Page 32 of Broken Princess

“Right,” he says, breathing out a sigh of relief. He turns over the ignition and pulls away. One hand on the wheel, the other curling round my thigh. He strokes up and down the seam of my jeans, and while it soothes me, I can tell from the way his shoulders drop and the contented little moan he releases that it comforts him too. “Let’s go home.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

AURORA

Benny and Nico have been gone for hours, and Sinclair has yet to emerge from his tech-cave. Which has left Enzo and me alone. We’ve been sitting in a comfortable yet strange silence while I torture him with more episodes of period dramas. He’s had the same odd expression on his face for the last two episodes, and if I didn’t know better, I’d almost say he was enjoying this.

Every muscle in my body is protesting at the ordered bed rest they’re insisting I adhere to. Yes, nearly everything hurts, but the bits that weren’t injured are now aching and making every joint seize. As the credits roll on the latest episode, I try to massage out the knots in my shoulder, forgetting about my fractured collarbone for a moment. I squeal in shock as pain lances through me.

Enzo is quick to jump up from the couch and appear at my side with his trademark look of concern. I appreciate it, but it was my own stupid fault. Guess I have no patience with being a patient. I’m healing at a snail’s pace, and though I can feel a tiny improvement since yesterday, the painkillers I’m not rejecting aren’t touching the pain.

“Why won’t you take any of the stronger painkillers, Aurora?” Enzo asks, with deference in his tone.

Balls, I don’t want to have this conversation. Keeping my eyes focussed on my hands in my lap, worrying my fingers together, I reply in a small voice, “They make me loopy—I can’t think clearly when I’m on them and I don’t know where I am. Right now, the only thing keeping me remotely sane is knowing that I’m safe here. If I take them, I won’t know that for sure… and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anywhere close to safe.”

Zo takes a moment to study me and absorb my words. “I can understand that. What can I do to help?”

This version of him feels like an entirely new person to me. Every time our eyes meet, I feel seen. Understood. Supported. He understands my boundaries but knows when to push them to give him what he needs to control the situation. I trust him, and because of that I feel compelled to share more with him than I think I have with anyone other than my sister. The sensation is foreign, but not unwelcome.

“Nothing, to be honest. Aside from my obvious injuries, everything just aches. I’m stuck on bed-rest and my muscles are protesting. A lot.”

He pauses, considering something, but releases a sigh and looks like he lost a battle within himself. “Shit, barring the heavy-duty meds, there’s nothing Doc Em will let us do. Until your stitches dissolve, I don’t think we can even put you in a bath.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Zo. I’m just feeling sorry for myself. It’s not like I haven’t done this a hundred times before. Just got to suck it up,” I say with a bravado I’m not sure I feel inside.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers, leaning in and brushing an errant strand of my hair behind my ear. “Don’t belittle your pain.”

Well shit. What kind of wizardry is this? How does this man disarm every defence mechanism I have? I hold his stare, trying desperately to tamp down this unwelcome bubble of emotion that refuses to be suppressed. A garbled cry escapes from my throat and before I know it, I’m crying.

What the actual fuck?

Enzo says nothing but leans in, lifts me from the bed as gently as he can, and carries me to the couch. With the utmost care, he settles in the centre, cradling me in his lap and positions me so my head rests on his shoulder and allows me to nuzzle into his neck and breathe him in. His rich, oaky scent overwhelms my senses and the strength that he exudes envelops me. The warmth of his body encourages me to nestle into the soft fibres of his henley.

“Let it out, guerrierotta,”

And I do. I cry until I drift off to sleep, sniffling into his shirt.

I wake up in his arms. It feels exquisite—better than I have any right to feel. He’s still asleep, his head is tipped up leaning against the back of the couch. His unruly dark hair sweeping off his forehead gives me a chance to study the planes of his face. If you were to sculpt the definition of masculine out of marble, it would be this man.

As I continue to study him, I trace the lines etched in his face. Even when sleeping, he looks like he’s concerned. Taking responsibility for something and never letting the mantle of leader slip. I reach out without realising it and run my hand up the back of his neck and thread my fingers into his hair. Scraping my nails through the soft hair at the base of his scalp absentmindedly. It’s just long enough to rake my fingers through without getting them tangled.

Who looks after you, I wonder?

“No one, Aurora.”

“Fuck, that was out loud, wasn’t it?”

When he lifts his head to nod, I realise I’m still fondling his hair, so I pull my hand away, mortified to be caught manhandling him. This blush broadcasting my embarrassment seems to burn a path across every square inch of my skin.

An unexpected twinge of pain surprises me and I grimace as it ebbs and flows through me, making me realise it’s about time for my painkillers. I wriggle on his lap trying to get comfortable, however I stop abruptly when my movement alerts me to Zo’s rather impressive hard-on announcing itself beneath me and I’m left dumbfounded. Sweet Jesus, that can’t be an accurate impression of what he’s packing?

He falters for a moment as he clocks my reaction and looks equally embarrassed. Lifting me swiftly but carefully, he returns me to my bed. Coughing awkwardly and turning away from me to face the counter, he adjusts himself as discreetly as possible. Which is not at all. If I were a better woman, I would look away.

I am not a better woman.

He glances over his shoulder, and I try to hide my smile but I’m not quick enough and again he throws out one of those, ohmygod, eye rolls of mortification.

I giggle—I can’t help it. I always find it amusing how some of the most masculine men I've ever known get spooked when it comes to natural bodily functions. “Grab a shower, Zo, and take care of that. Send down this morning’s nurse-come-babysitter.”

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