small way, to soothe her with thumbs that stroked the tendons at her nape and hands that massaged in a sensuous caress.
“A dutiful wife, is she not?” Carlo’s voice inquired from somewhere above her. “Alas, her ministrations are for naught.”
Dominic spoke at last, his voice a low command. “It is you who should be readying her with your mouth.” With a slow, lingering reluctance, his touch left her.
At his words, her husband stilled. Then, as though he found it impossible to disobey his companion, his touch on her fell away, too. “Yes. You’re right, of course.”
When he stepped back, his shriveled penis slipped from her mouth, flopping free to dangle uselessly at his groin. Frustration lent his hands unnecessary force as he shoved her from him and then yanked up his trousers and tucked himself inside.
Chestnut tresses cascaded over Emma’s shoulders, trailing on the carpet as she fell awkwardly to her hands and knees. Carlo bent to help her, as though momentarily regretting his actions. But when she only glared up at him, he straightened away and simply finished adjusting his clothing.
Emma attempted to gather herself from the floor on her own, but with a full-term baby housed inside her, this proved impossible.
Strong hands came under her armpits, and she found herself lifted to her feet. Dominic again. Touching her when he had no right.
Whirling away as soon as she’d regained her balance, she pushed the curtain of hair from her face and wiped her lips with the back of one wrist. Embarrassed at what he’d been witness to and by his overly familiar behavior, she scanned his expression.
His face had taken on a grim quality, all planes and angles softened only by the shadowy beginnings of a blue-black evening stubble along his jaw. Those eyes had seen too much, knew too much. They were molten silver, pitiless and flat. She saw her own reflection in them, but nothing of him.
“You have no right to touch another man’s wife, signore,” she rebuked, angry and confused by the fact that Carlo hadn’t bothered to chastise him.
Though his gaze was on her, it was her husband to whom he spoke. “Prepare her, Carlo. My time draws near.”
6
With methodical precision, Dominic removed the weapon that hung at his side and positioned it on the mantel with the same care Emma had once seen a concert violinist employ in the handling of his instrument. Would he take such care with a woman? she wondered.
The wayward thought shocked her into speech.
“As you say, it grows late, signore. Why do you linger here?” she demanded, wary now not only of him but of her reaction to him.
His voice when it came was softness threaded with iron. “It is for your husband to explain.”
Those long fingers of his found the top button on his uniform and purposefully unfastened it. She took a faltering backward step, her wide eyes riveted to that large, capable hand working at his open collar.
Her incredulous gaze shot up to tangle with his, and what she read there confirmed her shocking deduction. Finally Carlo’s full intentions in bringing him here to her sank in.
“Carlo?” she gasped weakly, still unable to believe it could be true.
“Take off that damned robe and gown and let’s get on with this.” Carlo sighed. Though his tone was weary, the resolve in it shook her.
“No!” She folded the edges of her robe one atop the other, sealing the fabric so tightly at her throat she was nearly choked. Her eyes went to the door, but Dominic was watching her too keenly, and she knew he would prevent her from dashing through it, were she to try.
“Have you listened to nothing I’ve said?” Carlo asked, his voice full of misery. “I can’t fuck you tonight. He can.”
Going to him, she latched urgently on to his arm, giving it a hard shake. “No!”
“Yes, darling wife. My illustrious comrade here has graciously agreed to service you tonight in my stead. You shouldn’t find him too onerous. His partners in Else World are said to enjoy him.”
She darted a mortified glance at Dominic. By now, all nine buttons had been released from their moorings. The vertical split in his tunic hung open to reveal a heavily muscled chest, its sculpted velvet skin crisscrossed with the long-healed scars of vicious wounds.
“Remove your nightclothes, Emma, or I’ll do it for you,” Carlo threatened. But she didn’t hear. Her attention remained fixated on that shadowy, masculine chest. On its well-defined ridges, planes, and valleys. Her skin tingled with awareness of him, a stranger standing half a room away. Her fingernails dug half moons into her husband’s skin.
When she didn’t immediately comply with his wishes, Carlo turned angry. Ripping her hands away, he raised his arm as if to backhand her.
With a curt shriek, she ducked her head.
For a giant, Dominic moved quickly. Before the blow could fall, he’d blocked it.
Clasping a trembling hand over her lips, Emma eyed the door. Her view of it was framed in the gap between the two men who stood before her, and she watched for an opportunity to bolt past them. She’d never seen her husband so out of control, not even last month.
Carlo hesitated, searching Dominic’s expression. Something he read there had him lowering his arm and coming to comfort her.
Taking both of her hands in his, he spoke earnestly. “We must take care to ensure that our child arrives into this world in good health, for I cannot sire another in you, Emma.” His face contorted with emotion. “Give me this one gift, cara. I beg you. And make it a son.”
“Have you sought medical aid outside of the military hospital?” she argued, gripping his sleeve. “Is there truly no source of help for you?”
He shook his head, hopeless. When he spoke again, his tone was leaden. “There’s nothing to be done. Enjoy Dominic’s fucking of you. It will be the last you’ll have for the rest of your days.”
For the briefest and longest of moments she stood motionless, quietly panicking as she read the immutable truth of this in his eyes. Instinct pulled her toward escape. She slid her hands from his and sidled along the foot of the bed, this time heading in the direction of the door that adjoined her room, instead of toward the one that led to the hall.
The sudden heat of Dominic’s body at her back stopped her. Realizing her mistake, she tried to evade him. But fingers of iron grasped her upper arms, imprisoning her.
Though he still wore his tunic, it hung open now. Locked close, his sleek torso scorched her spine through her nightclothes.
She reached across herself, crumpling the cuff of his sleeve with imploring fingers. “Signore. Dominic. You must help us—”
“That’s precisely why he’s here,” her husband jeered.
“On your knees, Carlo.” She felt the words rumble in the chest behind her. Heard them expelled from lips bent close to her ear. “Prepare her with your mouth. Bring her to the edge of pleasure, that she
