I release her reluctantly, stepping back but leaving the door ajar. While she’s inside, I move to the window, staring out at the endless blue horizon while my mind churns with what I need to tell her. The knowledge of betrayal burns in my chest like acid.
The bathroom door opens again, and Alina emerges looking slightly fresher. She has splashed water on her face and attempted to smooth her hair.
She walks back toward me with careful steps, and I watch every movement like a hawk, ready to catch her if she falters. But she makes it to me without incident, stopping when our bodies are inches apart.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs, her good hand coming to rest on my chest.
“Can’t help it.” My voice drops lower as I reach for her, my fingers finding the delicate line of her collarbone. “You’re mine to look at.”
Her breath catches, and something shifts in the air between us. I trace my fingertips along her neck, up to cup her cheek. My thumb brushes across her lower lip, feeling it tremble beneath my touch.
“Raffaele,” she whispers. “Please stop holding back. Kiss me, husband.”
“But the doctor—”
She interrupts me. “Your wife just ordered you to kiss her,” she purrs, licking her lips.
I lean down, capturing her mouth with mine. The kiss starts gentle. I’m still terrified of hurting her, but when her lips part beneath mine, inviting me deeper, restraint fractures.
My hand slides into her hair, careful to avoid the bare spot, while my other arm wraps around her waist, drawing her flush against me. She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat that sends blood rushing to my cock, hardening it against her stomach.
I should pull back. She’s still healing, still fragile. But when her good hand slides under my shirt, nails scraping lightly against my abdomen, rational thought threatens to abandon me entirely.
Her body presses closer, seeking more contact, and I respond instinctively by walking her backward until her legs hit the edge of the bed. We sink down onto the mattress together, my larger frame carefully positioned to avoid putting pressure on her injured arm.
“I’ve missed you,” she breathes against my lips. “Missed this.”
I growl in response, my hand sliding up her side to cup her breast through the thin fabric of her top. Her nipple hardens instantly beneath my palm, and she arches into the touch with a gasp that nearly undoes me.
But behind the haze of desire, the conversation I need to have with her looms like a shadow. The betrayal I’ve discovered. The hurt it will cause her. I can’t put it off any longer, not when we’ll be back in Cleveland in a few days.
With monumental effort, I pull back from her kiss, resting my forehead against hers while we both catch our breath. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright with want, lips slightly swollen from my attention.
“We need to talk,” I say, the words hanging between us like a physical barrier.
The change is immediate. Her smile fades, awareness sharpening her gaze as she recognizes the shift in my demeanor.
“What is it?” she asks, her voice small but steady. “What’s happened?”
I take her hand in mine, steeling myself for the pain I’m about to cause her.
Chapter 48
Alina
My heart drops into my stomach as I watch Raffaele’s face morph into a mask of something dark and lethal that makes my skin prickle with foreboding.
His fingers tighten around mine, not painfully but with enough pressure to anchor me to this moment. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s bad. Bad enough to bring that haunted look to his eyes. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry as desert sand.
“Alina.” The way he says my name—like he’s preparing me for a blow—makes my pulse quicken. “Colin and I found something. Something you need to know about.”
I shift on the bed, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I am in my thin clothes, with my cast and healing head. The movementof the yacht feels more pronounced now, as if the ocean itself is responding to my rising anxiety.
“What is it?” I ask again, my voice barely above a whisper.
Raffaele reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone I don’t recognize. “This was my dad’s.”
My fingers instinctively move to my throat where I can still sometimes feel the phantom pressure of his hands crushing my windpipe. I thought that chapter was closed. Andrea’s dead, his threat eliminated. Why is Raffaele bringing him up now?
