TWO
Before she could unstickher tongue from the roof of her mouth, he’d begun pushing her sleeve up until it hit the middle of her bicep. His expression darkened as he took in the tiny puncture wounds in the crook of her elbow. “An IV? Are you sick?”
She couldn’t exactly blame him for his alarm. The blood draws had badly bruised her, not because the nurses didn’t do a good job but because she’d always bruised easily. A symptom, she’d learned, of her rare blood type.
Without thinking, she covered the hand holding her arm with her own. His knuckles were rough with scars under her fingers. “It was just a blood test,” she assured him. “I’m fine.”
His attention snapped to her face. She stiffened, suddenly tense under the weight of his scrutiny. “Tell me what’s going on.” As if it had only just registered, he quickly demanded, “You’re leaving? Where are you going?”
Francesca blinked, taken off-guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor. Casanova had never been anything other than playful and flirtatious with her. Amitepushy, perhaps, in his charming way, but never demanding. It was unnerving to realize that she’donly experienced a part of his true personality dialed down so far she couldn’t perceive it.
Worse, she was deeply alarmed to find her knees going watery under that hard, authoritative stare.
“I’m… I’m just going away for a little while,” she answered, embarrassingly breathless. He still hadn’t released her arm, and she hadn’t let go of his hand, and it was all spiraling in a dangerous direction. “To my parents’. It’s no big deal.”
He didn’t look like he bought it. “You needed to get a blood test before you went home?”
“Coincidence,” she fudged. “Can I do my job now?”
His fingers slid down her arm to grasp her hand. Her breath hitched. “Depends. Are you gonna lie to me some more, sugar?”
“I just clean your house,” she replied, unable to find a better excuse to explain why she hesitated to tell the truth. She was a terrible liar on a good day, and when he stared down at her with that stern face, something in her leapt to give him anything he asked of her.
Using her hand, he turned her away from the counter. Away from her job. Away from good sense and all the complicated, dangerous turns her life had suddenly taken.
“I thought we were friends,” he murmured, stepping closer.
Friends.The word hit her square in that soft, vulnerable core he so effortlessly touched.
She almost wished they were true friends. That would make everything a little more tolerable, including her feelings.
But they weren’t.
They werefriendly,certainly, and the gods knew she enjoyed his company way too much. That didn’t make them real friends, though. He was one of her many clients. She cleaned his barely-used penthouse. He flirted with her relentlessly, but if she’d ever thought she was special, that dream was thoroughly dashed that night at Georgio’s.
Perhaps more tellingly, she’d seen his bedroom.
It didn’t matter that he appeared to barely use the penthouse. He’d still had what had to be a custom bed installed, one that came with rings and straps that tucked neatly out of sight when not in use. There were drawers she’d been warned not to peer into, and it didn’t take a genius to guess why he had a collection of ropes hung artfully on the wall.
She didn’t judge him for any of it. If anything, she was painfully intrigued by what she’d seen. But she also knew that a man who didthosesorts of things as regularly as his set-up suggested…
Maybe Casanova was a lovely, caring man, but he wasn’therman, and she owed him no answers.
Especially when she had a feeling he’d disapprove, if only because it meant she might never come back.
Keenly aware of that fact herself, she decided that she didn’t want to ruin the last moments she spent with him. Francesca gave his hand a gentle squeeze when she said, “I promise, everything is fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“That’s strike two,” he warned. “Keep this up and you’ll see where it gets you.”
Francesca’s eyebrows lifted. Pulling her hand out of his, she reached for her rag. “Oh, so we’re doing that now?”
“I prefer to reward good behavior rather than punish the bad, but if needs must.” Casanova jerked his chin toward the rag. “You’re done for the day.”
“What?” Her back straightened. He’d never been like this with her before. It was annoyingly thrilling.
“I said you’re done,” he repeated in that same authoritative tone. “No more cleaning. You are going to sit that gorgeous ass on my couch and tell me why you’re avoiding my questions.”
“You think my ass is gorgeous?” The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Heat scorched her cheeks.Lunging for her bucket, she began to throw her supplies in as quickly as possible. “No, no! Don’t answer that. I’m just gonna— If you don’t want me to clean, I’ll just?—”