Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
As I worked, I became acutely aware of the warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips, of the subtle floral scent that clung to her hair, of the way her breath caught whenever our skin made contact. Each small reaction sent a corresponding jolt through my system, a current of awareness that intensified the longer we remained in this strange bubble of intimacy.
I selected an appropriate bandage and applied it carefully. I glanced up, finding her gaze already on me, watching my face with an intensity that made my chest tighten.
Neither of us looked away. The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with something I hadn't felt in years, if ever. This close, I could see flecks of gold in her green eyes, could count each freckle dusting her nose, could track the rapid pulse visible at the base of her throat. Her lips parted slightly, and I found my gaze drawn to them, wondering if they would feel as soft as they looked.
The thought startled me back to reality. What was I doing? She was an employee, a waitress who'd been at The Gray barely two weeks. I was her boss, and I was sitting in a break room, tending her wounds like we were... what? What was this?
Yet I couldn't bring myself to pull away. Instead, I finished securing the bandage, my touch lingering longer than necessary as my. Her pulse jumped beneath my fingers, matching the erratic beat of my own heart.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible even in the quiet room. She still looked up at me, searching for something. Confusion and intrigue warred on her expression. "I don't understand why you're doing this."
Neither did I. The thought was unsettling. I operated on logic, on careful calculation, always weighing risks against rewards. Nothing about my behavior in the last hour could be categorized as logical. I'd ruined an expensive suit, barely noticed as I knelt in spilled whiskey worth thousands, and was now personally bandaging a cut that any of my staff could have handled. All for a woman I barely knew.
"You were injured," I said finally, my voice low. "It happened in my club." The explanation sounded hollow even to myself.
Belle studied my face again. "I don't think the owner typically bandages employees' cuts," she said softly, a very small hint of challenge in her voice.
I still held her wrist and was disturbed at how much I savored the feel of her skin. I could feel her pulse, quick but steady, beneath my touch. I should have released her then, should have stood up, established the proper distance between employer and employee. Instead, I found myself tightening my grip slightly, drawing her hand closer.
"I guess I’m not a typical owner," I replied, the words coming out rougher than I intended.
Belle's breath caught audibly, her chest rising and falling more rapidly. "No," she agreed, her eyes never leaving mine. "You're definitely not what I expected."
I knew I was crossing a line, knew that every second I remained sitting here, holding her hand, looking into her eyes, I was venturing further into territory I'd always avoided. Yet I couldn't seem to make myself stop.
"Mr. Luca —" she began, but I cut her off.
“Dario.” I have no idea why I gave her permission to call me by my first name, but I wasn’t taking it back.
Belle hesitated, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Um, Dario.”
The sound of my name on her lips sent a jolt of heat through my body like I’d never experienced. The fire settled low in my stomach. For a wild moment, I considered pulling her toward me, discovering if her mouth tasted as sweet as it looked. The thought terrified me almost as much as it tempted me.
The sound of the break room door swinging open shattered the moment between us. I looked up to see several staff members hovering in the doorway, their expressions ranging from shock to undisguised curiosity. They froze when they realized I had caught them staring. I recognized the head bartender, a couple of servers, and one of the kitchen staff, all gawking at the unprecedented sight of Dario Luca, feared boss and notorious hardass, personally bandaging a new waitress's injured hand.
I felt Belle tense beside me, her fingers curling slightly in my grasp. She tried to pull away, but I tightened my hold imperceptibly, keeping her hand in place as I finished securing the bandage.
My expression hardened into the mask I typically wore, my jaw tightening. "Is there a problem?" I asked, my tone sharp enough to cut glass.
"No, sir," the head bartender answered quickly. "We were just checking on Belle."
"Were you?" I raised an eyebrow. "All of you. At once."
They shifted uncomfortably under my gaze, exchanging nervous glances. The kitchen staff member muttered something about getting back to work and retreated. The others hesitated.