Page 92 of Precious Hazard

“I think you might be losing it. Watch your step!”

“Oh, bossy! I like that, too. But you know what I absolutely adore?” He chuckles. “Neck snuggles.”

“The what?”

“This!” He grabs me around the waist and lifts me, squeezing me to him so that my face gets crushed into the hollow between his shoulder and neck. “Yeah, just like that.”

“Are you nuts? Put me down or both our asses will be on the floor.”

“Mm-hmm… that’ll be fun, too.” He lowers me to the ground, swaying.

Shit.I wrap my arms around him, keeping him upright. “Come on. Just a few more steps.”

The last five feet to the bathroom feel like fifty. We shuffle the entire way. Once I finally get him into the stall, I prop him against the wall and turn on the shower.

“This might feel cold to you with how high your fever is. But I promise, the water is actually lukewarm.” I extend my hand toward him. “Come on, Arturo.”

A crooked grin spreads across his face. “I’d tread icy waters or walk through the fires of hell for you, wildcat.” Lockinghis fingers around mine, he pulls me to him and steps under the cascading stream.

It’s only been a few hours since we were in this exact position, with water sluicing over us. Yet, nothing seems quite the same. The look in Arturo’s eyes is missing the dangerous edge that’s usually there. Right now, the way he’s staring at me is unlike any other time he’s looked at me before. His eyes are soft. Unguarded. That fever and delirium must really be messing with his head.

A pang of longing hits me dead in the chest. What would it be like to have Arturo DeVille look at me like this always?

“You came into the freezing shower for me,” he whispers, stroking my cheek with the back of his hand.

“It’s not freezing.” I lift onto my tiptoes and brush his lips with mine. Even they seem softer somehow. Maybe it’s the water trailing over both our faces. ”Just seems that way to you.”

“And you said my name”—his fingers caress along my jaw—“several times.”

“I was under duress. It slipped.”

His other hand slides to my back, stroking the length of my spine under my wet T-shirt. It’s the only piece of clothing on me. My husband, though, isn’t wearing anything. And still, our touching doesn’t feel sexual.

My palms glide over his rock-hard chest, then circle to his back, slowly exploring his glorious body. Everything in me tingles with awareness. My pussy is still tender from our unrestrained, frenzied sex earlier tonight, yet I’m aching for more. Throbbing with the need to feel him. One circle over my clit, and I’m sure I would explode. Crumble like only he can make me.

But that’s not what I want right now. I want this. The slow movement of his fingers along my chin. His tongue, probing my mouth. That pleasant sensation at the base of my skull as he tunnels his way through my hair. That’s what I want. All those wonderful things. From him.

The need for this basic affection is strange, considering the volatile game of tug-of-war we’ve played since day one. Nothing between the two of us has been easy. Nothing except the undeniable pull both he and I feel. There’s just no way to resist that kind of chemistry for long. No matter how many times my mind tried to deny it, my heart recognized the lie. I knew that eventually Arturo and I would end up in bed. His or mine, it wouldn’t have made a difference. We both would have surrendered to that intense physical magnetism. But this, this moment right here, it doesn’t feel like plain sexual attraction. It’s something else entirely. And I have no idea what.

Or maybe I do.

Going along with this farce of a marriage, I thought I was doing the right thing. Sacrificing a year of my life for my family. Fixing yet another of my endless fuckups. Accepting a man who doesn’t love me. A dangerous man who blackmailed me. A man who, outside of fucking, finds me lacking in every way that matters. Just like all the previous men in my life have.

I thought I could do it. Could temporarily shove my dreams, my happiness aside. Twelve months. Should hardly be an effort after a lifetime of not having what I crave. A man who will treasure me above all others. Love me more than himself. Despite my being awalking disaster, as Satan DeVille so eloquently labeled me. But that’s my life. And regardless of the messes I’ve made in it, there’s one thing I’ve always been adamant about. One thing that I promised myself. The one thing I would never screw up.

I’d only fall in love with a man who loves me back.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Because I managed to fuck that up, too.

“Hopefully, that’s enough.” The tip of my nose stings as I step out of Arturo’s embrace and shut off the water. “Let’s get you back to bed. The doctor should be here soon.”

***

“Good thinking, getting him into the shower.”

Blonde, sophisticated, and completely confident in herself, Ilaria sets down her stethoscope.

I look at Arturo, sprawled face down in my bed. He collapsed as soon as we got back from the bathroom, instantly falling asleep. It took me nearly ten minutes to wrangle his overgrown limbs into a T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, so he wouldn’t be “meeting” the doctor naked.

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