Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83384 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83384 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“…and we can’t forget the O’Gregors.”
The O’Gregors are rivals to the Martins. We’re all separate Clans but irrevocably tied to one another in various ways.
“Anyone inspect the latest trade?” The arms trade is our largest, most profitable business we run.
“Aye. And all looks good there. But Father Finn says there’s an increase in the drug trade, and we suspect the O’Gregors are behind it.”
“We have nothing to do with that.”
“Don’t we? We’ve got half a dozen cops on our payroll. My sources tell me they’ve got none.”
I grunt. Alright, then. The O’Gregors are on the list.
I start when I hear the shower turning on. Is she trying to shower herself? She’ll still be wobbly from the head injury.
“I have to go, Keenan, Aileen needs me.”
“Aye. Come see me tonight, and I’ll run by the rest of the suspects.”
I hang up the phone and head to the bathroom.
Who’s behind this? I want to know. I need to know who’s responsible for the devastation they brought to my wife. For nearly killing her. I’ll find out who’s responsible, and they’ll fucking pay.
But first, I’ll see to my wife.
I hear her singing when I approach the shower and pause. I forgot the lass could sing. It’s a stark reminder of how little I do know about her, how far we have to go still.
I don’t want her showering alone. Sebastian said she could be dizzy from her head injury. I don’t want her tripping or falling. I go to open the door, to go help her, when I find it locked.
Mother of God, the lass is pushing my buttons.
I pound on the door. “Open this door!”
She continues to sing, belting out an old Irish ditty warning about the wiles of mermaids.
“Aileen. Open the door!” I pound it harder. Her singing stops.
“Who is it?”
Who is it? Is she pulling my chain?
“It’s Cormac!”
“I’m occupied, Cormac. Taking a shower.”
I take in a deep breath to steady my nerves. “Open. The. Door.”
“In a minute.”
“Fucking now!”
Her footsteps approach the door, and I hear a click of locks, before the door swings open. She’s dripping water all onto the floor, a towel pulled haphazardly about her. Her long, blonde hair hangs in unruly, damp waves.
“Well, you don’t have to shout.”
I step in the room. “Seems I do. Knocking politely hardly helped.”
“What do you have your knickers all in a wad over?”
I growl, prowling toward her, and she quickly drops her towel and hops back into the stream of hot water.
“Cormac, you don’t have to—eek! My goodness, you still have your clothes on!”
I don’t bother to strip, but step straight into the shower with her.
“Doctor said you could be dizzy,” I tell her. “Said to be sure you don’t shower without help.”
“I’m fine.”
I slap her wet arse. “You’re not fine until I tell you you are.”
“My God, I married a Neanderthal,” she laments to the ceiling.
“Damn right you did. Now give that here.” I gesture for the bar of soap beside her. Frowning, she obeys. I lather her up, and as much as I want to be pragmatic about this, I can’t help it. My dick hardens against my sodden jeans, while arousal coils in my belly.
I rinse her back and between her legs. Only days ago, I did this for the first time. But then, it was different. I knew who I was. I thought I was at least beginning to know who she was.
When I lather between her legs, she parts them and moans. God, I want to eat her out right here, right now. Sebastian says to do things that trigger memories. I’d be happy to try that.
I hold myself back, mustering all my self-control. I have to ease back into things with her.
“Ok, out you go, lass,” I say, stepping out of the shower. I towel her off, then have her sit on the toilet while I strip my own soaking wet clothes off. When I toss them to the hamper, she shakes her head.
“I did not remember how fucking hot you were,” she says. “Must admit that.”
I give her a smile. She’s still the same girl, adorable and witty. I drape a towel around my waist and lead her to bed.
“Cormac?” she asks. For a moment, the subdued little girl who woke earlier returns.
“Mm?”
“Did we… if I’m your wife, do we… do we like having sex? Do we have it often?” She’s pink to the tip of her nose.
Christ. She doesn’t remember. She can’t recall the way I fucked her on our wedding night. How she asked me to make her bleed. How I fucking did.
I have another chance.
“Of course.” I towel off and don’t meet her eyes.
“Was it… was it good?” I turn to face her, stepping into a pair of boxers. She’s eyeing me warily, then her eyes dip to my cock. She purses her lips.