Page 36 of A Touch of Fate

I could tell that she misunderstood my comment from the shock and worry in her eyes. I smirked and bent closer. “I didn’tmean from pain, Emma. I’m not into that. Nothing is better than a scream in pleasure.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks became an even darker shade of red. I angled our bodies so the water reached her thighs and could wash away the blood there.

“You can set me down. That way, I can clean up.”

I slowly put her down but kept a steadying hand on her waist. She held my arm as she began to lather herself with my shower gel, an herby scent that helped me wake up in the morning. She hissed when she washed herself between her legs.

“What is this?” she asked with a curious look up at me.

I grimaced. “This gives you a fresh kick.”

She quickly washed off the remaining foam and watching her fingers clean her pussy sent a flood of blood straight to my cock. She noticed my gaze and flushed a bright red. I looked away and washed my face, forcing my thoughts away from Emma’s naked body.

Tomorrow, our families would have lunch together, and afterward, there’d hopefully be some time to discuss new ways to destroy the Falcone’s empire. Too much time had already been wasted on wedding planning—ours and Danilo’s to my sister. It was time to return our focus to business.

“Are you done?” I asked her with a sideways glance, trying to stay on track and not lose myself in her beauty again.

“Yes,” she said, quieter than before. I wasn’t sure what caused her sudden mood swing.

I stepped out of the shower and slung a towel around my waist before I grabbed one for Emma and wrapped it around her shoulders, tugging her in. She peered up at me, her expressive brown eyes locking on mine. This woman had so much love to give. One look at her told me that and more. She hoped what we had could turn into a loving marriage.

Emma was lovable. If I allowed it, I could see myself falling for her one day. But for that to happen, I would have to let her in. I would have to let her see the darkness of the past, the darkness I still carried with me. Could she bear the heavy guilt I carried? Most days, it was too heavy even for my shoulders. I released her shoulders, my expression closing off. “We should sleep now.”

She gave me a tight smile. “I need to get ready. Give me a moment.”

I left the bathroom. I put on pajama bottoms, then waited for Emma to emerge. I wasn’t sure if she’d need my help or if she even wanted it. Emma was used to handling things alone. The door opened, and Emma appeared, holding the doorframe to steady herself. She wore a gold silk nightgown and had her long hair braided so it fell over her shoulder. “Can you bring me my wheelchair?”

I pushed it over to her. “I could carry you again.”

“I don’t want to impose on your kindness.”

Emma was definitely colder than before. Maybe she realized that a bond built on mutual respect was better than hoping for love. “I’m your husband. It’s my job to be kind to you.”

Her face became even more closed off. I realized my choice of words had been less than clever. I rolled the wheelchair over to her. She lowered herself into her wheelchair and moved it toward the bed, then she engaged the brake and stood. She climbed into bed. I joined her. She turned to me with a stubborn gleam in her eyes. “I’m not a job. I have worked too hard for my independence to be an obligation to anyone.”

I frowned. “I never called you an obligation, and I realize my choice of words was inapt. I was referencing our wedding vows. It’s my duty as your husband to treat you well and take care of you.”

“As is my duty. This isn’t a one-way street.”

“I know. But I have a feeling you’re better at being kind and taking care of people than I am. I’m better at ruining lives.”

She pursed her lips, questions filling her eyes. Thankfully, she didn’t voice them. “We both can do our best. This is only the beginning of our marriage. We’ll have a lot of time to figure this out together.”

I woke to the sound of gentle breathing. The memories of last night filtered through my sleepy brain, and I had to stifle a smile. When I opened my eyes, the room was still mostly dark because the curtains were drawn. I blinked and turned my head toward the sound of breathing. Samuel lay with his muscled back turned to me. The blanket pooled around his hip, allowing me to take him in. Three names were tattooed on his back. It was the position where his heart was. For a moment, I worried they were names of women he’d perhaps dated over the years, though it seemed strange to keep a list of previous lovers. Not to mention that I knew from the gossip mill that Samuel had been with more than three women. Yet he hadn’t been with any of them long enough to warrant a permanent place for their name on his skin.

When I scanned the names, relief settled in me. Enea, Domenico, and Arlo must have been friends who’d died over the years. As a Made Man, death was always a close companion. Several scars covered his back, reminding me that he too had gotten close to death before. I knew he’d been captured by the Camorra when he’d tried to save his twin.

He stirred suddenly and rolled over. I tried to pretend I had been waking up too and not staring at him. His blond hair was tousled from sleep. He looked cute and not as distant as usual. I resisted the urge to touch him even though I really wanted to.

“Morning,” I said with a hesitant smile. What was I supposed to talk about? Was Samuel a morning person? Or did he prefer silence because he was a grump?

“Do you need help?” Samuel asked, his voice still rough from sleep. He motioned to my wheelchair beside the bed.

I gave him a tight smile. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” He thought I required constant support. I didn’t want to blame him for his misconception. Many people who’d never lived with a disabled person felt they needed constant help. Some people actually did, but I could get through my daily routine with minimal support. The only thing I usually needed help with were things on the upper shelves.

He sat up.

“The names on your back, are they of dead friends?”

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