HER SAVIOR, THE DEVIL
Her shoulder ached from the awkward position of the heavy cast, and she tried to turn but ran into a hard chest.
Damiano…
Thea sucked in her breath as she came face-to-face with the unshaven, disheveled man sleeping next to her. He looked terrible, she thought, filling her eyes and her heart with him.
‘His hero…’
This was the way Damiano saw her, but she saw it differently… In her opinion, they were each other’s personal heroes. More than that. He was her personal angel. Damiano might be the ‘Italian Devil’ for everybody else, but for her, he was ‘Her Italian Savior’.
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