Bandages, injury, was he really hurt?
Is that why he wouldn't take off his clothes in front of her? How did he get hurt anyway?
Eva Nightingale furrowed her brows, placing her small hand on the man's abdomen, her tone soft and tender: "Honey, shall we... shower together?"
"You go first." His voice was clear and cold, he indeed refused her.
"Let your husband help you, hmm?" he said.
Eva wasn't a fool. With a woman's intuition, she sensed that she hadn't felt wrong. So, was he really hurt?
She was stunned for a moment.
Because she wasn't wearing any clothes and was so close to him, leaning in his arms, she looked at his chest again: "Why won't you shower with me, my dear husband?"
"I don't like a woman who talks a lot." He raised his large hand, giving a light but firm pat on her little behind, "Behave, hmm?"
The corners of his lips curled up in a way that was as seductive as could be.
Those deep, narrow phoenix eyes were like a bottomless pool of water.
