Page 42 of The Fixer

It’s still rainingwhen we pull up at the dock. “Let’s make a run for it,” I suggest as I help her out of the boat. “We only have a couple of blocks to go.”

“I can’t,” Rosa replies regretfully. “Wrong shoes. I’ll slip on the cobblestones and break my neck. You go ahead, though. There’s no need for both of us to get soaked.”

I roll my eyes and scoop her up into my arms. She squeals in surprise. “Leo,” she laughs. “Put me down. This is ridiculous.”

“Not as ridiculous as your shoes.”

“I’ll have you know that my sandals are works of art,” she says loftily. “And if you wanted me to wear sensible shoes, orsacchiotto mio,you should have warned me we were going to the beach.”

“Touché.”

We’re both drenched and laughing by the time weget home. I unlock the front door, but when I set her down inside, her laughter dies away. “I think I’ll make an early night of it,” she says, not meeting my eyes. “I’m going to take a hot shower and head to bed.”

“You haven’t eaten.”

“I’m not hungry.” She kisses my cheek. “Good night, Leo.”

I make myself a sandwich and eat it in front of the TV. A movie about a jewelry heist looks interesting, but once it starts playing, I can’t focus. With Rosa not here, the silence feels oppressive. I stare balefully at the walls of my father’s cavernous palazzo and brood. I don’t want her taking another lover in three years. Rosa’s going to bemy wife.Mine. And I don’t share. I don’t want a mistress either, damn it. I just want Rosa.

It takes me a very long time to fall asleep.

A scream splits the air.I jerk awake, my heart pounding. Bad dream? Then Rosa shrieks again, and fear twists my insides. I jump out of bed, grab mygun, and run full speed toward her bedroom, skidding to a halt as I throw open her door.

Then I blink.

Rosa’s standing next to her bed, her cream nightgown soaking wet. Water has turned the fabric transparent, and I can see every curve of her body. The deep brown of her nipples, the dark triangle between her legs, everything.

Why is she wet?“What happened?”

In reply, she points upward.

I look up. Water is running down through the ceiling.

It’s not a trickle.

It’s a downpour.

22

ROSA

Rain is pouring from the ceiling in a deluge. I’m soaked, my mattress is ruined, and puddles are starting to form on the floor. My bedroom is uninhabitable. But when Leo comes running in, I forget all my discomfort.

Because he’s naked.

My brain short-circuits. Leo is gorgeous all the time to me, with his sharp cheekbones, the scar angled across the left side of his face, and his ocean-blue eyes. But I’ve never seen him naked before. Hell, I’ve never even seen him shirtless before.

And I can’t stop staring.

His body is firm, muscled, and scarred. A priceless sculpture vandalized by graffiti. Except the scarsare an integral part of Leo, the story of his life, written on his skin.

Then there’s his cock. As hard as I try to keep my gaze averted, my eyes keep returning to it. Already impressively long and thick, it starts to engorge as he stands there until it juts out, hard, eager, and ready.

“You’re very bi—” I shut my mouth before I can finish that thought, though, from the dark flash in Leo’s eyes, he knows what I stopped myself from blurting out. “Naked. You’re naked. And you have a gun.”

“You cried out.”

I look closer at his face and notice the sweat beading on his forehead. Leo bolted out of his bedroom without bothering with clothes becausehe was afraid for me.