Page 94 of Precious Hazard

“Get back upstairs. Ilaria put you on strict bed rest.”

My forehead furrows. “Ilaria was here? When?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No.”

An emotion flashes in her eyes so fast that if I weren’t watching her closely, I would have missed it. But she refocused her attention on the coffee maker too fast for me to get a grasp on it. And although I’m not entirely positive, it looked like hurt shining in her eyes.

“That means you don’t remember her sticking a huge needle into your naked ass. Shame.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but the last thing I recall is fucking you senseless in the shower, and then making you scream my name while we burned up the sheets in your bed.” Pushing off the breakfast bar, I come up behind her and lay my hand on her hip. “And I’d love a repeat. Watching you come on my hand, my tongue, my dick, will help me forget all the aches my body is currently feeling.”

She swats me away without bothering to turn around.

“You have pneumonia. Get back in bed.”

I drag my nails through my stubble, feeling a bit confused. Did I do something last night to upset her? She can’t still be mad about our spat at the gala, because I know we moved passed that when she begged me for more after she came on my tongue. The melody of her sweet little mewls, while I was balls-deep in her, is still playing in my head. I mean, shemightstill be mad. My woman sure knows how to hold a grudge. And she’s never shied away from being snarky. But whenever she’s had something to say to me, she’s always done it to my face. Now, though, she is avoiding all eye contact. In fact, she’s doing everything she can to look anywhere but at me.

“Screwdrivers are here.” Opening the drawer next to her, I pull out a red-handled flathead and set it on the countertop. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”

“This thing won’t work properly. There’s so much limescale buildup.”

“Did you try cleaning it with vinegar first?”

“Who are you? Martha Stewart?” She grabs the edge of the counter, hanging her head as if in defeat.

Something isn’t right, I just know it. I reach for her arm, but she leans away from my touch. Her movements are swift and immediate, like I’ve got the plague or something.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap. “Why are you acting like this? You won’t even let me touch you!”

“Because I don’t want you to.”

“What the fuck? Since when?” I growl, sick to death of this constant push-and-pull. “You can’t just pretend like this thing between us isn’t happening.”

“There is nothing!” She turns around and meets my gaze for the first time. “It was just sex, DeVille. You scratched my itch, I scratched yours. Nothing else has happened,” she huffs. “What? Do you think your cock is magical or something? That a few rounds of hate fucking would somehow make me forget that neither of us are in this marriage by choice? That you literally blackmailed me into it?”

“It certainly seemed that my wife found my cock magical while I was railing her through the mattress earlier.” I lay my hands on the counter on either side of her. Caging her in, because she looks ready to flee. “So let me get this straight. We fucked, and we’ll do it again. Soon. And often. But it changes nothing?”

“Exactly. Now, please go back upstairs, DeVille. You were running a high fever all night, and Ilaria mentioned that you might be contagious. I have no desire to catch what you’ve got.”

“Fine. Whatever.” I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and storm out of the kitchen, fuming.

Did I expect things to be different between us? Nah. And I don’t want anything to change. She and I are just as we werewhen we started. Dealing with the shit situation that landed at our feet. She still hates me, and I don’t like her, either. And it should stay that way.

Besides, that woman is obviously incapable of forming a healthy relationship. If for a minute there, I thought we might try, it must have just been my raging fever talking. Clearheaded, I know better than that. I knew from the start that the two of us were a big mistake. One that I tried to contain with all the rules I made her agree to. Rules she’s found a way to defy again and again. Pulling stunt after stunt until I lost my shit.

I never lose my shit. Ever. And especially not over a woman. Certainly not over a woman who fights me every step of the way. Or demands a fucking million dollars for every month of our marriage, as if proximity to me warrants hazard pay! And buys a goddamned helicopter when I offer her a new car.

A stupid grin takes over my face. Fighting it is futile. My little hellion.

I chuckle, but on my inhale, a nasty bout of coughing catches me at the foot of the stairs.Fuck.I grab the railing to keep myself upright. A minute ago, I was fine, now I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus.

That fever must have been a doozy because I don’t remember shit from last night. Nothing after Tara and I rattled the glass walls of the shower and then repeated the performance in her bed before collapsing, exhausted. I know I didn’t have the strength to get dressed before falling asleep, so how in the hell did I wake up in a T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants?

Halfway up the stairs, my tired ass stumbles ’cause I don’t have the strength to pick up my feet. In that instant, a blurry image flashes through my mind. Tara laying a cool towel over my forehead. It’s there one moment and gone the next. Ishake my head. Perfect. I’ve started conjuring up delusions now. Imagining things that never could be. Seeing as my wife made her feelings toward me clear downstairs, she would have sooner left me for dead than nursed me to health.

Once I’ve finally dragged myself into my room, I rummage around, searching for my phone. By now, I must have dozens of emails and missed calls, but the damn thing is nowhere in sight. Maybe it’s in Tara’s room somewhere? I toss the jacket I just searched to the side and head for the door connecting our bedrooms.

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