Chapter 13 Sean
SEAN
In the morning, Flynn is outside talking to Jack before breakfast has even been served, which makes me feel confident in my decision to ask him to come here.
I can see an expression of irritation on Jack’s face, probably at being given someone new to answer to, but Flynn is as cool and casual as ever, the smirk on his face hiding what I know is a man capable of getting things done.
“Flynn.” He looks over when I call his name and nods to Jack, stepping away to meet me. “How are things?”
"Sean, you bastard," he says, clapping me on the shoulder. "Marriage looks good on you. You seem even more murderous than usual."
“Fuck off.” I roll my eyes. “Have you gone over things with Jack?”
"Where's the blushing bride?" Flynn asks, ignoring my more pertinent questions for now. "Hiding from her terrifying husband?"
I shoot him a look that would make most men shut up. Flynn just grins wider.
"That bad, is it?"
"I asked you to come here to help with security," I say flatly. "Not to provide commentary on my marriage."
"Can't I do both?" He leans against the side of the mansion, studying me with sharp green eyes that miss nothing. "You look like shit, by the way. When's the last time you slept?"
“Last night,” I snap, which isn’t entirely true.
I did get some sleep, but it wasn’t until late.
Not until after I’d jerked off twice trying to get Maeve out of my head, and then the sleep that finally came was fitful at best, broken up with dreams of her in my bed and me in hers.
I woke up hard as hell again, and feeling like I’d been run over by a city bus.
But Flynn doesn't need to know that. "I'm fine. "
"Right." Flynn doesn't believe me, but he drops it. For now. "So you need me to help them beef up security. Whip them back into shape. Who was running this place before you?”
“Maeve’s brother,” I say shortly. “And before that, her father. Both of them are dead, so I only have Jack to give me information on how things were being run. But after yesterday, I want everyone to understand the consequences of failure. Clearly someone wants my wife dead. She was shot at while on a fucking trail ride. So I need more security here, and I need them sharp.”
Flynn listens intently as I run over the number of guards I want hired and the qualifications, his lighthearted playboy demeanor shifting into something sharper and more focused.
It’s why I trust him, beyond just our longstanding friendship.
For all his flirting and bullshit, Flynn O'Malley is one of the best in the business.
“Got it,” Flynn says when I’ve finished going over it all with him. “And what about breakfast? I tried to head into the kitchen to get something for myself, but the housekeeper ran me back out. My charms don’t work on that one, not a bit.”
I almost crack a smile at that. “We can head in and get something to eat. Maeve will probably be up soon. Was your room fine last night?’
Flynn scoffs. “Is a bloody palace fine? The accommodations couldn’t be better.
I’m happy to stay on for as long as you’ll have me.
” He chuckles as we head back in, glancing around the mansion with clear appreciation for his surroundings.
“You might think of this as a punishment, Sean, but all I see is the Council rewarding their best attack dog.”
“Well, they see it as a punishment, too,” I tell him flatly. “But keep your mouth shut about that, alright? I haven’t spoken to Maeve about how this all came about, and I don’t intend to. It won’t help anything.”
“Ah.” Flynn gives me a knowing look, and I glare at him. I’m in no mood for his remarks on that subject. “Speak of the devil,” he says a moment later, and my heart thumps hard in my chest as I follow where he’s looking.
Through the doorway to the dining room, I can see Maeve sitting at the table, wearing a pair of dark jeans and a form-fitting sweater that clings to her. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and I catch a glimpse of the bandage on her arm, the outline of it just visible under the sweater.
She’s so fucking beautiful it makes my chest tight.
Her eyes widen a bit when I walk in with Flynn. “Who is this?” she asks curiously, and I see Flynn’s entire demeanor shift. The focused operative disappears, replaced by the charming playboy I know too well. He steps forward with that easy smile that's gotten him into more beds than I can count.
"You must be Maeve," he says, his voice warm and friendly. "I'm Flynn O'Neill. Sean's considerably more pleasant colleague."
He extends his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Maeve takes it. I watch Flynn's fingers close around hers, watch the way he holds her hand just a fraction too long, and something dark and ugly twists in my gut.
He can’t help it, I know that very well. He’s not flirting with her on purpose or trying to piss me off; it comes to him as naturally as breathing—both of those things. But my fingers curl against my palm as I fight the urge to snatch his hand away from hers.
"It's nice to meet you," Maeve says softly. She glances at me, uncertain, and I realize I'm standing there with my hands clenched into fists, my jaw tight enough to crack teeth.
"Flynn's here to help with security," I say, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. "He'll be staying for a while."
"Oh." Maeve pulls her hand back from Flynn's, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Well… sit. Breakfast will be served in a minute."
“Fantastic. I’m starving,” Flynn says easily. "I'd love a cup of tea, actually. Mind if I sit?” He gestures to the chair next to Maeve, on her right, and I feel my teeth grind together.
Yes. I fucking mind.
The thought comes unbidden, savage and possessive.
I want to tell Flynn to back the fuck off, to stop looking at my wife like she's something he can charm into bed.
Want to grab Maeve and pull her away from him, take her back to either my bed or hers, and mark her so thoroughly that no one would ever question who she belongs to.
The intensity of the feeling shocks me into silence.
"I... okay," Maeve says, offering Flynn a tentative smile, just as Mrs. Brady comes into the room.
“Hello there, dear,” she says with a smile at Flynn. “Would you like tea?”
“I’d love some.” Flynn flashes her the same flirtatious grin, which should ease the churning in my stomach, but it doesn’t.
“And how do you take it? With honey? Sugar?”
“Either is fine. So long as it’s sweet like me.” Flynn flashes her a wink, and I swear to Christ I'm going to break his nose.
Mrs. Brady looks as if she’s about to roll her eyes, too, as she begins to pour tea for the three of us.
Flynn keeps up an easy stream of conversation, which I barely hear, as I watch Maeve’s face.
She’s smiling a bit more now, her focus on him and Mrs. Brady, and I can see the tension slowly leaving her shoulders.
She reaches for one of the cups and hands it to me. “Here,” she says, and the moment her gaze flicks to mine, I can see her tense again. It makes my stomach twist.
I force myself to eat my breakfast as Flynn keeps the conversation going, asking Maeve questions about the estate and Boston and how she’s settling in. She answers easily, her tone more relaxed and calm than it ever is with me, and it makes my food stick in my throat with every bite.
“I’ll show Flynn around, give him a tour of the place,” she says when we’re finishing up. “If that’s alright? I’m sure you have better things to do with your time, Sean.”
Flynn raises an eyebrow at me, and I know I’m going to sound like a jealous asshole if I say no. Maeve is the lady of the house, she’s the one who should be giving Flynn a tour and making sure he’s settled in and all that bullshit.
“Sure,” I manage. “I have work to do.”
I shove my chair back from the table and leave without waiting for a response. I can't sit there another second watching Flynn flirt with my wife, watching her respond to his easy charm when she flinches every time I come near her.
In my office, I slam the door harder than necessary and lean against it, breathing hard. My heart is pounding like I've just run a marathon, and my hands are shaking with the urge to go back out there and physically remove Flynn from Maeve's presence.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I shouldn't care. If I was any kind of a decent man, I’d be glad that someone can make her smile, that she's not spending every moment terrified and miserable.
I should be relieved that Flynn's presence might take some of the pressure off me, might give her someone else to talk to besides her cold bastard of a husband.
Instead, I want to commit murder.
Mine.
The word echoes in my head again, dark and possessive. She's mine. My wife. Mine to touch, mine to protect, mine to fuck when I finally work up the nerve to go through with it.
No one else.
I pace the room, trying to work off the adrenaline flooding my system. This is insane. I've never been possessive over a woman in my life. Never cared who they talked to, who they smiled at, who they fucked when we were done. Women were a convenience, a physical release, nothing more.
But Maeve…
I didn’t want her as a wife. But now that we’re married, I can’t stop feeling like I’ll kill anyone who looks at her in the smallest fraction of a way that I don’t like.
I sit down and force myself to focus on work. I check in with my contacts in Dublin, go over property deals and business contracts, and review security protocols. Anything to stop thinking about Maeve taking Flynn around the estate, about him making her laugh.
It doesn't work.
I swear at one point, I can hear them—Flynn's deep laugh, and then Maeve's softer voice, hesitant at first but growing more confident as the conversation continues with the easy rhythm of two people getting to know each other.