But then he suddenly moans.
Actually moans.
Just from my touch.
And it makes my entire body heat like nothing else.
“To the left,” he groans, and I move my hand toward his left shoulder, which feels like a concrete slab with all its muscles.
The blood caking his shirt makes me queasy, but I do my best to ignore it as I squirm my way between him and the desk and slowly begin to unbutton his shirt. The muscular, tatted slabs underneath make it hard to focus, but I try my best.
Remember, he’s not your friend. He’s your unwanted husband.
An immoral, controlling asshole of a husband who is just so goddamn handsome it hurts to even look away.
“Is my mind playing tricks on me, or is my wife taking off my shirt in a very seductive manner?”
I smirk. “I’m just taking off your shirt for the massage, that’s it.”
The arrogant smile on his face makes my heart pitter-patter as I push the fabric off his skin so I can reach the spot on his shoulder that’s all tensed up, as my eyes gorge on his well-trained muscles.
I squeeze, and he groans out loud as I massage him deeply. “God … that feels good.”
His eyes travel down my face and neck until they reach the edge of the bathrobe that hides my nude body, and I suddenly feel very, very naked underneath. I glance down at myself, hoping it’s not too revealing, but when my eyes skid past his pants, I notice the bulge clearly growing behind the zipper.
Oh fuck.
He clears his throat, and when my eyes jump back up to his, he grabs my hands. “Stop.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I can’t control myself around you,” he says, peeling my fingers off his shoulders.
Control himself? Does he mean…?
He steps back and sighs out loud, while I stay put near his desk, wondering if what I did didn’t cool him off at all, but only made him more burned up.
“Tell me what you did at the restaurant,” I say. “I deserve to know.”
He shakes his head. “What do you think?” There’s a pause when I don’t answer. “What had to be done.”
That blood was from Lucio’s guys, and I doubt they survived. All that murder because of Lucio’s incessant need to find me.
“How many people did you shoot?” I ask brazenly.
He winces. “One. And he deserved every ounce of my wrath,” Matteo replies, balling his fist. “All of the people working at the restaurant are dead thanks to him.”
I shudder. I know he speaks easily about death, like he’s the devil incarnate.
“They were innocent. They died because they worked for you,” I say.
Suddenly, he’s right in front of my face, growling, “They died because of you, because I took you away from Lucio. Because he’ll stop at nothing to get you back. He’ll kill every last person involved.”
I swallow as the tears begin to well up in my eyes, but Ipush them aside. “You want to blame this on me?”
He rubs his lips together. “I’m not blaming anyone but myself.” He shakes his head. “I never should have married you.”
Even though he’s right, it still hurts to hear those words, and I don’t understand why it makes a teardrop roll down my cheek. We’re both angry because his people died, and it’s my fault. If I had never run into Lucio, if I never accepted his deal, Matteo wouldn’t have seen me by his side, would never have tried to take me away from him… And then all those people in that restaurant would have lived.
