8. Lucie
EIGHT
lucie
The feral look in his brilliant indigo eyes makes the world tip on its axis, and suddenly I’m no longer wearing a wedding cake for a dress; I’m no longer inferior to Viviana who’s still on my shit list for not calling or texting me back; I’m no longer the trapped girl with no options.
I’m beautiful, sexy, wanted.
He looks at me like that.
Callahan Francis—Frank—Murphy.
And I want to swoon.
I sway into him and that possessive look turns savage.
There’s definitely something wrong with me for liking it so much.
I tilt my head up and he drops his mouth on mine again.
Hauling me against him, he kisses me hard.
It’s an onslaught of a kiss, erotically charged, and the piercing is the kind of hot I’d never expected or thought about.
He tastes of whiskey, a slightly sweet bite and lingering burn, like I’m dreaming of drinking some, and like this, I could easily drink my fill.
But there’s the danger of him that lurks, the bad and evil my father said he was, the darkness I’ve tasted before.
He makes me feel crazy and flustered and insatiable all at once.
His deep kiss touches my soul, makes me want to climb inside and explore every single inch of him.
And now there’s something poking me, low on my stomach, it’s?—
The shock of his erection makes me rip my mouth from his.
“Careful now,” another Irish accent says, all warm and teasing, “that’s not church tongue.”
“If you didn’t want to see tongue, don’t stand so fucking close to my bride, Declan.” Callahan doesn’t lift his gaze from me.
“But how will I learn, Cal?”
“We’re not in church,” I say, the words coming of their own accord, and the one called Declan hoots a low laugh.
“My brothers are eejits , but you’ll get used to them.”
“If you’re going to Snow White me to your dwarves, this sham marriage is already done.”
His mouth quirks.
“If I wanted you to turn to a life of servitude to my brothers and me, you’d do it.”
“For a day, and then I’d poison you all.” Shit, my mouth…
But he just nods, pulls me into him, and slides me against that erection.
A shiver dances over my skin.
“Good to know. By sprinkling it into our food?”
“No, by cooking.”
“Shit, you can’t cook?” A sudden look of alarm flickers into his expression.
“Nope.”
“You better be good on your knees, then.”
Heat sears my skin and he nudges my ear with his mouth, making me want to moan and pull away and push into him all at the same time.
Each nip and tug of my lobe is like that insanely intense moment of an orgasm where I don’t know if I can stand it, and then he stops and I definitely can stand it because oh my God, I want more.
So much more.
“You’re blushing, Lucia Joy.” It’s not my middle name.
My middle name’s Raffaella, which is just way too much.
But I don’t correct Callahan.
“Are you a virgin?”
I don’t answer, just run a finger down the smooth shave on his cheek.
And then I snatch it away.
“I’m sorry, I… I think I need the powder room.”
Callahan slips a firm arm around my waist. “Are you blushing over my words or the fact you’ve given me a boner in front of everyone at our wedding?”
I catch the smirk on my father’s face and something horrible occurs.
This man isn’t into me.
He’s into what my father can give him, and shame flares deep in my chest. I try to pull away but he’s strong.
I remember that much about him.
I couldn’t escape him on the street when he shot John, and I’m not ever going to escape him now.
I grit my teeth. “Bathroom. Excuse me.”
With that, I turn and stalk out, heading up to the second floor for the main bathroom there.
It’s not until I go to close the door that Callahan stops me.
“We just got married, Joy. Running away from your groom is bad luck.”
I collapse onto the decorative chair Mom has in here for some reason.
He flips the lock, kneels down in front of me, then slips a hand up under my skirt.
He rests it low between my thighs.
It’s casual. Ownership.
And I’m not sure how I feel about it.
“Christ, you’re boring like this. Personally, I like the fire, the girl who barely blinked when three men were shot to death in front of her.”
“Two.”
“Three. I killed three. Trust me.”
He says this so offhandedly I don’t know what to say in response.
“Oh. ”
“What is it, Lucia Joy, that you want?”
“Not this.”
“Too fucking bad. We’re married. I need this marriage; your father needs it. So what do you want?”
“I want freedom in two years.”
He brings his face in close and kisses me, soft, slow, long.
“And if I don’t want that?”
“Dad said two years.”
“No, he didn’t.” His voice is flat, implacable.
“You know why? Because he needs what I can bring to his table like I need what he has, and you’re the collateral damage, Joy. Mine now. And I’m an Irish cunt who gets what he wants. If I like you, I won’t want to let you go.”
Hope flares.
“ If you don’t?”
“You won’t like it.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I don’t want you, don’t like you, don’t need you around, you won’t like what it means.”
I almost ask for him to finish that declaration, but my cowardice peeps out and I pull back the question before it hits the air.
“Tell you what. After we leave tonight, you’ll have a certain level of freedom. You’ll be with Declan a lot of the time. He’s about your age, early twenties, and he’s good craic .”
“Good what?”
“A good time, fun. You may want to poison him, but I suggest if you want to keep breathing, you don’t do that.”
My stomach turns.
“And if?—”
“Nothing will happen. You won’t cause trouble by seducing him or trying to get him to help you. He won’t. He’s loyal. They all are. I keep what’s mine safe. I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt them. Behave and I’ll do the same for you. ”
He’s not lying.
That’s on his face. And the threat isn’t even a threat; it’s just the plain, hard truth.
He removes his hand and gets up, then he lifts my chin and brushes my mouth with his.
“Be good and I’ll treat you right, but remember, there are consequences for every good and bad action, Joy. So I suggest you don’t try and find out what they are. Or maybe the good ones will work in your favor.”
He goes to the door and unlocks it.
“I’ll be outside, and I’ll escort you down when you’re done.”
The moment the door closes behind him, I bury my face in my hands.
Consequences?
He’s right.
I don’t think I want to know what they are.
And I hate myself a little for wanting to uncover the good ones.
Those that have to do with sex.
I get up and take a wobbly step.
After all, I’m married.
To a monster, yes, but maybe if I play nice, I can get what I want after all.
Quid pro quo.
I give him something and he rewards me with something in return.
If I have to pretend it’s mind-bending orgasms to make him happy, so be it.
Patience will get me what I really need.
Two years. That’s what he’s getting out of me, that’s it.
I clench and unclench my fingers, anger now searing my blood.
And when I’m gone, I won’t ever look back at the people who put me at this man’s mercy. My father included.