Page 16 of Hostile Bond
Stopping briefly, he looks back, his eyes squinting to see me. “I want to know everything.”
“And what about you—I need to know what’s on your list.” I call out to him, my heart bucking. “This works both ways.”
His head shakes from side to side as he walks backward, angling his hips around to show off his thick arousal. “I only need one thing, Wifey.” He holds up a ringed forefinger. “Just one.”
“Oh, yeah?” I smirk. “I’m guessing it’s power?” Of course it is. That’s how all of this had started—a mafia inheritance and an unwilling bride.Supremacy over mere mortals like me.
“Wrong.” He keeps backing up while running a hand through his thick, messy hair.
His body distracts me, and I have to admit, that violent dick of his makes my mouth water. Seriously… what woman craves something of that size wedged in her throat? I’m a fucking sadist.
“After I clear my head, you’re going to tell me your top three priorities.” His voice carries on a balmy breeze, and even though he’s far away, the sonorous texture of it scorches my veins.
I look around thoughtfully. We’re like castaways on an equatorial seashore. Not a single soul is in sight other than my husband. My heart kicks, watching him wade up to his hips and plunge in over his head.
Fuck, he’s gorgeous.
My knees bend and I sink onto shaded sand, sitting peacefully amidst an oceanic lullaby of curling waves and a far-off gull cry. Although we’ve survived dark days and lonely nights, the sun is only warm when he’s under it, next to me.
I’m a hot mess. My fair skin isn’t used to such heat and my loose hair is frizzy from the humidity. I unbuckle my sandals and let my toes burrow into the fine grains. Maybe joining him in the cool water would have been reviving, but I had needed to make a point and stand my ground. There’s not a single chance his intensity would lessen, or his dominant ways suddenly turn submissive. That's not what I want from him. All I’m asking for is full transparency.
Watching him cut through the water to stifle his inner sorrow, I accept that André Souza is my past, present, and future.
My forever.
As time drains away, I think about my old life and how far removed I am from it—from the mother who had raised me through hardship and diversity.
How she’d fought for my life when that bastard had shoved his gun into my mouth and spat in my face. That was the night I’d witnessed the true extent of evil. How a woman’s plea could be callously ignored. How easy it was to suppress her voice and shamefully abolish her rights. The Irish mobster had created a loathing inside of a little girl that would never leave her.
My forsaken soul had withered. I was paralyzed by fear as he raped my mother while scorned tears tumbled into the aged fibers of an old rug in her bedroom.
His threat to shoot her was woefully real. Violence had unfolded before me like a horror movie on the big screen. A graphic vision I’d never be able to unsee. A nightmare I’d never forget. It was the brutal reality of life that had torn up the innocence in my eyes and forced me to grow up too fast.
After that night—she finally knew it was time to escape the life we had in Dublin, our rented home, the only source of income we had, and I had to sacrifice my friendship with our tormentor's blood relative.
In a crooked twist of fate, I’ve become a part of that man’s family, and that awareness freezes my bones to the marrow.My husband can put an ocean around our lives, but he can’t change the past or how that would impact our future. Considering André’s reaction to the pending truth burns my stomach with waves of acrid nausea. I’d rather not open up to him about it or watch him struggle to understand the ungodly decision he’d have to make––the childhood promise he’d have to wrestle with. I can’t imagine him boarding a jet to Dublin to assassinate his own blood. Or him surviving the ramifications of betraying his family. The one thing he treasures more thananything.
I palm my stomach, aware of the riptide tugging me back to the sight of André. My pulse thrums under the painful secret I’ve harbored for two decades, wondering if it's best kept locked in the darkest corners of my memories.
My heart goes wild when masculine shoulders resurface, his godlike form rising from the shallow water, his taut legs confidently striding across the pale seabed. Rogue droplets glitter like scattered gemstones, decorating his taut muscles, and not wanting to let go of him. I inhale deeply, unashamedly examining his confident, bare-assed approach.
Dark hair is swept away from his bronzed forehead. His sculpted torso has artwork all over it, so many drawings that hold meaning to the life he’s lived without me. That harsh realization fists my heart, signaling misplaced jealousy.
He looks exhausted and energized at the same time.
His villainous gaze pins me to the same spot where he’d left me. Behind the black pools of his eyes, I recognize the irrefutable beast of a man who loves iniquity and sex. And this is what I crave.
Him.
My heart beats and bucks as he advances. Bending close, the tropical, sunbaked scent of him commands me to straighten and automatically elevate my chin, so our mouths brush. Chilled lips cling to mine, salty and soft. He pants a little from a punishing workout and mumbles into my mouth, “Sin… join me for a walk?”
I shrug, hiding the reaction I have to his kiss. “Sure…”
He withdraws, holds out his hand, and waits for me to take it. The rush from skin to skin contact still fizzes through me. Even now. Over and over again. The awareness of our connection is so brutally apparent, and when goosebumps break out over his golden skin, I know he feels it, too.
Our fingers link, binding us together as he hauls me upright. My breasts smash into his shirtless, wet chest, the solidness of his height and stature a high-octane aphrodisiac. I suddenly feel insanely shy when my silly gasp earns a tantalizing smile. This man will be the death of me.
We walk side by side, strolling toward the gentle waves that spill over our toes and wash away our footprints.
