Page 72 of Forsaking All Others

“You heal fast,” I echoed, suddenly aware of my other hand pressed to his sternum, the flex of his warm pectorals under my fingers, and the play of his strong heartbeat against my palm. We were close, close enough I could smell his sweet and spicy body wash and cologne, see the striations like air bubbles trapped in the icy blue of his eyes.

“You’re alive,” I whispered, pushing into his chest as if to confirm what my eyes were telling me.

His rough-palmed hand covered mine and pressed even harder into his torso.

“I’m alive,” he agreed, a hitch in his voice. “Were you actually worried about me, wife?”

I scowled down at him and tried to wrench my hand away. “Only because I’m a creature of habit, and I would hate to disrupt my routine.”

To my surprise, that startled a bright laugh from Dario, the sound punching out of his chest like brass notes. “What bullshit. You aren’t a creature of habit at all.”

“What do you know about it?” I sniffed. “You have no idea what I get up to in my own time.”

“Don’t I?” he mused, and I realized belatedly that he was playing with my fingers, twisting my wedding ring around the base. “I know you better than you think I do.”

I tried not to flinch at the words, but they landed like a threat.

What did Dario know about my life?

I was very careful to keep him separate from the details, even though I never thought I’d have to be. He didn’t seem to give a single shit about my hobbies, work, or friends beyond Bryson, who he had neatly excised from my life because he was attracted to me.

“Well, I don’t know you at all,” I countered, ripping my hand away from his and shuffling to the side of the bed so I could get up.

I was only wearing a lace-and-silk nightgown in a buttery cream, the side cut up to my hips, the fabric over my breasts made entirely out of lace. Dario had seen me in less, but somehow wearing the sexy lingerie around him was worse.

I peeked over my shoulder at him as I pulled on my matching silk robe and caught him staring at me with burning eyes.

“You thought I might be dead,” he drawled. “Do you not want to come back to bed and celebrate the fact that I am very, very much alive?”

I turned to face the room when my robe was sashed and froze mid-step when I saw his hand squeezed tight over the bulge of his erection beneath the dark-red sheet. My mouth went dry at the sight of him, half naked, lightly furred chest on display with every one of those eight abdominal muscles contracted into perfect definition, the dark path of hair that led to the obscenely thick shaft under his fingers.

My knees felt weak, filled with water. I had to brace myself against the end of the canopied bed for a second as I fought the little voice in my head begging me to put my mouth on that hard cock.

It was so rare I could indulge in my baser needs, get my hands and teeth and mouth on the only man I was allowed to touch, the only one I really wanted to touch even though I had hardened my heart to him.

It was such a strange thing, lusting after someone you hated, disliking the man you’d married, but the familiar tension settled my uneasiness somewhat.

Dario was here.

He was alive.

Not maimed somewhere unknown.

I sucked in a deep breath for the first time in over half a day and let something I didn’t want to define loosen in my chest.

“No,” I said finally, primly, sticking my chin into the air as I sailed around my bed and into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly on his low chuckle.

Only when I was alone did I lean back against the door and drag a deep, revitalizing breath into my lungs, holding it there until it burned and I could feel the beat of my heart behind my squeezed-closed eyes.

Dario is okay, I told myself, surprised by the desperateness of my relief.

Would it have been so bad if he wasn’t?

If he’d died, what would that have meant for my life?

On the surface, not much.

No more infrequent societal outings on his arms being paraded like a good little wife, no more wildly fluctuating interactions that ranged from cold disdain to bone-searing passion.