Page 8 of Diavolo

Ever the opportunist, he didn't miss a beat. "I am suffering from a fatal wound,angelo. I could not possibly wash myself. You will have to do it."

Elyse sidestepped his request, "You seem to have recovered enough. Just don't get your bandages wet."

He frowned. Displeasure loomed over him like a storm cloud. "Your confidence feels misplaced. I do not feel well at all."

"Your god-like vitals suggest otherwise."

"I almost died," he reminded her.

"But you survived," she reminded him.

"I could still die."

"Not on my watch."

"Is that a promise?"

"Absolutely. Your well-being is the only thing that matters right now."

His eyes flickered. "Why,angelo, have you, perhaps, developed feelings for me?"

She grinned. "Not at all. I just don't want to die because of you."

He scowled.

Elyse bit back another grin. Much in the way an adult might deal with an unruly child, she decided to extend an olive branch to make up for teasing him. "Would you like some help getting undressed?"

His scowl slowly curved into a smile. Immediately, Elyse berated herself. She hadn't meant for her words to come out in such a suggestive manner. In a low voice, he muttered,"Per favore."

With those two words, a magnetic lull forged between them. He was still lying on the floor of her living room. Elyse knelt down beside him. The moment they made eye contact, she felt a blush creep up her cheeks. Elyse quickly looked away. Her once steady hands became embarrassingly unsteady as she started unbuttoning his dress shirt.

He asked softly, "Am I making you nervous?"

"No," she lied.

His gaze remained intent upon her. "Do not worry. I will not bite."

Her breath hitched. Elyse felt at a loss. She didn't know how to react under such scrutiny. Why did he affect her so much? As a surgeon, Elyse came across body parts on the operating tableevery day. She was thoroughly familiar with human anatomy, both inside and out, but, for some reason, the sight of this particular man's bare skin unnerved her to the core.

In vain, Elyse attempted to combat her wayward hormones with logic and reason. She'd seen this man at his weakest and most vulnerable, after all. It felt wrong to look at him through any lens other than a medical one. Over the past twenty-four hours, she'd been his caretaker whenever he needed to eat, drink, or use the bathroom. To her, he was a temporary responsibility. To him, she was a temporary lifeline. Nothing more should exist between them.

When the last button on his shirt came undone, Elyse lifted her eyes to meet his gaze again. Brown and blue-gray. Individually, the colors were beautiful. Together, they became striking. Logic and reason faltered as her nerves unraveled some more. "I'll, um, need you to, uh, work with me to pull your arms from the sleeves. I don't want you to put too much pressure on your wound."

Together, they worked in unison to remove his shirt. Carefully, Elyse rolled him onto his left side. He took out his arm. She maneuvered him to his right side. The rest of his shirt slipped away with a hushed, rustling sound.

Her eyes drank in the sight of his bared torso. Even with the violent scarring, his body was a work of art. Broad shoulders, muscled chest, strong arms, tapered waist. There wasn't an ounce of fat on this man. He was flawlessly chiseled and carved like Michelangelo's David. An inscription in Latin was inked onto one of his upper biceps. A coiled serpent rested upon the left side of his chest, right over his heart. There were more tattoos scattered across his upper back, his neck, and the back of his hands. Several dates were inscribed in bold Roman numerals. Some roses wrapped in more snakes. A cracked skullimpaled by an ornate cross. Everything was etched in black. The man appeared to be allergic to color.

Tentatively, he reached over to clasp her wrist. Elyse realized, too late, that she had forgotten to put on her gloves. The brush of his skin against hers felt forbidden. He was her patient. She was his physician. He guided her hand toward the waistband of his trousers, letting her fingers hover over his crotch before releasing his grip on her wrist. He observed her as she ogled him. In truth, it felt as though he was always observing her. Elyse resented him for this almost as much as she hated her attraction to him.

In a devil-like whisper, he urged once more,"Per favore."

Almost in a trance, Elyse's hands began to move on their own accord. The hook and bar at the waistband of his pants unclasped. The zipper slid down. She reached around his hips to pull down his pants. He was now sprawled before her in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. An unmistakable tent greeted her. His size was impressive, and he didn't even appear to be fully aroused.

She coughed awkwardly. All of a sudden, her apartment felt overly warm and much too cramped to house the both of them. Her eyes darted toward his underwear. "Did you want to, um, leave this on?"

The man's pupils dilated, edging out the brown and blue-gray until they became black. "Would you like me to leave it on?"

No.She cleared her throat. "Yes."

---