Page 105 of For Your Eyes Only

“A Giana Rossi original?”

“I prefer the House of Rossi.” Her smile is cautiously proud. “He described the concept. I found the fabric, then I sketched out a pattern. It kind of… comes up the sides like this and crisscrosses at the neck. It’s not really daring.”

“I like it. I’m sure when he wears it, you’ll get more commissions.”

“I designed all my costumes at The Rhino.” She turns the fabric, stitching a Velcro closure along the back. “A few of Shula’s, too.”

“It sounds to me like costuming is your gift.”

She shrugs. “Maybe, but I don’t know how I’d get my foot in the door. Once Michele goes back to Florida, I’ll be far away.”

“Lately, I’ve noticed how life has a funny way of circling around if you work hard and keep trying.” I stretch my back against the headboard. “For instance, I actually think I’m going to survive this, and here I am… with you.”

Large brown eyes blink up to mine, then she quickly looks away. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. You’re too young to die.”

Exhaling a sharp pain, I shake my head. “It’s a wonder I’ve survived this long.”

“How did it happen?”

It takes me a minute to think about it, to remember how that night played out. “This was actually an accident. I got in between two friends who were fighting.”

“What kind of friends fight with guns?”

That makes me laugh, which again shoots pain through my injury. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back, waiting for it to pass.

She’s at my side so fast, placing her cool hand against my forehead. “Are you okay?” Fear is in her voice, and when I open my eyes, hers are softer. “Please let me give you something.”

Only one thing I want from her…

“I’m okay.” I do my best to breathe through the pain, to force a chuckle. “I guess I have nine lives.” She’s so close, I have to take a chance. “I hope I’m able to spend one of them with you.”

It’s too fast.

The momentary warmth in her eyes shutters, as if she just remembered something. Something like I hurt her.

She stands, pulling on invisible armor. “I’ll let you stay until your strength is back, but don’t get confused. We’re not going down that road again.”

Nodding, I rest my head against the wall. I have no one to blame but myself for her defensiveness. “I understand.”

CHAPTER30

GIA

Aweek passes, and Trip continues to heal. I continue to sleep every night in the bed with him beside me. I keep my back turned, but I feel his breath against my skin. His scent is all over my sheets, citrus and suede, heating my body and weakening my resistance.

The place between my thighs remembers how it felt to be touched by him, and I grow wet. When I finally sleep, I make love to him in my dreams. His mouth is on my breasts, kissing and sucking. His mouth is between my thighs, licking and thrusting. I wake with my heart beating and my body surging with need. I long to slide my hand between my thighs and soothe that ache, but this bed is too small. He’s too close. It’s torture.

DJ stops by every day to check on him and help him shower and change his bandages. I’m grateful he’s around, because I’m not sure how I would respond to being so close to Trip naked. I’m not sure I could handle seeing his injury.

When he arrived here in so much pain, my heart literally ached. As much as he hurt me, I couldn’t bear the sight of him suffering, much less the thought he might die. I had to fight the tears, fight the urge to hold him, especially when he looked at me with so much longing.

His strength increases daily. He’s able to sit up on his own. He’s even able to take a few steps, but it saps his energy. He sleeps a lot, and when he’s awake, we talk.

He told me more about his father, how he grew up watching him belittle his mother and bully everyone else, including him. He told me about the massive apartment overlooking Central Park, and the friends he made there, the two sisters who lived above him and how they played in the courtyard as children. I imagine him as a little boy, his hair lighter, his cheeks chubby, climbing on the fountain and hiding in the passageways.

Our relationship is growing deeper than what we had in Florida, and the walls I’ve erected to keep him out start to crack. He swallowed so much pain in his early life. I want to smooth my hand over his forehead, make him explain why he said those cruel words to me. Why would he throw away what we had that way?

When it’s time for his antibiotic, I sit on the side of the bed, holding a glass of water.

---