“You should invite Alecia.” Natalie suggests. “How do I say big brother in Italian?”

Dio, they make me smile.

“Grande fratello.”

She smiles and repeats it back, butchering it, but I don’t care.

Nothing ever sounded so sweet.

***

I drove all the way home and paced around my office for an hour before leaving again, plugging Alecia’s address into the GPS and heading toward her place, making a stop on the way. With the horrendous Friday traffic, it takes me two hours to reach Ruston Way, the street she lives on. She lives on the water with an incredible view of the Puget Sound and Mount Rainer, with miles and miles of walking paths that meander past restaurants and piers leading to her building.

I park and sit for a moment, second-guessing this decision. But I can’t shake the look in her eyes right before she left Blake’s office today, or the knowledge that she had a shitty day.

She had a headache.

It may not be welcome, but I’d like to help her feel better.

When I reach her door, I ring her doorbell and wait. Just when I’m beginning to think she’s not home yet, her door opens and she frowns up at me, confusion filling her amazing brown eyes.

“Dominic?”

“Natalie gave me your address,” I reply softly. She shed her suit jacket and heels, but she’s still in her skirt. Her white blouse is tucked into it, molded around her full breasts and showing off her small waist and round hips.

My cock stirs in my trousers, but I take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand.

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m fine—” she begins, but she winces and presses two fingers to her temple. The headache is still hurting her. “I have a bitch of a headache,” she admits.

“I have provisions.” I hold up the bag in my hand and offer her a smile.

“Why?”

Good question.

“Because I didn’t like seeing you in pain earlier today, and I have a feeling I was a part of that.”

She smirks and backs away from the doorjamb, allowing me inside. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”

“Am I wrong?”

She shrugs and leads me past a small, clean kitchen into her living area. Her unit faces the water, and the view is breathtaking.

“Have you taken anything for it?”

She sits on the couch and closes her eyes. “I forgot that I’m out of Advil, and I just didn’t have it in me to go out and buy some.”

Poor bambino.

“Where is your linen closet?”

She points to the hallway and I go in search of a washcloth. When I find one, I return to the kitchen and soak it in cold water, fill a glass, shake out the Advil I brought with me, just in case, and return to her. Her eyes are still closed. Her hair is still up.

My fingers have been itching to mess her hair up for months.

Instead, I sit next to her.

“Here, take these.”

“Do you have to yell at me?” she asks with a scowl.

“I’m whispering, cara.” I offer her a smile and the Advil, along with the water.

“Why are you holding leaves?”

“They’re lilac leaves.” I line the folded cloth with the leaves and take the glass from her. “Lean your head back on the cushion and close your eyes, please.”

“Why do you have lilac leaves?”

“It’s going to help. It’s an old Italian remedy for headaches.”

She does as I ask, leaning back against the soft cushions of her sofa and closes her eyes. I lay the cold cloth, leaves against her skin, over her forehead and eyes and press firmly.

“Ohhh,” she breathes. I can’t resist touching her, so I brush my knuckles down her cheek and murmur to her.

“This will help, cara.”

“My name isn’t Cara,” she whispers, making me chuckle.

“Cara is Italian for dear or darling,” I reply with a smile.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she says. “We have an appointment on Monday, right?”

“Yes. But don’t think about work right now. Just relax.”

We sit in silence for a long while as I continue to press the cloth against her head and skim my fingers along the skin of her face, her neck, tucking strands of hair that have dared to come loose behind her ear. She relaxes, the tension leaving her body visibly. When the cloth warms from her body heat, I return to the kitchen to run it under the cold water again and then sit with her once again, pressing it to her head.

“How do you feel?” I whisper. She shivers. “Are you cold?”

“No,” she replies softly. “I think the headache is going away.”

“There are more fresh leaves on the kitchen counter, along with more Advil and soup.”

“Soup?”

“You have to eat, Alecia.”

Her lips tip up into a smile as she raises her hand and covers mine, pulling it and the cloth away from her head. “Thank you.”

“Prego,” I reply. “You’re welcome.”

She glances over at the kitchen counter and then returns her gaze to mine.

“Pink tulips?”

“I think you like pink.”

She blinks quickly and before she can back away, I skim my knuckles down her cheek one last time, push a strand of hair behind her hair, and lean in to kiss her cheek.

Merda, she smells like lilacs and her soap and simply amazing.

“Eat the soup, cara. Use the leaves if you need them.” I stand to leave and she moves to follow me. “Stay there, I can see my way out.”