Ruined Secrets (Perfectly Imperfect #4)

“Luca?” I cross the room to the en suite. “Is everything . . .? What the fuck are you doing?”

His head is under the tap and he’s reaching for the shampoo bottle on the counter. “Washing my hair,” he states the obvious.

I grab the shampoo. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You have second-degree burns on your arm. Dr. Jacobs said you can’t let the bandages get wet.”

“You curse quite a lot when you’re mad.”

I curse again, squeeze a bit of shampoo onto my hand and start lathering his hair, making sure I don’t let the water reach the back of his head. Rinsing takes quite some time because he has a lot of hair, even with a fair bit of it shaved off.

“Don’t move.” I open the cupboard to grab a clean towel, then proceed with drying his hair. Luca doesn’t say anything through the whole ordeal, just regards me with a strange look in his eyes. When I’m done, I comb through his hair and turn around to look for a hair tie, but there isn’t one in sight. I take off mine and gather Luca’s hair, securing it at the top of his head. “All done.”

He straightens, caging me with his arms against the counter, and slowly bends until we’re at the same eye level.

“Do you sleep here? In this room?” he asks, and I tense.

“Yes.”

Luca smirks and cocks his head to one side. “Then tell me, Isabella, why aren’t any of your clothes in the closet?”

Shit. I should have thought of that. The way he watches me, with his eyes staring right into mine like he can uncover all my secrets with one look, is highly unnerving. “Because I have a lot of stuff.” I blurt out “I’m using the wardrobe in the room next door.”

“Hmm.” He lifts his hand and places it under my chin. “Tomorrow morning, I'm having Martha and Viola move your clothes in here.”

What? Why? “Sure. Anything else?”

“Yes.” He tilts my head up a bit more. “I prefer your hair like that.”

“Down?” I ask and he nods. “Thank you. Consider your preference noted.”

He narrows his eyes at my comment. Did I miss some meaning there? I’m not sure how to act around this new Luca because he’s not behaving like he used to.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he says. “Are you coming?”

My breath catches. God help me, but I like this new version of him so much better. “Yes.”

My wife is hiding something. What it is, exactly, is a mystery, but it has something to do with our relationship. I went through every part of the bedroom and each piece of furniture when I came in here, and I didn’t find a single thing of hers.

Isabella removes her dress, then her bra and panties, and my breathing stills. She’s an amazingly beautiful little thing. I let my gaze travel down her firm little breasts and narrow ribcage, then from her tiny waist to her generous hips and shapely legs. She has the body of a fucking goddess. “Turn around,” I rasp and barely manage to keep my hands to myself when she does.Even though I don’t remember shit, I’m sure my eyes have never landed on a more perfect ass.

“Now you.” She turns to face me and starts unbuttoning my shirt. When she’s done, I remove the shirt and throw it next to her dress on the floor. The rest of my clothes follow soon after.

“You lost some weight,” she says, placing her hand on my chest.

“How much?”

“A few pounds.” Her palm slides down my stomach and then moves to my hip. “Five, maybe six.”

I checked the chart at the hospital. I lost six pounds since being admitted. She knows my body well, and still, something feels off. Based on how comfortable she is with being naked around me, I’m fairly certain we’ve had sex before, so it can’t be that.What are you hiding from me, Isabella?

Her touch leaves me as she gets into the stall. For a few moments, she fumbles with the shower head, adjusting its position, then turns on the water and looks up. “Keep your arm out of the spray.”

I join her inside. Isabella watches me, but keeps her eyes focused on my face instead of my hard cock, pretending she doesn’t notice it. We both know where this is leading. It’s been inevitable from the moment she started removing her clothes, but we keep dancing around it. She lathers her hands with soap and presses her palms to my chest, massaging, and it takes tremendous self-control to keep myself from reaching out and grabbing her. Somehow, I manage and close my eyes instead, enjoying the sweet torture as her hands travel across my chest and then down, but when I feel her fingers brushing my cock… well, my patience hits its limit.

“Enough.” I turn off the water, reach out and press my palm to her pussy. Slowly, I slide a finger inside. Isabella gasps but doesn’t pull away, her huge eyes glued to mine. Smiling, I slightly curl my finger inside her.

“Hands on my wrist, Isabella,” I say, “and don’t you dare let my finger slip out.”

I wait until her hands wrap around my wrist. With my palm cupping her pussy and finger still buried inside of her, I take a step back, pulling her with me. It takes us a couple of minutes to leave the bathroom and reach the bed, step-by-tiny-step, and by the time we do, Isabella is panting, but she doesn’t let go of my hand.