Page 47 of On Ice

“But I can’t leave?”

“No. It’s best if you don’t for now.”

I scowl. “How is that me not being a hostage? People will notice I’m missing. I have to go to practice. You can’t just keep me here,” I rasp. “This is insane, Luca. You have to let me go home.”

“And I’m telling you that isn’t an option at this time.” His voice is colder than before. “You need to learn to listen better. It’s becoming quite tiresome having to repeat things.”

“I’m sorry you’re tired of repeating yourself, but this situation isn’t exactly fun for me either.”

“You’re making it way harder than it has to be by fighting me every step of the way,” he rumbles, inching closer. The hairson the back of my neck stiffen as he moves around me slowly. He’s so close his shoulder brushes mine. I feel the heat of his body and can smell his crisp cologne. “I didn’t go to all this trouble to let you run home and get yourself murdered. I want you alive. I told you that.”

“Luca,” I say hoarsely, “I don’t understand why you’re doing any of this.”

He lets out a tired sigh. “I can’t say I’m a hundred percent sure myself.”

“Then let me go.”

“No.” He stops moving, his chest brushing lightly against my back. He makes no attempt to put his hands on me, but his breath is warm against my nape. His hips shift against me, and I feel he’s hard. “Not yet.”

I shiver because I’m aroused too. Goosebumps cover my flesh as we stand near each other. My reaction to him is bewildering. I can’t stand the guy, but my body wants him. It’s confusing and aggravating as hell. My lust toward Luca is almost like a sickness. A fever. I’ve never been attracted to anyone I disliked before. The rational side of me wants nothing more than to get away from Luca and never see him again. But my body wants more of what we had that first night together.

If he touches me, I’m afraid of what I’ll do.

But he doesn’t touch me. He moves away.

“I have work to do.” His voice is strained as he heads to the door of my room. “I’ll make sure you’re fed breakfast and lunch. Later, I’ll have dinner with you. If you behave, we can go for a walk on the grounds.”

“If I behave?” I repeat gruffly. “What does that mean?”

He pauses after unlocking the door. “It means show some gratitude, Evan. Keeping you alive is more work than you know. I’m risking a lot to do it and I’d appreciate it if you had a better attitude.”

“I don’t know how to have a good attitude in this situation,” I admit tersely.

A muscle jerks in his cheek. “I understand why you don’t trust me, but I promise, in this moment, you can. I won’t pretend to be a good man, but I am a man of my word. I’m sincerely trying to keep you alive.” He leaves the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

His parting words make me feel weird. Almost ashamed. I prefer angry Luca to conciliatory Luca. When he’s violent or enraged, I can clearly see the monster that he is. But when he acts like my mistrust wounds him, that’s just baffling. Why in the world would Luca Barone give two shits about what I think of him?

Chapter Fourteen

Luca

The fluorescent lights of Marco’s hospital room buzz faintly, their cold glow reflecting off the linoleum floors and sterile white walls. Marco looks pretty good, considering. I’m hugely relieved he appears as unscathed as he does. Sure, he has a broken leg, but he could have died. His bed is angled slightly upright, and he looks about as comfortable as a guy with a shattered leg can be.

His dark hair is mussed, his jaw peppered with stubble. He’s not the kind of man who likes lying around, and he looks bored and simultaneously agitated. “When can I get out of here?” he asks, his voice is low, gravelly, and laced with frustration.

“You need surgery before you’re going anywhere.” I grimace, eyeing his broken leg.

The hospital has his leg encased in a bulky, black immobilizer brace, propped up on pillows. Metal rods extend out from it, an external fixator, the nurse told me when I asked about it on the way up. They’re holding the bone in place while they wait for the swelling to go down enough for surgery.

He groans. “I can’t fucking believe this shit.”

“I know it’s nuts.” I sit in the chair beside the bed. It’s uncomfortable, all hard plastic and unforgiving angles, but I can’t stay long. “But hey, now you have a very cool story to tell. I mean, how many people can say they survived a mudslide?”

“I’d rather not have a story and have a working leg instead,” he grumbles.

My stomach twists with sympathy for my friend. There’s also a little guilt. It was because of me that he was even up on that mountain. “I’m just really happy you’re alive, Marco.” My voice is sincere and he looks a little uncomfortable. We don’t talk about feelings and stuff like that usually. But I almost lost my best friend. At the very least I should tell him I’m happy he’s still around.

Marco sighs, fiddling with a loose string on the thin hospital blanket. “What’s been happening while I’ve been stuck in here? I feel very out of touch with everything.”

---