Charlotte sat obediently on the seat in the bathroom where I’d left her a few minutes ago.
We were at home, having put down every single Castillo Cartel member, including their cowardly leader. Kirill Chernov had come through, with a helicopter, no less. I’d owe the bratva a favor down the line, but he was family of a sort. The Russians might be unpredictable psychopaths for the most part, but he was also family. La famiglia prima di tutto.
I’d taken Charlie and my men away before Kirill and his Russians had executed the survivors. I’d lost three men in the fight, and that weighed heavily on my conscience, as did the state of my wife. We’d stopped by the hospital on the way home, where she’d been checked for a concussion. She had bruised ribs, cuts, and contusions, but thankfully, not much more. The doctor had wanted to keep her in regardless, but Charlotte had insisted on going home. She wanted her own bathroom and bed, and I wasn’t going to argue with that. Not when she was so muted. A muted Charlie just wasn’t right.
My blood boiled to look at her. Her face was purple along one side with bruises, her lips cut and swollen, and she had one hell of a black eye. Her wrists bled, marked by handcuffs, and she was sore all over, like she’d been beaten. I hadn’t seen beneath her dirty clothes yet.
Just the fact that they’d treated her with so little respect, forcing her to sit in those dirty clothes, made me want to dig the fuckers up and dismember them all over again. Unfortunately, that was a pleasure you couldn’t repeat more than once.
I stepped into the bathroom. Charlotte jumped. More anger flooded through me. My wife was afraid in her own home, because of those men.
Because of Commissioner Reynolds. He’d get what was coming to him, and soon.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” I told her briskly.
Her gaze skittered from mine.
“I can do it myself,” she murmured, embarrassment staining her cheeks.
“I know you can, but I want you to let me.” I crouched in front of her and put my hands on her knees. “I don’t want you to disappear on me or go where I can’t follow.”
She chewed her lip and then grimaced as she hit a cut with her teeth.
“Let me take care of you, Charlie.”
She swallowed hard. I could see how it cost her to be vulnerable like this, and then how bravely she faced it. No one was as brave as my wife.
She squared her shoulders. “Okay. Fine. If you insist.”
“I do.” I removed her socks first and then her T-shirt and bra.
Her side had bruising across the ribs, and she jerked when I lightly touched the purple skin there.
I moved to her jeans next. She made a muffled, embarrassed sound when I tugged off the dirty, dried-up denim. Once it was off, I dropped it straight in the trash can, along with her panties, and turned the shower on. The air filled with steam. Her hair was knotted with tangles. I picked up the brush beside the mirror and slowly ran it through.
Her eyes closed as I worked, the brush tugging her scalp, and she leaned back against me. Lucy had fallen asleep with Carmella sitting by her bed. Sleep would do the girl well. Shock comes slowly and then in waves. Charlie was still soldiering on. She didn’t know how to give up.
“Okay, in the shower with you.” I set the brush down and guided her into the hot, steaming glass stall.
She stood under the spray for a moment, letting it soak her through. I was already barefoot, in just a T-shirt and loose pants. I stepped under the spray to help her.
Washing her hair was easy. Soaping her body was difficult. Despite the bruises and cuts, touching the slopes of her belly and curves of her hips and ass made me hard as hell. I felt an inappropriate and undeniable need to fill this woman up. I wanted to sink deep inside her and reassure myself that she was here, in my arms, alive and well. She didn’t complain about how the soap must have stung. She didn’t complain about anything.
“Turn,” I instructed gruffly.
Her tight curves and wet skin were tormenting me. The bruises and cuts filled me with fury. I washed her carefully, like she was spun glass. She held on to me, staring at my chest.
“You’re all wet.” Her voice wasn’t as tired as I’d thought it would be.
“I don’t care.”
She looked up at me and pressed up on her toes and kissed me softly.
“I can’t get it all out of my mind,” she murmured. “I want to forget.”
She was so beautiful and precious, standing there in the rain falling from the shower. I’d nearly lost her.
I cupped her face gently and kissed her, careful of her lip, and moved my lips downward. She leaned against the heated wall and watched me as I knelt at her feet, my T-shirt and pants soaked through, my gaze fixed on her eyes. I could read her desires there, just like mine. Make me forget.
“Leave that to me, bambina.”
