both of which I knew he was capable of. The thought made me want to scream at someone. Why was no one coming to see if he was OK? Why did he feel it was perfectly acceptable to walk this off and to endure it by himself when any sane person would go to the emergency room to get the glass out of their skin?
He disappeared into a room on the third floor. I lingered beside the stairs, wondering what to do. He wouldn’t want me to follow him in there. But this wasn’t about letting him save face, this was about making sure he didn’t need stitches, that all the bleeding had stopped and that he was going to recover just fine. This was about showing him the care he deserved and not leaving him to suffer it in some unnecessary stoic silence.
I knocked on his door.
He opened it hesitantly. He was using a cloth to dab at the blood on his face. He paused with it pressed against his jaw as his eyes widened. ‘Sophie?’
I didn’t wait for him to stand back and allow my entry. I barged inside and, without stopping to notice the size of his room or the bed or the colours on the walls or the closet space or anything else that might have mattered to me at another time, I turned to face him, running my words together before he could kick me out. ‘I know you said you’re fine and I’m sure you are but I’m not just going to wait downstairs when I’ve just seen you go through a freaking window. It’s not right that you should be up here alone and I don’t care if you tell me to leave but I had to see for myself that you really were OK and that you didn’t feel … you didn’t feel … what? Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘Like what?’
His gaze was so penetrating it was like he was trying to pick apart the threads of my soul. I realized then why the blue in his eyes seemed so striking, why they stood out in a room of twenty Falcones and why they seemed bluer than any other pair of eyes I’d ever seen. There was a thin ring of black around the irises, a dark perimeter caging in all that bright cerulean so it wouldn’t spill over. ‘You’re just … you’re staring at me,’ I said in a voice much quieter than I meant it to be.
A muscle feathered in his jaw. He swallowed. ‘I’ll stare at you if I want to.’
Why did I feel so hot all of a sudden? It was like my lungs weren’t filling up properly any more. ‘Did you get all the glass out?’ I asked, changing the subject.
Luca dropped the cloth so I could see the scrape just below his cheek. It wasn’t deep but it was still bleeding a little. ‘I don’t know,’ he said softly. ‘I can’t see.’
I rose to my tiptoes, and without really thinking or meaning to, I moved closer to him, teetering unsteadily as I tried to examine the wound. His aftershave rolled over me and I inhaled the scent.
‘Well?’ he asked, his voice suddenly husky. ‘Will I live?’
‘I’m not sure. Let me take a closer look.’ I bit back my smile and craned my neck but swayed on my toes, falling into him. I pressed my palms against his chest to steady myself and his hands shot up, covering mine. I could feel the unsteady thump of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips.
I stared at our hands – my paleness beneath his smooth olive tan – his fingers dwarfing mine. My whole body faltered. I could sense him watching me, waiting for me to look into his eyes.
I couldn’t step away from him. In fact, the closeness of him wasn’t nearly enough. Slowly I raised my gaze. Luca’s smile tugged softly at his lips.
‘Maybe I am looking at you,’ he whispered. ‘Maybe I always have been.’
And then he kissed me.
It was slow and gentle at first, our breathing unsteady, as he combed his fingers through my hair, pulling me closer. My lips parted, and I felt his tongue brush against mine, searching, wanting more. Desire made us braver, fiercer, and I fell into him as our kiss deepened. In that moment, with the warmth of his lips on mine and his heartbeat hammering against my fingertips, it felt like coming home.