Page 78 of Sinful Bride

I stare at him, hearing all of it, but especially the part where he said he can’t be what I need him to be. I didn’t realize he wanted to be. That he cared at all about what I needed. I’ve lived so long with cold, conniving, manipulative men that I never thought Declan would be anything but just a lesser version. But looking at him now, hearing him, I realize that while I’ve never known a truly good man… I might be seeing one now.

And I've spent weeks trying to make him feel exactly this way—inadequate, out of place, wrong for this world. I've undermined him and insulted him and done everything I could to prove he doesn't belong. And now, hearing him say it himself, I realize how much I hate it.

"You're not failing," I murmur.

"Yes, I am." He doesn't look at me. "You know it. My men know it. The other families know it. I'm a fucking joke, Elena. An upstart who doesn't belong, trying to play at being something he's not."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" He finally turns to face me, and the look in his eyes is devastating. "You've said as much yourself. Multiple times."

Guilt twists in my stomach. "I was angry⁠—"

"You were right." He steps out of the shower, water streaming off him, and reaches for a towel. I hit the tap to turn off the spray, now almost as soaked as he is. "I don't belong in your world. I never will. And trying to pretend otherwise is just getting people killed."

I watch him dry off with rough, angry movements. His muscles flex and shift under his skin, the bruises already darkening. He's beautiful and broken and so far from what I expected him to be.

"You're wrong," I whisper.

He pauses, the towel in his hands. "What?"

"You're wrong about yourself." I step out of the shower, tilting my head back to look at him. "You don't belong in my world because you're better than it. You're loyal and honest, and you actually care about your people. You're not like my father or the other bosses who see their men as expendable. You're not like anyone I've ever known."

He stares at me like I've spoken a foreign language. "Elena⁠—"

"I've been cruel to you." The words come out in a rush. If I don't say them now, I don’t know if I ever will. "I've undermined you and insulted you and tried to make you feel like you're not good enough. But the truth is, you're too good. Too decent. And I didn't know how to handle that."

"Too decent?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I just killed a man tonight, Elena. Stabbed him because he came at me and I didn't have a choice. Another body to add to my count. There’ve been a lot more of them lately."

I reach up and touch his face, my palm against his jaw. His skin is warm and damp, stubble rough under my fingers. "You did what you had to do. That doesn't make you a bad person. You’re trying to survive in a world that's designed to destroy people like you."

He closes his eyes and leans into my touch like he's starving for it, letting out a slow breath. My heart is racing at the way he’s leaning against me, seeking out comfort from me that I don’t know if I know how to give. "I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"Any of it." His voice drops to barely a whisper. "Lead. Navigate this world. Be a husband. I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm terrified that I'm going to get more people killed. That I'm going to—" He breaks off, opening his eyes to look at me. "That I'm going to lose you before I ever really had you."

My breath catches. "Declan⁠—"

"I know you don't want this marriage. I know you were forced into it, just like I was. But I—" He swallows hard. "I want it to work. I want us to work. And I don't know how to make that happen."

There's so much pain in his voice. And looking at him now, naked except for the towel around his waist and the boxers beneath, bruised and exhausted, I realize I want him.

It has nothing to do with my duty as a wife or his demands, or anything else that is supposed to happen. I just want him.

"Declan." I slide my hand from his jaw to the back of his neck, my fingers threading through his wet hair. "You're not failing."

"Elena—"

"You're not." I pull him down toward me, rising on my toes to close the distance between us. "Here’s proof.”

His breath ghosts across my lips, and I lean in to kiss him. He hesitates for just a moment, and then lets go of the towel, his hands coming up to grip the back of my shoulders as his mouth crashes into mine.

It’s desperate and hungry, raw with the utter relief he seems to feel at being given permission to touch me again. His hands grip me, his hips arching forward to press against mine, and I feel how hard he is already. He’s so hard his cock is already pushing through the fly of his underwear.

I melt into him, my fingers yanking at the waist of his boxers. God, I want him. I strip them off and feel his cock press against my abdomen, hot through my wet clothes. Declan is breathing hard as my hands slide down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle and the heat of his skin. He's still damp from the shower, and I can taste water on his lips, feel it on my fingertips. He groans into my mouth when I touch the bruise on his ribs, and I soften my touch, careful not to hurt him.

"Elena." He breaks the kiss, breathing hard. "We don't have to⁠—"