Chapter Nine
Allies
Imake my way back to the bedroom, still in my damp swimwear, my skin prickling with goosebumps, not only from the coolness but from the thrum of feeling alive and alert. Well past two in the morning now, and I doubt I will sleep. In the room, I look at myself in the full-length mirror. Mud is caked on my knees, down both arms and across my torso. I strip off completely, tossing the watch Nishan gifted me onto the bedside cabinet. A hot shower seems like the perfect antidote.
Beneath the rainfall shower, I let the water rinse the grime away. What happened downstairs has me confused. Should I feel concerned that the villa walls were breached and four assailants targeted me? Because I don’t. If anything, I am exhilarated by the encounter, given permission to defend myself and submit to innate fighting instincts. I am more confused at the quietly coordinated response of the house staff, Mrs Bellacci and herson. I appreciate that they might need to protect themselves this far out in the countryside, but not only did they appear unsurprised, their methods were also coldly efficient. And if I am wrong, and the men were not targeting me, then what was their purpose? Are burglars in this country usually so heavily armed? I find that hard to believe. We have a lot to discuss later this morning.
Still in the cubicle, I am towelling myself dry when I hear a sound from the bedroom.
“Gabriel?”
Although I know the owner of the voice, hearing Lorenzo call me by my given name for the first time takes me by surprise.
“In the shower. Give me a moment.”
From what I know of him, I doubt he will obey. Perhaps he’ll come barging into the bathroom, dropping his clothes on the tiled floor, opening the shower’s glass door and stepping inside. After ordering me to wash him, he will allow me to crush his body against the glass and claim him. Or perhaps that’s my overactive imagination responding to the evening’s excitement and my suppressed libido after a long dry spell.
He won’t harm me because I know he’s not my enemy. Instincts tell me that loud and clear. His attraction is wild and rugged, uncultured yet unaffected, with a solid, muscled, raw physique more suited to the brooding figure of a highly trained street fighter. Even the thought of him makes me semi-hard.
I emerge into the bedroom with the towel tied around my waist to find him standing outside the door to my bedroom. His expression is as unreadable as ever. Wearing a loose black T-shirt now, splatters of blood are still slick on one of his forearms, with a spot on his right cheek. No doubt there is more beneath the shirt. He holds the towel I used for swimming in one hand, something he could have left at the end of the bed.
“I return this to you.”
“Thank you. Please come in.”
He hesitates a second before stepping into the room. The temperature has cooled with nightfall, and I have left a fresh pair of boxers and a white tee on the bed. As I twist around to pick up my shorts from the covers, I let the bath towel drop from around my waist to the floor.
“You can use my shower, if you wish,” I say, as I turn to face him.
“Why? You want to watch me again?” comes his response after a moment’s hesitation, but this time the ghost of a smile softens his face.
I observe him calmly as his gaze moves down my naked body, pausing a second to notice my slightly swollen cock. His eyes rest there a while but his expression gives nothing away.
“After the events of tonight, I thought you might prefer the relative safety of an indoor shower,” I reply as I haul on my boxers. “Rather than standing the chance of being attacked by more intruders.”
“We also have an indoor shower.” His eyes finally meet mine. “And I can take care of myself.”
“You most certainly can.”
As I pull on my T-shirt, he remains standing there, observing me, as though he is trying to figure something out or has more words he needs to speak. I notice his English is much better than I initially thought. Or maybe he had a reason to conceal the fact.
“You swim well,” he says. “You do this to maintain good health?”
“Until recently, I used to swim at least once a day. How about you? How do you manage to keep yourself looking so good?”
“You think I look good?”
“I—yes, I do.”
His face softens, not a smile exactly, but a distinct relaxing of his features.
“I carry out—how do you say—manual labour tasks. Outdoor work in the villa grounds. And in the past, physical training has been an important part of my routine.”
We stand there awkwardly. Lorenzo seems almost as inept at small talk as I am, something I find endearing. I notice he is still holding the towel he brought, and I step forward.
“Shall I take that from you?”
He holds out the damp cloth, and as I reach for it with one hand, I can’t help but brush my thumb over the spot of blood on his cheek with the other. My thumb grazes the bristles of his face while I watch his expression. Surprisingly, he doesn’t flinch or move but I am sure he leans a fraction into the touch. He gazes back at me until I am done.