“You wouldn’t dare.” I narrow my eyes at the cocky bastard, mirroring his stance in defiance.
“Try me.” He raises a brow, challenging me, and I really want to see if he’s true to his word. Although, I get the feeling he is, and if I didn’t have something important to do, like find my fucking phone so I can see that goddamn text message, then I’d be testing my own theory.
Not today, Satan. Not to-fucking-day.
Our stare-off feels like it lasts a lifetime before he speaks again.
“Looking for something?”
I huff and move my hands to my hips. “And the award for observation goes to Marco Mancini.”
With a couple of confident strides toward me, his hands sliding into the pockets of his slacks, we’re now toe-to-toe. His size and height should intimidate me. Instead, I smirk up at him, loving that I’m getting under his skin. He brings a hand up to my face, fingers around my jaw with his palm on my neck, and leans down so his stormy gray eyes are level with mine.
I’m sure he’s about to give me a telling off, and before I can voice my defense, his lips are on mine. It’s not soft, and the low growl he emits as his tongue demands entrance has my nipples hardening against the scratchy hospital gown. I bring my hands up to his chest to push him away, but he grabs my wrists with his free hand and holds them there, pinning me to his solid body.
When he pulls away, sucking my tongue as he goes, he lets me go and I stumble. His arms shoot out to steady me, and he grabs my hips to sit me back onto the bed.
“Stay. Now, what are you looking for?”
My lips feel swollen, but I won’t let him see he’s affecting me. Instead, I let out another small huff and mumble something about my phone.
“So you can be trained.”
Oh no he didn’t.
“Go screw yourself with a rusty fish fork.” I’m not swearing, purposefully. This asshole isn’t getting the pleasure of my lips around his probably giant cock—if the bulge in his pants is anything to go by. I’m a motherfucking queen at blow jobs, he has not earned one.
His low chuckle has me rolling my eyes, it sends an unwanted tingle to my clit, and it can fuck right off. He walks over to my bedside table and opens the drawer, and would you believe it? He finds both my phones.
“These what you’re looking for, Dolcezza?” He holds them both up, that cocky eyebrow raised again, and a smirk on his stupidly beautiful face.
“Yes. Thank you.” I hold out my hand for them, after barely getting the words thank you out of my mouth.
“An ass show, backing down, and now a thank you?” His tone is definitely sarcastic as he hands the phones over, but there’s a hint of worry in his eyes too. “Must be my lucky day.”
“Well, it’s got to be someone’s, and it certainly isn’t mine, is it?” I meet his gaze again, pushing every ounce of hatred I have for this man out, praying for this job to be over quickly. I may have a contract with him, well, mostly, but that doesn’t mean he gets to be a complete dick to me.
Agonizingly slowly, he runs his fingers through my hair, stopping to cup the back of my head in his hand. He holds me there, staring up at him. He surprises me by gently kissing my forehead before turning to walk away. As he opens the room door, he looks over his shoulder at me to speak. “Two minutes, Dolcezza.” Then he leaves, closing the door behind him.
“Argh!” I let out a cry of frustration. For my situation, for Marco’s asshole behavior… for Mr. Bobby’s life.
Deep inhale, deep exhale.
Focus, River.
I turn my personal phone on and wait for it to load. After inputting my code, the phone comes to life and I immediately open my messages, just as Marco comes back in like an indoor hurricane.
“Doc said you can go home in the morning. Put these on.” He throws some pink sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt on the bed next to me. They’re fucking disgusting. I’m all for wearing what you like, but sweatpants—especially bubblegum pink ones—have never been a me thing. The clothes knock my hand, and my phone tumbles to the floor—thank fuck I invested in the super-clumsy-person case.
Marco bends to pick it up for me, and I could get used to seeing him on his knees, but I shake that thought away as he looks at my screen. His face changes from smug bastard, to downright feral.
“What the fuck is this, River?” Turning my screen to me, he shows me what has soured the atmosphere.
The text message.
And now I remember it.
That was supposed to be for you.