Ruined Secrets (Perfectly Imperfect #4)

“What happened to your hand?” I ask, looking at a piece of cloth that seems to be a kitchen towel, wrapped around his left palm.

“I cut myself on broken glass,” comes the answer from above my head.

Where did he find broken glass, for God’s sake? “It’s still bleeding. You should head home and get that cut cleaned.”

“I’m fine.”

He’s fine. I roll my eyes.

I turn toward Andrea, who’s pretending to be interested in something in front of her, but I know she’s listening. “I’m going home. Do you want to stay?”

“Yeah, I’ll head back with Milene.”

“Marco and Nicolas will stay with your sister,” Luca says.

“They can go home. Gino is with her.” I nod toward my sister’s bodyguard who’s leaning on the wall further back, then give Andrea a kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

After saying goodbye to the other girls, I turn and leave, with Luca following right behind me—my silent, towering shadow. We’re almost at the exit when the guy who was ogling me earlier and three of his friends cut us off. He says something in Russian and smiles, nodding in my direction. The next moment, all of his buddies lunge at Luca.

I stare, petrified, as one of them swings his fist at Luca’s head. Luca ducks and grabs the guy’s shoulders, then smashes his knee into the man’s stomach. One of the remaining two guys grabs Luca from behind, and the other one punches his fist into Luca’s side. A hand wraps around my upper arm, pulling me backward into the gathering crowd.

I scream and try to escape, not taking my eyes off Luca, who’s managed to get free and is in the process of making mush out of his attacker's face. The person holding me tugs at my arm again, and I turn to see the guy who sent me the drink. I knee the bastard's balls with all my might. He cries out and doubles over, clutching his crotch.

When I look back to where Luca was earlier, the fight seems to be over. One of the assailants is lying on his side, unconscious. Luca has the other guy pressed face first to the floor, holding the man’s arm bent behind his back. I don’t see the last asshole immediately because the huge frame of Bianca’s husband is obstructing my view. Mikhail has his hand wrapped around the guy’s throat, keeping him pressed to the wall. The man’s feet dangle a foot off the ground. Luca rises and pushes his guy toward the security staff who drag him toward the exit.

I run toward Luca as he turns to look for me. When I approach, his arm shoots out, grabbing me around my waist and pulling me to his body. He takes my chin with his free hand and tilts my head up.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks in a low voice.

“No,” I choke out.

Luca nods and exhales, his nostrils flaring. “You’re not wearing that dress ever again.”

“Okay.” I blink at him. Is he going to kiss me? Our faces are so close, and based on the way he’s staring at me, it seems like he might. I stop breathing and wait.

“Let's get your sister and friends,” he says and releases my chin. “I don’t want to see any of you in a Russian club again.”

Looks like I’m not getting that kiss after all. As we walk back toward the table to get Andrea and the girls, I barely manage to bottle up the need to scream in frustration.

* * *

Luca doesn’t say anything during the thirty-minute drive home, and I pretend I’m engrossed in watching the street through my window. When we arrive at the house, he opens my door for me and follows me inside and then up the two flights of stairs until we reach our bedrooms. Looks like we’re back to cold shoulders and silent treatment.

“I’m going to shower and then I’m coming to check your hand.” I say casually and go inside my room.

If the situation was different, I would have taken care of his cut before doing anything else, but I need time to decompress from the emotional overload before I can continue acting indifferent. Why is he making this so hard, damn it?

After I’m done with the shower, I dress in one of the short silky nightgowns that reveals my cleavage, and head through the door connecting our rooms. I have no intention of making this easy for him.

I don’t see Luca anywhere in his bedroom, but the door to the bathroom is open so I turn that way and stop at the threshold. He’s standing at the sink in nothing except looseblack sweatpants, and for a moment, I find it hard to draw my next breath. I’ve never seen Luca shirtless, and I can’t take my eyes off the perfection that is his body.

He is more muscled than I could have guessed. Those dress shirts hide way too much. Other than his build, they also hid the ink. There’s a black geometric pattern forming a sleeve around his right arm, while on his left shoulder and bicep, there’s another black and gray design. The front of his torso is free of ink, but I can see there’s something that looks like a huge bird in flight on his upper back. However, what catches my attention the most is his hair. It’s wet and hangs loose, reaching his shoulder blades. The only time I’ve seen his hair unbound was thirteen years ago, and seeing it like this now hits me right in the chest. The moment feels somehow intimate.

He’s holding his hand over the sink under the spray of water. I gasp as I see his condition. “Oh God.”

There’s a deep gash in the middle of his palm, and the blood is still oozing out of it. I can’t determine exactly how much because it’s quickly being washed away.

Luca looks up at me, his eyes stopping at my nightgown’s deep V-neck for a few seconds, then he quickly shifts his gaze and turns off the water.