Tiernan
“Shay has sure gone and done it now,” I hear one of my men say behind me.
“Can’t see a pretty lass and not put his hands on her. Shame,” another one utters critically.
“Boss, I think your brother is trying to sneak off with your prize.” A few others cackle unashamedly.
I turn around to see what all my men are snickering about, only to find my wife, hand in hand with my brother, as he leads her to the dance floor. The music suddenly stops when their feet touch the vinyl, making everyone that was dancing disperse to the side, leaving the floor empty for my new bride to have her first dance with my brother, no less.
Custom says that I should have the honor, but apparently Shay doesn’t agree.
When Colin sees the unlikely pair and figures out what’s about to happen, his green eyes turn a shade darker. Instantly, he breaks from the rigid stance he’s held all night, with the goal of pulling Shay by his hair, if need be, far away from my bride. Before my cousin has time to fly past me in a disgruntled rage, I shake my head, keeping him from taking another step.
“Leave him be,” I order, taking another sip of my whiskey, hating that the liquid hasn’t made much of a dent in my sobriety tonight.
“I don’t like it,” Colin mutters beside me.
“You don’t like most of Shay’s shenanigans. So why should this be any different?” I take another pull.
“Boss—”
“I said leave it,” I repeat more harshly.
This time Colin doesn’t protest, crossing his arms over his chest disapprovingly.
It’s not that I don’t understand why my cousin is pissed at my baby brother’s latest show of insubordination. It’s just that I don’t care. Shay has always danced to the beat of his own drum, and thinking that I can control him in any way, shape, or form is setting me up for failure. I’ve always given Shay free rein to do as he pleases, knowing that ultimately his loyalty starts and ends with me. If I learned anything from the great leaders of the past, it’s that family can either make you stronger, or it can be the chink in the chain that finally destroys you. Many a mafia boss have been overthrown and killed by their own kin—brothers, cousins and uncles who got weary of taking orders and decided that they could do a better job of being in charge of the family business. Shay has never given me any reason to think he wants my seat at the head of the table, but I’m not foolish enough to give him one, either.
If dancing with Rosa is how he’ll get his kicks tonight, I say let him have at it.
I won’t berate him in front of all our family and guests and start the rumor mill going that my new wife has barely been here a day and is already causing a rift between us.
I do, however, wonder what her motives are, though.
She doesn’t look the type to be easily seduced by a pretty face.
And she also doesn’t look dumb enough to try and purposely embarrass me in front of my men.
Which leaves me to think this is her manipulative way of paying me back.
Either because she’s still licking her wounds at my lack of presence before our wedding, or because I was less than welcoming on our drive to the reception hall. Whatever the reason, if she thought that accepting Shay’s offer to dance would somehow upset me or put me in my place, she has another thing coming.
When they are both at the very center of the dancefloor, Shay nods over to the DJ and a Spanish ballad begins to play through the speakers. Rosa’s eyes lift up to my brother in unspoken gratitude, to which he smiles back almost dotingly. He then places a respectful hand carefully on her lower back, while the other clasps her hand. They start to waltz around the dancefloor, seemingly uncaring that every pair of eyes in this room are on them, and like everyone else, I study their interaction down to a T.
Shay is just being Shay, putting on a show, but Rosa looks stiff as a board while my brother leads her in the dance. When her gaze constantly lowers, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes, it’s blatantly apparent that she’s uncomfortable with the attention they are getting. When she looks at her feet for the third time in as many minutes, my brother takes his hand off her back and tilts her chin up to look at him.
“Just keep your eyes on me,” I watch him mouth to her.
The gesture is supposed to be comforting, Shay’s way of putting my bride at ease, but from the outside looking in, it looks intimate.
Almost as if he cares.
Hmm.
Maybe Colin wasn’t so off-base after all.
Maybe I should put a stop to this.
Although, I can’t blame my brother for wanting to use any excuse in the book to touch my wife.
The fates must have had a hell of a laugh at my expense when my father picked Rosa’s name out of the dreadful fruit bowl ten years ago. The fact that she is a Hernandez was my first cause for concern, but when she stepped into the Holy Cross Cathedral earlier today, I knew in that instant she was going to be more trouble than she was worth.
I’m not a man that is known for getting caught off guard in regards to anything.
I’m always prepared for any and all eventualities.
But I have to admit, even I wasn’t expecting her .
Not that there was any way I could have prepared myself either.
A few months after that horrid day in Bermuda, I succumbed to my curiosity and looked Rosa up online. I just wanted a glimpse of her, nothing more. Just a face to put to the name. However, her father, Miguel, had been careful and ensured that not one picture of his daughter could be found, leaving her existence limited to just a name online. And as the years passed and our deadline to marry approached, my curiosity about my future wife waned.
Somewhere along the way, I had made the decision that’s exactly how Rosa Hernandez would remain.
Just a name.
First online.
Now a scribbled signature on a wedding certificate and nothing more.
I had no intention of giving Rosa more importance than that. I’d give her my protection, set her up in some lavish brownstone in Beacon Hill, and forget she existed after that.
But then I lifted that fucking veil.
I wasn’t expecting her to be so fucking breathtaking.
Large brown doe eyes looked up at me, and suddenly every intention I had went out the window. I’m still not sure what I’m going to do with her, but keeping her secluded and away from my sight doesn’t seem as appealing to me as it once did.
Beautiful.
That’s the word Colin used to describe her.
I should have known that my cousin’s limited vocabulary could never do her justice.
My wife is so much more than that small word.
She’s devastating.
An exotic flower plucked from her homeland and gifted to me on a silver platter to do whatever I want with. I could pluck out her petals, one by one. I could cut out her thorns and leave her defenseless. I could crush her in the palm of my hand if I so wished. Or I can nurture her and stand back to watch her blossom.
Such a frail thing to be put in my ungodly hands.
But as I watch her cheeks tinge a pretty shade of red, and her cupid-bow lips part for breath while her gaze remains fixed on my brother’s, the sudden need to remind her that I’m the one who is the master of her fate violently springs free from my chest.
When the song finishes, both Shay and Rosa stare into each other’s eyes, as if they are sharing a private little secret that no one should be made privy to. Annoyed with the cozy display, I step onto the dancefloor and walk over to them. Shay instantly lets go of her hand, his usual carefree expression nowhere in sight, while the wedding guests wait on bated breath to see what I’ll do.
“I’ll take it from here, brother,” I state evenly.
“Are you sure? I don’t mind giving her another twirl?” He smirks at me, his innuendo clear as day.
“You’ve warmed her up enough. It’s time to let the adults have their turn.”
Shay runs his tongue over his teeth before directing his attention back to my nervous bride. He lifts her hand and places a tender kiss along her knuckles.
“Now you have something to look back on,” he says playfully.
“Thank you,” she responds with genuine sincerity in her tone, making my usual cocky brother timidly smile back at her.
“Go,” I order, my patience starting to wear thin.
“Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time. Can’t have any fun around here.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of women here that you can have your supposed fun with that aren’t my wife.”
“But none of them as lovely.”
He offers her a little bow and a flirtatious wink before leaving us alone in the middle of the dancefloor. I give the DJ a tilt of the head, and he puts on an old traditional Irish ballad. Rosa stands a good distance away, waiting for my next move.
“Come here.”
She blinks twice as if English is a foreign language to her.
“I won’t ask again.”
“It didn’t seem like you asked the first time. It sounded more like an order.”
“Are you so keen to break your marriage vows to me so soon? If I recall, you did promise to obey me, did you not?”
The flash of hatred that crosses her chestnut gaze loosens the knot in my chest I didn’t realize was even there. Reluctantly, she bridges the gap between us but insists on leaving a few safe inches. Tired of her resistance, I snake my arm around her waist and pull her to me so fast her chest hits mine. She sucks in a startled breath, but doesn’t utter a word in retaliation at my manhandling her.
Like a rag doll needing instruction, I take both of her hands and place them around my neck while mine settle around her slender waist. Her cheeks are flaming red at how our bodies are pressed together, but her brown eyes continue to hold the same contempt as before.
We begin to sway back and forth in sync with the melody playing around us. Unlike with Shay, she isn’t as bashful in making eye contact with me. In fact, her piercing, menacing glower, intent on showing me she’s not one bit happy to be dancing with me, almost coaxes a smile out of me.
Almost.
When she absentmindedly diverts her attention away from me and onto the crowd watching us for a split second, I tighten my hold on her to remind her that I’m the only one that matters here. Her narrowed gaze rises to meet mine in displeasure.
“If your intention is to kill me in front of all your guests, then I’m sure there are more creative ways of doing it than smothering me to death,” she finally says through the fakest-ass smile I’ve ever seen on a woman.
“As much as the thought has crossed my mind, I have no intentions of killing you.”
“Why do I feel there is a yet left out of that statement?”
“You weren’t this vocal when my brother was dancing with you,” I rebuke, instead of giving her an answer.
“He wasn’t trying to suffocate me.”
“No. He was trying to fuck you.”
This time I do smile when her gorgeous eyes widen and her jaw falls to the floor in utter astonishment.
“Hmm. You’re what? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? Given your age, I was under the assumption that I had gotten the more mature girl in the pack. I didn’t think you’d embarrass so easily. Or be this naïve.”
“You didn’t embarrass me. And I’m not naïve,” she bites back through gritted teeth. “Your brother didn’t… I mean he wasn’t trying to… to seduce me like you said.”
“Oh, no? Then what was he trying to do?”
“He was just trying to be nice. A trait I see isn’t common in the Kelly family.”
“Nice, you say? My brother has never been nice a day in his life. You’ve known him for a hot minute. I’ve known him his entire life. Who between us knows him and his true intentions better, I wonder?”
“Maybe you’re not as in tune with your brother as you think.”
“Believe me, acushla , I’m well aware of the thoughts running through my horny brother’s mind, as I am of most of my men here. Next time you feel the need to get groped, be more subtle and do it where lingering eyes can’t see you.”
Her nose crinkles in disgust.
“Thank you for taking a perfectly innocent and kind moment and twisting it into something indecent and ugly. I won’t forget it.”
“You’re welcome.”
On impulse, she turns her eyes away from mine, but then remembers herself and keeps them exactly where they should always be—on me.
For the remainder of the song, we don’t say another word to each other, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a silent battle of wills being fought between us. Like her namesake, this rose came with sharp-edged thorns, and she isn’t shy in using them to cut a man down if the need arises.
Unfortunately for her, no prick or cut she can inflict will ever cause me an ounce of pain. And if she’s not careful, she’ll learn the true meaning of the word agony soon enough.
But the night is still young.
Who knows?
Maybe I’ll give her just a little taste.
My cock hardens at the idea, and for the first time in a decade, I’m eager to perform my husbandly duties.
“We’re spending our wedding night back at the hotel?” Rosa asks, unable to hide her displeasure when I instruct our limo driver to take us to the Liberty Hotel where she stayed last night.
“Is the room not to your liking?” I cock a brow, wondering if her disapproval of where we are to start our so-called honeymoon has anything to do with her somehow learning that the place used to be a prison in its heyday before it was converted to the luxurious five-star hotel that it is now.
Some might have thought my choice of having my bride lay her head there her first night in Boston distasteful. Maybe even sadistically macabre.
I thought it was fitting.
If I’m to fulfill this imprisonment, then I might as well start it off in a place that holds some form of symbolism to it.
“No. It’s fine,” she mumbles, turning her head away from me, so I can’t read the disappointment on her face.
If this marriage wasn’t a sham, then maybe I wouldn’t be so reluctant to take her back to my place tonight. But as circumstances stand, just the idea of having a Hernandez walking around my sanctuary, touching my things, or running the risk of her sweet floral perfume floating all throughout my apartment nauseates me. I’m going to need some time to get used to married life, and I’d rather do that in neutral territory before I invite the enemy into my home.
Still…
Rosa has been able to accomplish the impossible tonight. Her presence alone served as a great distraction, keeping my mind, even if only at times, away from the hell my sister must be experiencing back in Vegas. But just as the realization dawns on me that I haven’t thought about Iris once since I danced with my wife, a tidal wave of guilt hits me straight in the chest like one of my construction company’s cement trucks, accompanied by the worst nightmare my fiendish mind can conjure up. My hands ball into fists with the image of three Bratva bastards charging at my sister, her only means of defense the simple dagger I gave her as a wedding present.
The horrid thought has me so tense that it takes me a second to register delicate fingers covering my balled-up fist on the leather seat beside me. My nostrils flare as I snap my head over to Rosa, whose gentle gaze is fixed on our hands.
“They won’t hurt her,” she whispers, running her thumb over my scarred knuckles, eyeing the movement ever so carefully, like I’m some wild animal that will bite her hand off at any given moment. “They can’t. The treaty prevents them from doing so.”
I quickly pull my hand away from hers, burned by her tender touch as well as repulsed by her naivety.
“Is that what you think?” I growl, disgusted.
“It’s what I know,” she states plainly, clasping her hands together on her lap.
“And what exactly do you know, pray tell?”
Her forehead wrinkles at the venom in my voice, but either bravery or mere stupidity prevents her from not answering my loaded question.
“I know that if your sister is harmed in any way while she’s under Volkov’s care, that the families will retaliate against them. The Bratva gave their word to protect her on penalty of death. I don’t see them breaking such an oath for mere sport.”
I grab her chin, uncaring of how my fingers dig into her soft flesh or how they are bound to leave their mark.
“The word of monsters means nothing,” I spit out.
“That’s not true,” she counters steadfastly, her gaze never wavering from mine. “Many would call you a monster, yet no one would dare question your word. Not even my brother. If Alejandro thought my safety would be in question in any way, then he would have killed you before I stepped one foot on U.S. soil.”
The menacing low laugh that rips through my throat pales her olive-toned cheeks.
“If you believe that, then you’re an even bigger fool than your brother. There are many ways to make someone’s life a living hell and still leave a person physically intact, so as to not to warrant the wrath of the families. Do not speak of things you do not know. It only makes you sound ignorant.”
She pulls her chin from my grasp, tilting her head away from me and towards the passenger’s side window.
“Men like you think they hold a monopoly on suffering and pain. Just because you are experts in doling out misery doesn’t mean you know one thing about true anguish. Proclaiming that you do only makes you sound ignorant.”
I stare at the back of her head, suddenly wanting to pull her silky brown hair and crane her neck back to look at me. It’s so fucking long that I’d have no problem in spinning it twice around my wrist.
“And what does a cartel princess know of suffering?” I sneer in contempt.
“Who I am has nothing to do with it. Everyone hurts. Some people just hide it better than others.”
“Hmph,” I grunt, turning my attention away from her.
She talks of pain like it’s her secret confidante and lifelong companion, but I’m not fooled. What could she possibly know of true suffering, when all her life she’s been sheltered and spoiled, living the life of grandeur and decadence at the expense of innocent lives? Her family feeds off lost souls and reaps the profit of their demise. She doesn’t know the first thing about misery, and her professing that she does only serves to make me hate her more.
“Can I ask you a question?” she finally asks after a long, heavy pause.
“I don’t see how I can stop you.”
“When did your sister leave?”
My brows pull together, wondering where she is going with this.
“Yesterday morning. Around the time you got into Boston.”
“I see. And why didn’t you go with her? Why didn’t you accompany her to Vegas like Alejandro accompanied me here?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Iris asked me not to,” I grumble, annoyed with her interrogation. “Unlike you, my sister didn’t want a babysitter when being hand-delivered to the devil. Iris wanted to face hell alone. On her own terms.”
“Do you always do what people ask of you?” she continues on, unphased by my dig or the vivid picture I just painted for her.
“No. Only for the ones that matter to me.”
“So, you gave her your word?”
“Yes.” I grind my teeth.
“I see.”
“And what exactly do you see?” I tilt my head towards her again, finding her back is still facing me, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
“That you’re a good brother.”
“Hmph.”
“And that even when it goes against your very nature, you keep your word when given. Just like Alejandro said you would.”
When she looks over her shoulder back at me with a gleam of triumph in her eyes, my jaw ticks. By conning me into confessing that my word is my bond, she is now assured that her life is safe in my hands, despite what I think of her and her family.
“You’re clever. I’ll give you that,” I relent with a frown.
“Is that a compliment?”
“Take it however you want to. I don’t care.”
“Then I’ll take it as a compliment. It’s better for my ego that my husband thinks I’m clever and not a naïve, ignorant fool,” she says with a thin smile, throwing my own words back against me.
“You have a good memory.”
“I’m sure everyone does when they’ve been offended.” She shrugs nonchalantly.
“Is your confidence so frail that you need to keep track of every insult someone throws at you?”
“No. My self-worth cannot be damaged by simple words alone. However, most brides do care what their husbands think about them. Why should I be any different?”
“Trust me, Rosa. My perception of you should be the least of your concerns.”
Instead of the fear I was sure that remark would coax out of her, all I see is sadness clouding her big brown eyes. Her somber demeanor rubs me the wrong way. Irritates me even. I would much rather deal with her when she is trying to cut me down a peg. Her bravery, no matter how idiotic, is preferable to melancholy.
I can even deal with hatred.
Sadness, however, strikes too much of a nerve inside me.
By the time we reach Beacon Hill, I’m wired as all hell as well as painstakingly exhausted by today’s events.
Who knew that getting married to my sworn enemy was such a strenuous affair?
I shrug off the other hotel guests’ stares as Rosa and I walk side by side through the large luxurious foyer and head towards the elevator. I’ve lived all my life in Boston’s public eye, so I’ve become accustomed to the attention of strangers. However, it strikes me that the curious glances being sent our way aren’t directed at me. Not that I’m surprised. The real showstopper is Rosa in that fucking wedding dress. I make a note—after tonight, I’m either going to burn the thing or never let it into my sight again.
As much as I hate to admit it, the image of her entering the cathedral in that goddamn dress will forever be branded into my memory. Even with a fucking veil covering her face, it took my very breath away. Like the woman herself, the dress was elegant yet provocatively bold, making sure that I was the envy of every man there, wishing they could fill my shoes on that godforsaken altar.
Hmm.
Now that I think about it, maybe it was a good thing Rosa kept her face hidden from me to start with. I’m not sure how I would have reacted if I had a full view of all of her at once.
I was expecting a frightened lamb to be led to her slaughter.
But what I got was a queen ready to sit on her throne.
It pissed me off as much as it intrigued me.
When we arrive at our floor, my men are already there guarding the penthouse suite. Seeing them there reminds me that I’ll have to find someone permanent to guard my wife. Someone I can trust. I didn’t think the position would be a hard one to fill, but now that I’ve laid eyes on Rosa, I’m not so sure. I mentally scroll through a list of names of men I would feel comfortable enough leaving Rosa alone with and in their care and come up empty-handed. Even the married ones will have a hard time not lusting over my exotically beautiful wife. And though I have no intention of keeping my own marriage vows, I will not be made a cuckold either. A woman like her will need her bed warm at all times to be content, and like hell will I let one of my soldiers fill the empty spot I’ve made.
I haven’t been married a full day, and already this woman is making my life difficult.
Fuck.
I push through the double doors of the penthouse and rush towards the bar in the corner of the living room, needing a drink to cool my temper. I find a bottle of a fifty-year-old single malt and fill my tumbler halfway with it, drinking it all in one go. I don’t have to look at her to feel Rosa’s judging gaze on me as I refill my glass.
“Want one?” I ask, taking another shot.
“No, thank you. I don’t drink.”
“You’re a Kelly now. Kellys drink.”
“Not me,” she rebukes evenly, with the same dignified grace she’s fought tooth and nail to hold on to all day.
The urge to see her superior mien crack, to run a hammer to it and obliterate it until all that’s left is tiny shards of glass that I can easily crush with the sole of my shoe, is overwhelming.
I fill the glass again and walk the distance over to her as she tries not to fidget under my cold scrutiny.
“Drink,” I order, forcefully grabbing her hand and clutching our combined fingers around the base of the glass.
“No.”
“I said drink.” I tighten my grip on her hand.
If looks could kill, then I’d be ten feet under.
Her glower burns bright with a hostility I know all too well.
“And I said no.”
I stare into her eyes, watching her watch me put the glass to my lips with our entwined hands and taking another swig of my whiskey. I then grab the nape of her neck and harshly crash my lips onto hers, the shocked gasp she lets out granting me enough access between her lips to pour the bitter liquid into her mouth and down her throat. I don’t let up until I’ve made sure she swallows all of it to the very last drop.
When my cock hardens at the idea of forcing my newly-wedded wife to do the same with my cum, I immediately let go of my hold on her, making Rosa stumble back on her unsteady legs.
“We Kellys drink. Get used to it,” I warn with an unforgiving sneer.
As I continue to stare into the pure animosity that is swimming in her eyes, it bothers me how my cock decides to swell even further the minute I encounter small flecks of gold around her irises.
Not wanting her to see the effect she’s had on my traitorous dick, I turn my back to her and walk, yet again, to the bar in the corner for another refill. When I raise my glass to my lips this time, my tense muscles instantly relax at finding myself alone in the room.
Fuck.
How long is this excruciating day going to last?
I just want it to be over and done with already.
One thing I’ve taken out of today is that if I was a smart man, I would do everything in my power to limit our time together. Go back to my original plan to set my bride up in a swanky apartment or house fit for her stature and just forget her very existence.
That’s what my logical mind is screaming for me to do.
But there are other parts of me that aren’t so easily convinced.
My cock being one of them.
Not that I have ever let him make my decisions for me in the past. I’ve never been one to romanticize my interactions with women. Up to this point, the only use I’ve had for any female has either been in counting the profits they made me professionally or the few hours I’ve spent balls deep inside them just to get the edge off after a hard day’s work. Fucking for me has always been about the release, not companionship. I’m usually out the door before they’ve even come down from the earth-shattering orgasm I’ve given them.
I don’t have to know the inner workings of my wife’s mind to know that Rosa is the kind of woman that yearns to be intellectually stimulated. She’s definitely not the kind that wants to be ass fucked from behind while she’s spread out on all fours on top of my bed.
My cock twitches in my pants, daring me to put that theory to the test.
Like that will ever fucking happen.
Still, I can’t deny that she intrigues me. Both physically and mentally.
The way she braved facing me head-on, head held high, not only irritates me, but it also brought forth this insistent need to break her bravado in any way I could. The sudden urge to see her cheeks turn pink in both shyness and embarrassment, and leave her breathlessly tongue-tied is too seductive for words.
Much like the way she looked when she was dancing with Shay earlier tonight.
I crack my neck to the side, releasing the tension there as I recall how she looked into my brother’s eyes with complete and utter trust embedded in them.
Not that I can fault her ingenuity on that front.
Shay has always had an uncanny knack when it came to dealing with the fairer sex. His silver tongue could coax a faithful married woman of twenty years into an orgy just as easily as it could soothe a little girl’s tears from shedding after falling off her bike. My brother could smooth talk a nun to her knees, have her deep throat him in a church confessional, and then have her thank God Almighty for the privilege. I should know since I’m the one who had to write a big fat check to Bishop O’Sullivan when Shay was caught fucking Sister Riley with her own crucifix when he was barely eighteen years old.
I’ll have to have a word with him in regards to Rosa.
He’ll see her as a challenge, even if he should only see her as a reminder of the pain her family has caused us.
Whenever we reminisce on the past, Athair sometimes likes to remind me that there was a point in my life that I used to be just as carefree and reckless as Shay is today.
Feels like a lifetime ago, though.
A life that no longer exists thanks to the Hernandezes.
I empty the remaining contents of my glass at the thought, letting the burn trail down my throat. I’ve drunk more than my fill tonight, yet all I got was a small buzz for my troubles. Not strong enough to dull the senses or the hectic thoughts ruminating around my head, unfortunately.
A quick glance at my Cartier watch tells me it’s close to midnight, and a good hour has passed since Rosa retreated to the bedroom. I need to wash the day off my skin and try to grab a few hours of sleep if I can. I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to get with Iris always on my mind, but I’ll be no use to anyone tomorrow if I don’t at least try.
Hopefully by now, Rosa is fast asleep in bed and won’t hear me going into the ensuite to grab a quick shower. I take off my suit jacket and throw it over an armchair before heading towards the bedroom. But to my chagrin, when I enter the room, the infuriating woman is still in her wedding dress staring at her reflection via a standing black framed mirror, as if she knows its only purpose is to torment me.
Pissed that I’ll have to go without my shower since she’s still awake, I grab a pillow off the bed and start heading back to the living room.
“What are you doing?” she asks, turning around to face me.
“What does it look like?”
“Aren’t you going to sleep in here? With me?”
“Do you want me to?” I counter with a dry tone.
“You are my husband now. Don’t husbands share the same bed with their wives?” she retorts instead of answering my question.
“Not all husbands. I know many couples who sleep in separate beds and are perfectly content.”
She chews on her bottom lip in deep thought, unaware that the nervous gesture provokes salacious thoughts of my own teeth piercing through the same soft flesh.
“That may be true,” she begins somewhat hesitantly, “but I doubt they started off that way. Especially on their wedding night.”
“I’ll ask you again. Would you prefer that I stay?”
Her chin tilts upwards as if remembering herself and who she is dealing with.
“Whether you stay or don’t is completely up to you. I would, however, prefer that you didn’t insinuate I have any vote on the matter,” she bites back. “We both know I don’t.”
There is that spirit again.
Alejandro should have taught his sister that if she insisted on poking at a caged animal, sooner or later, not even the bars keeping it hostage would protect her.
Instead of entertaining this conversation any further, I pick up a discarded blanket on a nearby settee and start to head out of the room.
“Wait,” she half-whispers, half-yells.
“Yes?” I turn around.
“I’m not going to beg you to stay, if that’s your intention. In all honesty, I’m extremely tired and look forward to a good night’s rest.”
“Then you shall have it,” I mutter, starting to walk back out.
“But,” she adds forcefully, stopping me again from getting out of the room. “If I’m to do that, I’ll need some help getting out of this dress. I won’t grab a wink of sleep tonight with it on.”
“Are you asking me for help?” I ask suspiciously, thinking that somehow this is some sort of trap.
She turns her back to me and points at the ties holding up her white corset that are impossible for her to reach on her own.
“I’ve been trying to untie this dress for the past hour with no luck. If you can’t do it for me, then you’ll leave me no choice, and I’ll have to ask one of your guards outside to help me out instead.”
“Careful,” I warn, pointing a threatening finger her way. “I’m not one for ill-humored jokes or manipulation.”
I’d sooner grab my knife and cut her out of the damn dress than have any one of my men lay a finger on it.
“It’s not one or the other. It’s mere desperation. Will you help me or not?” she exclaims, perching her hands on her hips.
Seeing that she’s being sincere in her exasperation, I throw the blanket and pillow back on top of the bed and begin to bridge the gap between us. She turns to face the mirror once more, squaring her shoulders to look impassive as I draw nearer to her, but I know it’s all for show.
She’s nervous.
Agitated.
But then again, it’s expected since most brides usually are on their wedding night. Especially when they are about to let their husband see them naked for the first time. A rite of passage that I think Rosa would have preferred to have skipped altogether.
Sensing her unease with the whole situation, I harshly pull at the garment with more force than needed, making her gasp in surprise. Since I’m a good few inches taller than her, I have a perfect view of the swell of her breasts, her chest slowly heaving up and down as she tries to control her shallow breathing.
“Do I make you nervous, Rosa?”
When she doesn’t answer me, I give one of the ties another tight pull, making her gasp out again.
“I believe that’s a yes.” I smirk.
“Any woman would be nervous around a total stranger taking her clothes off,” she counters once she’s gained control of herself.
“I see you haven’t had many one-night stands, otherwise you wouldn’t say that,” I goad.
She raises her head upwards to catch my eyes with hers, searing contempt plastered to her face.
“You know I haven’t. And insinuating that you have is not only cruel but distasteful.”
“Would you have rather I stayed celibate for the ten years I had to wait to marry you?”
“Why not? I was forced to,” she deadpans, those golden flecks like tiny daggers to my chest.
I’m not sure if it’s her confession of not having been touched by another man in the last decade that has me spiraling, but before I know what I’m doing, my eyes land on her mouth. Soft lips tantalize me, the bottom one fuller than its counterpart, begging to be tugged, sucked, and pulled. When she sees my tongue lick my suddenly parched lips, her breathing picks up, drawing my attention away from her luscious mouth back to the fullness of her breasts.
“There is no need for you to be nervous with me,” I say, my voice rough and telling. “I’m not a stranger. I’m your husband.”
“Right now, they are one and the same,” she replies despondently, lowering her gaze from me and onto the mirror in front of us.
“If that’s the case, then why were you disappointed at the fact that I would rather sleep on the couch than share a bed with you?”
“Who says I’m disappointed?”
“Are you saying you aren’t?”
“Disappointment was my father telling me at seventeen that I was to marry a man I’ve never met. A sworn enemy at that. Disappointment was me being sent out to live in a country where I have no family or friends to speak of. You wishing not to sleep in my bed on our wedding night pales in comparison. In fact, I’m sure it’s the only blessed reprieve I’ll get for what undoubtedly will be a life filled with more disappointments.”
Fuck does she know how to push a man’s buttons!
I tug the ties of her corset again, this time forcing her back to be flush against my chest. I do my best not to focus on how her body perfectly molds itself to mine in all the right places, or how easy it would be for me to lift up her flowing skirt and sink deep inside her. I’d make sure to erase the word ‘disappointment’ from her vocabulary, one thrust at a time.
Instead, I lower my mouth to her ear, her skin instantly breaking out in goosebumps with just my warm breath tickling her long neck.
“If this is your way of enticing me into your bed, then someone should have taught you the art of seduction.”
“Seduction?” She breathes out the word in such a way it feels like a gentle stroke to my cock. “You’ve won your prize, fair and square, Tiernan. Why seduce someone if the world views them as already yours?”
Fuck.
I swallow the groan that wants to come out at the sound of my name on her lips.
“Is that what you are, Rosa?” I ask as my fingers run circles on her bare shoulder. “Mine?”
As I anticipated, she refuses to give me an answer, but she doesn’t have to. My wife’s body betrays her when she’s unable to hide the shiver that runs down her spine.
“To do with as I please?” I add hoarsely as my hand travels up from her shoulder onto the pulse point on her neck, feeling her heart rate speed up under my fingertips.
“Is that how you saw this playing out tonight? That I would take you just because some piece of paper said you were mine?”
“If I’m not yours, then whose am I? Not mine, that’s for sure. I’ve never been mine.”
The melancholy that resurfaces in her voice stops me cold in my tracks.
I take a step back, and immediately she lets out a relieved breath.
“One thing you should know about me if we are to get along is that I don’t believe in ownership. I prefer my women to come to me willingly. I know that doesn’t mean much considering the situation we find ourselves in, but I will not take something that isn’t freely given. Hence why I am going to sleep on the couch. So breathe easy, Rosa. Your virtue is safe.”
I watch her forehead crease in confusion but don’t say anything more on the matter. With nimble fingers, I start taking the rest of the ties out of her corset. When I pull the ribbon out of its last loop, her dress falls to her feet in an instant, making my breath catch in my throat, and I curse the fates that delivered her to my door. If I knew that underneath the dress would be virginal white lingerie that leaves very little to the imagination, then I would have forced her to sleep in the damn thing.
Gorgeous sun-kissed skin glistens along every groove and valley of her body, only serving to stretch my restraint to its fullest extent.
No one could ever mistake Rosa for a delicate flower.
She’s all woman.
Long legs that lead up to thick thighs and a mouthwatering pear-shaped ass, paired with a slender waist that is perfect for large hands to grab on to.
However, when she turns around and I see those ample breasts being covered up by lace, as well as her crossed arms, I frown.
“Thank you for helping me,” she struggles to say under my watchful eye.
“If you want to thank me, then I suggest you put some clothes back on. And quickly.”
“Why the rush? I thought you said my virtue was safe with you?”
“It is. But that doesn’t mean I’m a saint. Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind and want to get fucked tonight?”
Her cheeks flame red at my crudeness, making her lean down and pick up her dress to cover her front with it. Unfortunately for her—and I’m starting to suspect for me as well—when she bends down, she unwittingly gives me a better view of the double D’s she’s been trying to shield from my wandering eyes. She swiftly picks up a small discarded bag sitting on the floor next to the bed and hurriedly races to the bathroom, closing the door shut behind her.
It’s only when I hear her turn the lock that I exhale.