All the Way to Heaven

Chapter 17

Cosimo surged up out of the chair where he'd been sitting and dropped to one knee in front of me. "Forgive me, Ani! I did not mean to startle you."

I covered my face with my hands, embarrassed at the sound I'd made, my whole body humming from the rush of adrenaline coursing through me. His fingers brushed against my temple as he tucked damp curls behind one ear and I flinched. "Ani. Please. I am so sorry."

I lowered my hands to my lap but kept my head down, still trying to regain my composure. What on earth was he doing sitting all alone in my room?

As though in answer to my unspoken question, he put a reassuring hand on my knee. His palm was warm on my skin. "I came to see how my patient was doing, and to bring you something to eat, only to discover you had flown away into the night." He jutted his chin toward the open window across the room, and I felt my lips twitch, struggling to resist the pull of his charming words. But when he slid his palm down my leg ever so slowly to my injured foot, I forgot to breathe. The gesture was no longer quite so reassuring.

"What—what are you doing?"

"You are supposed to keep this elevated. Did you forget?" He propped my foot on his thigh, and using his fingers as much as his eyes, did a quick examination of the appendage, making me flinch again, this time from pain, though. "You have a very colorful leg, but I am pleased to see how well it looks."

I eyed the top of his head, still not quite sure what was going on. This didn't feel at all as casual as he made it sound. His confident touch was too intimate, almost as though he was taking advantage of my injury to fondle my leg. I needed to distract him, to get my foot back from him.

"Do you know how badly you scared me?" I asked, tugging experimentally.

He lifted his gaze to mine, a slow grin curving his lips. The low light in the room deepened the ridge of his brow, the line of his nose standing out in sharp contrast to his broad cheekbones. "I do now, Ani. I can feel your racing blood." His fingers pressed gently into the top of my foot where he seemed to have located my pulse. He leaned in closer. "But this makes me sad. I would like to feel your heart race because you are happy to see me, not because you are afraid of me."

Well. So much for distracting him.

I started to turn away, terribly sensitive of the building awareness between us, but he reached up with his free hand and caught my chin, stopping me. "Do not look away, passerotta. I want to see your face, your eyes."

"What's a passerotta?" I blurted out, completely disarmed by him.

I shouldn't have asked. I could tell by his tone that it was an endearment of some kind. I tried again to pull away, to retrieve my foot from his lap, but he'd slid his hand around to the back of my leg and was cupping my calf, keeping me captive.

"Passerotta. It is a little sparrow. My plump little sparrow." He squeezed my calf appreciatively.

"Cosi—simo." His name came out in two attempts. I needed to move. Quickly. I reached up to clutch his wrist, tugging his hand from my jaw. He moved it to my shoulder instead, breaking my hold, then down my arm to take my hand.

He leaned closer and purred, his voice making my skin vibrate. "Why are you trying to fly away from me? You have a broken wing. You will be easy to catch, remember?"

He'd been drinking. I caught a whiff of the musky sweet smell of red wine on his breath. But then, everyone in Italy drank wine. It didn't mean he was drunk.

His behavior, on the other hand, indicated that it was a very good possibility. I didn't think this was proper physician/patient etiquette, even for after-hours house calls in Italy.