Chapter 12 Sean #2
I let out a sharp breath. “And if I let them stay, then what? How the fuck can I trust them after I’ve tried to fire them? There’ll be resentment there. Not to mention that I will have gone back on an order, so how the fuck will they ever take me seriously after that?”
“I’ll talk to them,” Jack says evenly. “Smooth things over. There won’t be any fallout from this, I swear.”
I suck in a breath, contemplating my options for a moment. Then I release it, nodding.
“Fine. But if there’s so much of a hint of dissidence after this, it’s gonna be your ass.”
“Fair enough.” Jack leaves, and I follow shortly behind, wanting to check on Maeve now that Dr. Lewis should be here to look at her.
She’s in the sitting room, and Dr. Lewis is there, examining Maeve's arm. "Ah, Sean." He doesn't look up as he hears me enter. "Your wife is very lucky. Another inch to the left and this would be a much different conversation."
I grit my teeth together. "I know."
"The wound is clean. No permanent damage.
She'll have a scar, but it should fade with time.
" He finishes rebandaging it, then looks at Maeve.
"You're in shock. That's normal after a trauma like this.
Rest, fluids, and I'd recommend speaking with someone. A therapist, perhaps." He pauses. “I’ll come back to check on your healing, but as long as you keep it clean and rest, there shouldn’t be any infection or complications.”
Maeve nods mutely.
Dr. Lewis packs up his supplies and leaves, nodding to me as he walks past, and suddenly it's just her and me in this too-large room.
"I'm sorry," I say finally.
She looks up, her face still pale. "For what?"
"For scaring you. Again." I move closer, carefully, like she's a wild animal that might bolt. "I shouldn't have lost control like that. With Eddie and Davis. They were doing their jobs."
Maeve looks down, her lips pressed together. "You fired them."
"Yes." I draw in a breath, wondering if I should say anything about the conversation with Jack, if it’ll help.
Sorrow fills her soft blue eyes. "Because I got hurt."
"Because someone got through their security." I sit down across from her, needing her to understand. "Because my wife was shot, and I need to know it will never happen again."
"So you're bringing in new people?"
I run a hand through my hair. “Jack talked me into letting them stay on,” I say finally.
“But I am bringing in someone new to help me oversee things.
Flynn O'Neill. He's my oldest friend. The only person in this world I trust completely.
" I lean forward, my elbows on my knees.
"He'll be here tonight. He'll coordinate security, make sure what happened today never happens again. "
Maeve finally meets my eyes. I can see a hint of curiosity in her face, and something else, too. Surprise, I think. "You trust him to protect me."
I nod. "I trust him with my life. And with yours."
She's quiet for a long moment, studying my face. "You really were scared, weren't you? When you heard I'd been shot."
It takes me a long moment to speak, to sort out what I should say. I settle on the truth, in its simplest form. "Yes," I finally say.
"Why?" Her voice is soft. "You don't even like me. You've made that very clear."
“Because—” I try to articulate it, but I can’t.
I don’t even fully understand why I felt the way I did.
It went beyond responsibility, beyond the fact that my life is on the line if I fuck this up, but I fall back on that, anyway.
“Because you’re my responsibility, Maeve.
I’m meant to protect you. I thought I’d failed. ”
“Oh.” She looks down at her hands. “You keep pushing me away. But you don’t want anything to happen to me.”
I let out a breath. “It’s complicated. And it doesn’t matter. Because whether I push you away or not, you're still my wife. Still my responsibility. And I will keep you safe."
Maeve sucks on her teeth for a moment, still staring at her hands.
"I'm scared of you," she admits. "Terrified, actually.
Especially after yesterday, after seeing what you did to that man.
And today, the way you looked at Eddie..
." She shudders. "But I don't think you're a monster.
I think you're a man who's probably been hurt so many times that violence is the only language you know how to speak. "
The words hit like a physical blow. I stare at her, unsure of what to say. She knows nothing about me, but it feels like she’s sliced to the heart of me, opening me up in a way that makes me want to shut down altogether. To close off any chance of her looking deeper into that wound.
"You're wrong," I say roughly. "I'm a killer. An assassin. The Wolf of Dublin."
“Is that it?” She looks at me, and I can feel her wanting to pry. Wanting to find something that will justify her seeing me as a man.
But I can’t give it to her. Because, as much as anything else, I don’t deserve to be looked at as anything but a beast.
When I don’t say anything else, Maeve stands up slowly, still a little shaky on her feet. I rise and reach to help steady her, but she shakes off my hands.
“I’m going to bed,” she says, turning away, and I flinch, thinking at first that there’s an invitation in her words. But there’s not, of course. It’s just a simple statement of fact, and I feel like a fool for thinking anything else, even for a second, as she walks away.
A woman like Maeve is never going to invite me into her bed willingly.
And, husband or not, I have no right to be there.
—
Flynn arrives at eight in the evening, with a duffel bag over his shoulder and his trademark cocky grin on his face when he meets me on the front steps. "Well, well. The Wolf got himself married. Never thought I'd see the day."
I shake my head at him. "Shut up and get inside."
His grin fades as he takes in my expression. "That bad?"
"Someone tried to kill her today."
"Fuck." He follows me into the study, all business now. "Tell me everything."
I fill him in on the whole mess, from Maeve heading out to ride today, to the phone call, to my attempt to fire Eddie and Davis, and Jack convincing me to do otherwise. Flynn listens without interrupting, his expression growing darker with each detail.
"You need to pull her out of here," he says when I finish. "Get her somewhere safe. Somewhere they can't find her."
I let out a sharp breath. "I can't. The Council wants me here, managing the Connelly estate."
Flynn nods. "Then reinforce this place. Hire more security."
"Already done. I want you to coordinate everything. You're in charge of keeping her alive."
He raises an eyebrow. “That almost sounds like you care about her, Sean.”
I glare at him. "She's my wife."
"That's not an answer." Flynn chuckles, and my glare deepens.
“I’m supposed to be keeping her—all of this—safe. And clearly I need someone I know I can trust to be in charge of it all.”
I can tell Flynn wants to make another quip, but he doesn’t. "Fair enough." He stands, shouldering his bag. "Show me the security setup. Let's figure out how to keep your bride alive."
—
It's past midnight when I finally make my way upstairs.
I should go to my own room. I know that Maeve probably doesn’t want me in hers—probably doesn’t want me anywhere near her. But with the shooting today still so fresh, the pull to watch her, to keep an eye on her myself, feels unbearable.
I can’t stop seeing her as she got out of the car, pale and trembling… how close she came to dying. How easily she could have been snatched away, bringing the Connelly family to a close. How easily I could have failed to keep her safe before the task had barely even begun.
I knock softly on her door, not expecting an answer. When none comes, I ease the door open.
She's asleep, curled on her side in a too-large bed under a mound of blankets, her ginger hair spread across the pillow. She looks impossibly young. Impossibly vulnerable.
She doesn’t look like anything that should be mine.
I know I should leave and let her sleep in peace. Instead, I move to the armchair by the window and sit down, telling myself that I'll just stay for a few minutes. Just make sure she's really okay. Just…
The chair is comfortable, soft, and plush, and the room is warm and quiet except for her soft breathing.
And I'm so fucking tired—from the adrenaline crash, from the rage, from trying to keep myself from tearing through anyone who had the slightest thing to do with the failure to keep her safe today.
I feel the tension in my shoulders ease ever so slightly, and exhaustion sweeps in.
My eyes drift closed. Just for a minute…
I wake to something soft brushing across my shoulders.
My training kicks in immediately. My hand shoots out, grabbing a wrist and yanking the person attached to it forward. My other hand goes to where my gun would be if I were wearing it.
"Sean!"
It’s Maeve's voice, I realize, startled and frightened. The moment I hear it, I freeze, blinking away the sleep from my eyes as I focus in on what’s in front of me.
She’s standing there, wrapped in a robe, her wrist caught in my grip.
She’s so close to me that I can smell the sweet, powdery scent of her skin, a hint of something like roses wafting from her.
Her hair is in her face, and I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks, as soft as the silk of her skin under my rough fingertips.
She’s so warm, so delicate, so feminine, and everything about her calls to a deep, primal, masculine need in me that’s desperate to be satisfied.
A need that still remembers what she felt like between her thighs, just as soft and silky, how her legs looked splayed open for me on our wedding night, how her—
The air between us thickens, tension throbbing in the space between her body and mine.
I see her slender chest heaving beneath her robe, feel my cock stiffening in response to the desire that’s rapidly heating the air around us.
I could pull her forward so easily, topple her into my lap.
Pull her astride me and unzip, palm my cock free, and thrust into her.
The picture of it is so clear in my mind, her delicate folds parted around my thick shaft, her virgin blood staining my skin, my jeans—
I release her so fast that she almost stumbles back, my breath coming hard and my cock throbbing. Fuck. I should have known better than to come in here while she was sleeping, better than to allow myself anywhere so close to her.
"Christ." I release her immediately, standing. I realize there’s a blanket on the floor between us, and I feel worse than I did a moment ago. She must have been trying to cover me up, and I— "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—are you okay?"
She rubs her wrist, her eyes wide. "You scared me."
"I know. I'm sorry." I run a hand through my hair, trying to orient myself. I fell asleep in her room. In the armchair where I was supposed to be watching over her. "I shouldn't be here."
Maeve presses her lips together, seemingly unable to move. Part of me wishes she would, just so I wouldn’t be able to feel the warmth radiating off of her. The other part wants her closer. "Why are you here?"
"I wanted to make sure you were all right,” I say flatly. “I was… worried about you.”
Something flickers over her face, but in the moonlight, it’s difficult to try to parse it out. "By sleeping in my armchair?"
"I didn't mean to fall asleep. I was just..." I trail off, not knowing how to explain. "I wanted to make sure you were really all right."
She bends to pick up the blanket, and I notice she's favoring her injured arm. The bandage is visible beneath the short, fluttery sleeve of the nightgown she’s wearing.
The fabric is thin and silky, and a jolt of lust ripples through me, my cock twitching and pushing against the fly of my jeans.
My body wants more of her, but I refuse to give in to it.
"Let me." I take the blanket from her, and our fingers brush. Fuck. It’s as if she ran her hand over my cock. A throb pulses through me, and I grit my teeth.
We're standing too close. I need to get out of this room, away from her, from her bed, from anywhere that I could do something I’ll regret later.
I swallow hard. “You should go back to bed.”
Maeve nods. Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip, and a pained arousal stabs through me, my cock fully hard now.
“Good night.” I grit it through my teeth, and I catch a flash of confused hurt on her face as I turn away. She probably thinks I’m angry with her again for some reason, when the truth is the furthest thing from that.
The truth is that I feel like, if I stay here another moment, I won’t be able to keep my hands off of her.
I see her retreating to her bed out of the corner of my eye as I step out of the room, closing the door firmly behind me. And, as I walk back to my own room, I promise myself I won’t imagine her in that bed, once I’m back in mine.
But I’m pretty sure that’s a fucking lie.