Chapter 12
Angel
Emma was dancing around a kitchen that looked like it had exploded, humming some song or other.
I stood in the doorway, watching her. It was such a contradiction to the siren who had begged me to touch her just yesterday.
This woman, in her tiny jean shorts and bright pink t-shirt, had an aura of innocence that made my hands ache to touch her, dirty her up again.
I stepped into the kitchen. “What are you making?”
Her head snapped up, thrown off for a second, and then she shrugged, forcing herself to relax. “My mother showed me how to make brownies from scratch; I haven’t tried in years, but I woke up this morning and really wanted some.”
Lili liked brownies, I knew, but they usually came from her favorite bakery. I couldn’t remember if Lara ever baked them for us. “Did you have to destroy the kitchen in order to make these brownies?” I asked, looking around at the mess.
Emma glanced around at the chaos around her and shrugged. Her smile was bright but wicked. “I was having fun, dear,” she said.
It wasn’t the words, but her tone that challenged me. “Have you been bored, mi esposa?” I asked, stalking towards her.
Her blue eyes went wide. I reached for her, and she jolted at my touch. The smile that curved my mouth was evil, and I knew it. “Bored is a loaded term,” she said in lieu of answering directly.
“You haven’t had any fun, though, right?” I ran my hands from her waist to her ass, squeezing until she squeaked.
Her cheeks darkened. “I thought we’d had some fun yesterday.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “But what if I prepared something a little different for us?” I asked.
“Different?” Intrigue and apprehension filtered across her face, and it was an intoxicating look on her.
Before I could explain, the oven timer went off, and Emma scrambled away from me to grab an oven mitt.
The smell of chocolate filled the kitchen, and while I normally wasn’t one for sweets, I could admit that they smelled good.
She put the pan on the trivet, smiling. “I didn’t think they’d turn out,” she confessed.
“I wasn’t lying when I said I normally need a recipe to make anything worth eating, but I did this from memory.
” She looked at me. “Would you like to try one?”
I would, but right now, there was only thing I wanted. “Later,” I said. “After.”
“After what?”
I smirked and took hold of her again, lifting her onto the counter. “You’ll see.” I dropped to my knees, and Emma gasped. I dragged her tiny shorts down her legs. She wasn’t wearing panties. “Mi esposa,” I said, clicking my tongue against my teeth. “Did you do this on purpose?”
Emma flushed. “Maybe.”
I eased one of her legs over each of my shoulders. “Good girl,” I murmured and yanked her closer to my face. I flicked my tongue out, groaning at the taste of her. She was already so fucking wet.
“Angel, please.” I stiffened my tongue and lapped at her clit, and she cried out as I slipped a finger into her soaked center. I listened to her soft whines and moans as I drove her higher and higher until her thighs tightened around my head.
Emma bucked against my face as her inner muscles clamped down around my finger as she came. Through the muffle of her thighs, I heard her call my name.
I eased back and stood, but when she reached for the zip on my jeans, I grabbed her hands. “Not now,” I said.
“But –”
“Later,” I assured her. “We have somewhere to be.”
Emma squealed with delight when she saw the horses, both large and chocolate brown, waiting for us on the beach. The attendant standing between them smiled. “Your wife has a beautiful smile, senor,” the man told me.
I felt my eyes go cold, even as the smile remained on my face. “She does, doesn’t she?” I asked, deadpan, and I watched the fear settle over the man like a cloak. I put an arm around Emma, squeezing until she squeaked with discomfort.
Emma slapped my arm, lightly, but it made me look at her. “Stop. Please?” she asked, and then her eyes tracked back to the horses. “I’ve never been on a horse before. How did they even get here?”
I stared at her for a moment, and then told the man, “I’ll take it from here,” and he handed over the reins of both horses to me. “We’ll meet you back here in a few hours, yes?” He dipped his head in agreement and hurried away, happy to be away from me, I imagined.
I glanced back at Emma. “My father likes to ride, so when he bought the island, he made sure that he had a stable built and hired the locals to maintain it,” I said, answering her question.
“Shall I help you up, mi esposa?” She nodded, and I had her step closer before I bent down and made a foothold from my hands.
“Step up and swing your leg over his back.”
I expected her to hesitate, but she placed her foot into my hands and lifted herself up, trusting me with her weight.
I held her while she swung her leg over, and then I helped to adjust herself in the saddle.
Then, I showed her how to get the horse to move, to turn, to stop.
When she had a basic understanding, I climbed onto the waiting horse, and we started walking down the beach.
I kept my eye on Emma and her bright smile. “Are you ready for something a little more advanced?” I asked.
She glanced at me. “Advanced?” I beckoned her to follow me, and I led us into the surf.
The horses, who loved swimming, were excited for the chance, and they took us farther out.
Emma was frightened for a moment, but then she laughed as she felt the horse’s body moving beneath her.
“I didn’t know they could swim!” she called, obviously delighted.
Our clothes were soaked through, and I couldn’t stop looking at the way her t-shirt formed against her curves. I was going to have to get her inside as soon as I possibly could. No one could see her like that. Her body was mine.
Back on the shore, two towels waited for us, and I climbed out of my saddle to retrieve them. I stripped off my shirt and knotted one around my waist. The second I threw over my shoulder to give to Emma the moment her feet were back on the sand. “How do I get down?” she asked.
“The same way you got up,” I replied. “Swing your leg over, and I’ll help you.”
Emma seemed a little wary, but she balanced her weight onto one stirrup and brought her other leg around.
I put my hands around her waist and let her use me as a ladder of sorts to get down.
As soon as she let go, I wrapped her towel around her body, tucking it around her, hiding away those curves that were absolutely mine. “Did you have fun?” I asked.
Her eyes crinkled with the size of her smile.
She leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to my cheek.
It was a simple caress, but the feel of her lips on my skin sent a shiver down my spine.
I wanted to turn my head and take her mouth with mine, but she jerked away before I could.
I ground my teeth: it shouldn’t bother me that she wouldn’t kiss me, but the kiss from our wedding haunted me.
I knew it would be good; she knew it would be good…
and yet, she held back. Even as she let me kiss and touch the rest of her body. It didn’t make a bit of sense.
But if she wasn’t going to bring it up, neither was I.
“Should we go up and have some dessert?” she asked.
“Is it still dessert if we haven’t had a meal first?” I countered. “Or is it just a sweet lunch?”
She giggled, and I liked the sound. I liked her smiles and the soft look in her eyes when she was happy. “I could make us a meal before we cut into the brownies,” she said. “If you’d rather eat something a little more substantial first.”
I shrugged; it didn’t matter to me. “Walk with me first,” I said. “We have to go back to Miami tomorrow, and things will be busy again.”
Emma agreed, and after we returned the horses back to their carer, we walked the length of the beach. “When we go back, what will be expected of me?” she asked. “What does a matriarch of a cartel do on a day-to-day basis?” Her eyes flicked to me. “What did your mother do?”
The mention of my mother made me grit my teeth; I had to bite back the snarl that threatened to crawl out of my mouth.
No one mentioned my mother, at least not in my presence, but Emma didn’t know better.
She hadn’t been told. I took a breath and counted to ten in my head as I let it out.
“My mother —” Acid seemed to fill my mouth, and I had to force the words out.
“My mother was a housewife. She cared for her family; she cooked often…that’s all I can remember. ”
“Were you very young when she died?”
“Yes.” I had to force the word through my teeth.
Emma went quiet for a moment, and we walked on in a thick silence.
The water was the perfect blue today, and while the sun shone overhead, it wasn’t oppressively bright or hot.
“There are days that I think it would have been better if my mother had died when I was younger,” Emma said eventually, not looking at me. “If she had to die at all, I mean.”
“How could that be better?” I asked. My chest was uncomfortably tight, and there was a ball of anger growing in my gut that was threatening to overwhelm me at the slightest provocation.
“Then, I wouldn’t remember her wasting away,” Emma said.
“Or, if I did, it would be in that nebulous, little kid kind of way. I could remember my mother as strong and full of life…instead of the shell that she became by the end.” Her voice was soft but bitter.
“I hate how much I resent her for needing me like she did. I hate that I’m going through all of this stuff, and I want her here to talk to. How fucked up is that?”
“I think it’s normal to miss your mother,” I said carefully, “and I think getting angry at something that neither of you had any control over is also normal.”
“But?”
I looked at her. “But, what?”
“I can hear it in your voice,” she said, impatient. “Just tell me.”
“But I don’t think you’d want to miss the time you had with her,” I said. “Even if your memories are tainted by her last year, you still have them.”
Emma was quiet for a moment, and then I felt her hand bump against mine. On instinct, I wrapped my hand around hers, threading our fingers together. “Do you miss your mother?” she asked.
“I was seven when she died,” I said. “I don’t remember her enough to miss her.”
We walked a little farther in silence. Then, “What do you remember?”
I shrugged. “Some of her cooking, like the milk truffles,” I said, “and her death.”
Emma’s breath came out in a shudder. “How—?” The words caught in her throat. “How did she die? Was she sick too?”
The lie was right there: she had given me an out. But even as I opened my mouth to lie, the truth came spilling out. “My mother killed herself shortly after Lili was born.” I glanced at Emma, who’s face had lost some of its color. “I found her in the bathtub; she’d cut her wrists.”
“Why?”
“Are you asking if she left some kind of note?” I asked snidely.
She shook her head. “Of course not,” she said, “but why would a woman with three small children kill herself?”
“Because she hated my father,” I said. “They weren’t a love match.
My mother was…gifted to my father by her family in order to make an alliance.
She wasn’t given a choice, but she tried to step into the role of matriarch as best she could.
” We stopped walking, and I squeezed her hand, bringing her icy eyes to mine.
“My father is not a gentle man; he won’t tolerate weakness, not even in his wife and children.
My mother suffered at his hands for as long as she could before she couldn’t stand it any longer. ”
Emma was horrified; it was written all over her face. I couldn’t blame her for it. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.
I shook my head. “Don’t be sorry,” I told her and cupped her face in my palm. “Be stronger than her, all right? Don’t let me down.”