Page 24 of Reclaiming Izabel

How I’d survived without her in the past three years. By jacking off to thoughts of her hour-glass figure. And since I’d always kept tabs on her, her image never faded.

I maneuvered my hulking frame around the tiny space of the hallway bathroom. Twenty pounds of muscle packed my frame since Izabel last saw me. I dried my back and turned to look at the burn marks and scarring. The last thing I needed from Izabel was pity, but there was no way I could hide these scars since they’d become a part of who I’d become.

Wrapping the towel around my hips, I left the bathroom. Izabel’s door was closed. I planned to seduce my wife back to my bed. I could play dirty. I didn’t miss the flare of desire in her eyes when our bodies were smashed together. Her body couldn’t lie.

A warning blared in my head not to muddle our reconciliation with sex. I had to be smart about this and think long term.

Izabel loved me. I could feel it. Trust was the problem.

Looked like courtship wasn’t out of the question.

I was looking forward to it.

I’d beenin the kitchen for half an hour when Izabel returned. Her long black hair was still wet from her shower, soaking part of her vee-neck white tee. She was blessed from the genetics of her mixed heritage. A heart-shaped face framed heavily lashed caramel eyes. Her luminous skin wore the shade between rich cream and light mocha. Freckles smattered her upturned nose, giving her a wicked cuteness, but her lips were crafted by alluring sin. My cock stirred as I imagined the times that mouth had wrapped around my shaft. I should have jerked off three times to take the edge off my long abstinence.

“I dumped out the coffee from this morning and brewed a new pot,” I informed her as she perched on the barstool around the island.

Her brows creased adorably in both a questioning expression and a frown. I deliberately left off wearing a shirt and wore low-slung drawstring sweatpants. I rarely wore a top when I was at home because I enjoyed my wife perving playfully over my abs. On that count, she had not changed as she visibly swallowed.

“I see you’re also making breakfast,” Izabel said dryly. “Please make yourself at home.”

“Oh, I will.” I grinned as she rolled her eyes. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

I turned away and braced. Her gasp was instantaneous. I wanted to get the discussion of my scars out of the way.

“Drake,” she whispered.

I didn’t say anything, but poured her a mug of coffee, stirred in enough milk the way she liked it, and then turned back to face her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her eyes remained locked with mine.

“Don’t,” I muttered.

“What happened?” she asked. She tore off a sheet of paper towel and dabbed her eyes.

Waffles popped out of the toaster and stopped me from responding. I served her first, but she pushed the plate away. Maybe I was too selfish in thinking she could eat while hearing about the attack. This wasn’t me and the guys shooting the shit over a campfire and trading war stories. Maybe I should have listened to the agency shrink about decompressing. I’d spent years living in another man’s skin. Years not being Izabel’s husband.

“Please tell me,” she said softly.

“We were trapped in a cave by suicide bombers.”

“Marcus said you saved him.”

I clenched my jaw at her familiar use of the commander’s first name. Whether it was resentment or jealousy, I wasn’t sure. “It was instinctive.” I shrugged. “The blast fractured my back, broke some ribs, and my right leg in three places.” A ragged sob escaped her lips, but I continued, my solid gaze holding her tear-filled one. “I couldn’t get back to you, Izabel, even if I wanted to. And I was helpless to protect you.”

Her face crumpled, and she got off her seat, rounding the island to hug me. Izabel cried. I held tight, uncertain if she was crying out of pity or if her tears were for the losses in our marriage.

Long minutes passed before her sobs finally subsided. Her red-rimmed eyes looked up. “I should have been there for you,” she said, words garbled. “I was your wife and I couldn’t help you when you needed me.” She reached across the counter to grab the paper towel she used earlier to wipe her tears. Then she wiped my chest that she’d soaked. “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” I tenderly wiped the sorrow still streaming from her eyes with the pad of my thumb.

She sniffled a bit more and backed away, returning to her seat. “I’m ready for the rest of your story. What you can tell me, of course.”

I nodded. “A task force was formed that isn’t under any known government entity. I can’t tell you to whom we report. However, I can tell you that it was formed out of the failure of our guys in the DoD and the CIA to perform their jobs because of our leaders in Washington.”

“Isn’t that treason?”

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