Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Six
Nicholas carried me in his arms, his grip firm yet careful as he moved from the car to the room. My vision is slightly unclear from the pain, my knees still dripping with blood. 

I held it tightly, trying to control the severe pain that pulsed through me. Every heartbeat sent another wave of sharp pain down my knee, and I could feel myself getting weaker from the blood loss.

Through my haze, I caught sight of Nicholas’s face. His expression was dark. The usual cold indifference in his eyes had been replaced with something unfamiliar. Genuine worry. 

He looked terrible, almost as if he were in pain himself.

I swallowed my words “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at me. Instead, he set me down on the edge of the bed and immediately reached for the first aid box, his movements sharp and precise. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion—only determination.

As he tore open a pack of bandage and grabbed the antiseptic, I found myself staring at him, unable to look away. It was baffling—how could a man as ruthless as Nicholas, a man feared by the underworld, show such care? Such tenderness?

Claire and Roman stepped forward, their faces filled with concern, ready to assist. But before they could get close, Nicholas’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

“Get out.”

His tone was ice-cold, leaving no room for argument. Claire hesitated for a moment, glancing at me as if seeking confirmation, but Roman gently pulled her back. Without another word, they both stepped away, leaving us alone.

The room fell into silence except for the sound of Nicholas tearing open another bandage. His fingers brushed against my skin, his touch unexpectedly gentle despite the tension in his posture.

I shivered, not just from the pain but from the way his touch lingered, from the way his eyes briefly flashed to meet mine before focusing on my wound again.

For a man who had built his entire empire on cruelty and dominance, Nicholas Romano was surprisingly... careful.

but it was nothing compared to the heat of Nicholas’s touch. His fingers skimmed over my thigh, slow and deliberate, as he cleaned the wound. I hissed, both from pain and something far more dangerous—awareness.

“Hold still, princess,” he murmured, voice low, almost teasing. “Unless you want me to hurt you more.”

I glared at him, though the effect was weak with my body betraying me. He was too close, too steady, too in control. The room was dim, the only light coming from the lamp on the bedside table, casting golden shadows over his sharp features.

“You’re enjoying this,” I accused, in a calm tone.

His lips twitched, that signature smirk playing at the corner. “I enjoy watching you feel uncomfortable.”

The bastard was right. I was squirming.

The excitement had worn off and I was tired.  My senses were sharp—sharper than they had ever been. Every touch, every shift of his fingers against my bare skin sent sparks up my spine. The air between us thickened, heavy with something unspoken, something sweet.

His hand lingered on my laps, longer than necessary.

I swallowed hard. “Are you done?”

Nicholas didn’t answer right away. His eyes, dark , flicked up to meet mine. He was studying me, as if waiting for something. As if daring me to acknowledge what was happening between us.

The silence stretched.

He looked at me lustfully, I could see the longing in his eyes that he wanted me badly. And then he moved.

Slowly, torturously, his hand traced upward, past the wound, over the curve of my hip, until his fingers rested just beneath the hem of my oversized shirt. His touch was barely there, but it set every nerve in my body ablaze.

“You should be more careful,” he murmured.

I tried to focus, to remember that Nicholas was dangerous, manipulative, and entirely too good at getting under my skin. But right now, none of that mattered.

“Maybe I like danger,” I whispered.

His smirk deepened, something dark flashing in his gaze. “Is that so?”

Before I could answer, he leaned in.

He planted a passionate kiss on  my soft succulent lips, the heat of his body overwhelming. My heart pounded, my pulse betraying me as he closed the distance inch by inch. My hands clenched the sheets beneath me, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

His lips, soft at first. Testing. Teasing.

I swallowed hard, and that was all it took.

Nicholas kissed me like he was claiming me, like he had been waiting for this moment as long as I had. His hands slid up my body, gripping my waist as he pulled me slowly against him. The kiss deepened, turning desperate. I found myself caressing his curly dark hair. I want more, more of this moment. 

I melted into him, nails digging into his shoulders. His hand was everywhere on my body, exploring, demanding. When his mouth left mine, trailing hot kisses down my jaw, my breath hitched.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against my skin.

I should.

I should tell him that this was a mistake, that we were enemies, that nothing about this was right.

But when he pushed me down against the mattress, his body pressing into mine, all logic vanished.

I didn’t tell him to stop.

I pulled him closer.