The Italian's Suitable Wife. Lucy Monroe
unlike Gianna, the therapist found him intimidating.
Gianna knocked lightly on Rico’s door, but heard no answering voice within.
She’d made it her habit to arrive after breakfast and stay through the morning’s physical therapy. Perhaps Rico had already been taken down to the treatment room. She was running a bit late. She had overslept. The day before had been exhausting and ended in a late night.
She’d driven to Massachusetts and back all in one day so she could retrieve her belongings from the furnished university apartment that was no longer hers. Her prediction the department head would not see her staying in New York in an understanding light had been right on. But she’d finally found something to be grateful for in the debacle following her father’s death.
When her stepmother had sold the house, Pamela had tossed everything she did not want to keep personally. Which meant that Gianna’s belongings fit in her car and she would not have to go to the expense of renting a storage facility.
When there was no answer to Gianna’s second knock, she pushed the door open. She wouldn’t mind missing his session. They were getting more and more difficult for her to handle. The therapist insisted on Rico dressing in sports shorts and a body hugging T-shirt for his physical therapy. Every ripple of Rico’s muscles was visible to her obsessive scrutiny.
She felt like a voyeur watching him exercise his incredibly gorgeous body.
It would be fine if she could encourage him and be the unaffected “cheerleader” on the inside she portrayed on the outside, but she wasn’t. She had loved Rico since she was fifteen years old and wanted him almost as long. Apparently temporary paralysis and a foul temper were no deterrent to those feelings. She felt like some kind of depraved sex fiend.
The sight that met her eyes when she came into the room stopped her like a clanging train crossing. Rico sat on the side of his bed, wearing nothing but the sexiest pair of briefs she’d ever seen. Not that her untried eyes had seen all that many, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d seen a thousand men in their skivvies. This was Rico.
He was the only man that mattered.
She practically swallowed her tongue trying to speak. “I… You… The door…”
His head swiveled round and the look on his face was a revelation. He looked elated.
“Rico? What…”
“You are having a difficult time with your sentences, cara.”
She nodded mutely.
His mouth curved in a wide grin and his eyes glittered silver triumph. “I can feel my toes.”
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