Chapter 11
TIERNEY
Back in the penthouse, I kick off my heels at the front door and head straight for the kitchen.
I need a drink. Something stronger than the polite water I sipped while his mother dissected me.
Allegra Viacava is a real piece of work.
A week ago I was free. Now I’m performing for psychopaths.
I reach for a bottle of red wine on the rack, grab the biggest tall-stemmed glass I can find and pad barefoot to the sitting room. When I get there, Bronx is standing by the bar, whiskey in hand and his shirt open at the collar.
He prowls toward me when I sit on the couch. “Let me open that for you,” he says.
“How about no?”
Instead of listening, he snatches the bottle, returns to the bar and uses a corkscrew to remove the cork.
“How did you translate the word no to ‘oh, yes please, darling husband, please pop my cork’?”
Bronx joins me on the couch and pours the deep red merlot into the glass. “There are way too many words in that sentence that have my dick throbbing, wife.”
I sigh, reach for the glass, and take a long drink. Sitting deeper into the couch, I glare at him and hate how hot he looks in a pressed shirt and dress pants. Damien wore jeans and t-shirt as standard.
“There are other rooms in this bachelor penthouse, you know,” I mutter. “And other seats.”
He unclips his cufflinks and slides his sleeves to his elbows so the ink on his forearms is visible, then reaches for his whiskey tumbler.
“If you don’t like my apartment, or where I sit when I’m in my apartment, then leave.”
Air shoots down my nostrils. “Leave?”
He cocks a brow and stares right at me. “Yeah, leave.”
“Like I could just walk out of here and slip into the New York crowd without you sinking my brother.”
Bronx takes a sip of liquor and holds my gaze. As he swallows, his pupils flare and my pulse goes nuts.
“Then you understand how this works, Mrs Viacava,” he says in a deep rumble. “We don’t have to go head to head every second we’re together. If you’re not happy with the decor, change it to whatever puts a smile on that pretty face of yours.”
“Adding new furniture won’t make me happy,” I laugh. “This place is my prison no matter how it looks, and you’re still the man who screwed with my future.”
“I didn’t have a choice either, Tierney.” His voice drops an octave.
Bronx sighs and rakes a hand through his thick, dark hair. For a moment, I almost believed that he’s the same as me in this nightmare. Then I pull myself together and snap out of it.
“Yeah, poor little Viacava, forced to marry a woman like me.”
“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Neither do you, Bronx.” I clink the glass on the coffee table. “I had a life in Ireland. A guy who actually loved me… who wanted to have a real future with me that involved genuine vows and kids.”
His expression changes, and a darkness slips over the charm. Nevertheless, I don’t back down because this has to be said, and he needs to know that I’ll never stop fighting.
“I had plans to go travelling…” I say. “I wish I’d never downloaded your family’s files or given them to my da.”
Bronx sits there, staring at me as I finish my rant.
“Stealing your intel wasn’t personal. But marrying you is my biggest regret.”
I sit next to him, coiled tight with so much anger and frustration, while he just watches my every quick breath.
“I understand,” he says after a beat, without his signature hot smirk.
“You don’t understand shit.” I bite back.
“Out of all the women in the world, Tierney, you are the one sitting on my couch, drinking my favorite merlot and wearing my ring.” He reaches for my hand, and I pull it away. “We’ve both sacrificed for this marriage, princess. You don’t hear me listing the women I could’ve chosen instead, do you?”
When I frown, he smiles, and somehow it lights up the darkness inside me.
“I get this is hard for you,” he says. “But one of these days, you’ll smile for me.”
I roll my eyes and scoot further away, grabbing my drink on the way past. “You’d have to give me something to smile about.”
“Want me to buy you a pony, princess?” he grins.
“I don’t want you to buy me anything, and that right there is your problem,” I say. “You think cracks can be smoothed over with money.”
The smile on his face doesn’t fade; rather, it deepens as if I’ve challenged him. “How about a pair of knuckle dusters with our wedding date engraved on them?”
A small smile tugs at my lips despite myself. “You’d buy me something I could use to hurt you with?”
“Would they make you smile?”
I shrug, hating that he already knows the answer.
“Then, yeah, princess, I’d buy them for you,” he says. “And you’d never hurt your husband when he’s the one protecting you.”
The ice in my chest thaws a little more, and the knots in my belly ease. I refuse to let my guard down around this man, but the way he looks at me…it makes the heat coil low in my core.
I don’t like that my body responds before I have time to keep my reaction in check.
“Stop being... whatever this is.” I wave a hand in his direction, then take a sip of wine.
“What do you mean?”
“Stop pretending to be so understanding. It’s worse than your threats.”
“Why?”
I swallow.
“Because when you’re an asshole, it’s more fun.”
He slides closer and throws his arm over the back of the couch, his thigh brushing mine. “Who says I’m not still an asshole?”
Being mere inches away means he’ll notice my pulse hammering in my throat and he’ll definitely see the flush spreading across my cheeks. I angle my chin so he can’t see and force my breathing to slow.
His gaze drifts to my throat. “You look a little flustered, princess.”
“It’s the god-awful wine,” I lie. “Just because it’s pricey doesn’t mean it’s decent.”
Bronx chuckles and sets his glass down. When he sits deeper into the couch, the scent of his cologne is everywhere, and the rumble of his voice sends a shiver through me.
“That’s a vintage Italian,” he says, close to my ear. “If it’s not to my wife’s liking, then we’ll fly to Tuscany so you can pick out your own favorites.”
“This is too much, too soon…” When I go to stand, he snares my wrist and pulls me closer.
“Tierney.”
Our gazes clash, his rich hazel pupils full of fire.
“What?”
The moment his fingers curl into the fabric at my hip, the air between us snaps like a live wire. One hard tug and my knees slide over leather until I’m half in his lap, chest bumping chest, breath punched out of me in a startled gasp.
I should push him away. Use tactical force to remove myself, but I don’t.
His mouth crashes over mine and my heart bucks.
It’s all heat, hunger and days of stolen glances finally breaking open all at once. I taste the whiskey on his tongue when he licks into me, and I can’t stop the broken whimper that spills into his mouth.
My hands fly to his shirt, fingers twisting into the soft cotton. I press against him, aware of every hard line of his abdomen. He groans into my mouth and the rumble vibrates through my ribs, down my spine, shooting straight between my thighs.
His hand leaves my hip and splays wide across my lower back, fingers spread, locking me against him so I can’t retreat, can’t breathe, can’t think.
My hips rock forward without permission, chasing more, and he answers with a rough thrust of his own that makes my head spin.
I’m drowning in him. In the scrape of his stubble against my chin, the way his tongue strokes mine like he’s trying to claim every corner of my mouth.
God, I want to tear the damn shirt off and lick his inked skin, want to mark him with more scratches and hear how much it gets him off. This isn’t how Damien kissed me. This is reckless…and hot.
But the way I react to him is too telling. Too fast. Too wrong when I’m meant to want Damien.
I wrench my mouth away, lungs burning, lips swollen and tingling. His hand stays locked on my lower back, thumb stroking to remind me who has control in this moment.
My fingers stay fisted in his shirt, knuckles white, and my clit throbs so hard that I have to hold myself back from straddling his thigh to cause friction.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
He exhales a throaty laugh against my mouth.
“Yeah,” he rasps. “Fuck.”
No. No. No. I will not be manipulated by this intoxicating man.
I press my fingers to my lips where they tingle. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?”
“Bronx—”
“Tell me you didn’t enjoy that,” he asks, his hand jumping to my jaw and squeezing a little. “Tell me you’re not turned on and I’ll never touch you again.”
I stare at him, heart pounding in my chest and an ache buried so deep that it hurts.
“That was a mistake.”
“A married couple making out on the couch is a mistake?” he asks, voice low enough to catapult a shiver over me. “It’s not like I have you stripped and laid out on the coffee table.”
I shake my head and yank his hand away from my face. “We married because my father sold me for secrets. And you’re only doing this because your family bought me to keep those secrets locked away. This—” I gesture between us “—isn’t real.”
“What if it is?”
My stomach knots because part of me would like to believe him.
“It’s not.” I get to my feet and fix my dress. “I refuse to be collateral damage in all of this. You’re not gonna use me to pass the time.”
I round the couch and only when I think he’s finished messing with my head, his voice slips over my shoulder. “How about I tell you something that will one hundred percent make you smile?”
“We’re getting an annulment?” I spin around and press my hands to my cheeks, dramatizing my fake shock. “Wow, Bronx, it’s like you read my mind.”
He doesn’t get up from the couch, just looks over at me and takes a slow sip of whiskey, holding the moment in his silence.
“If you genuinely smile for me, princess, then you have to shower with me every morning.”
Oh, this guy.
“There is nothing you could offer me that would—”
“Your brother’s called Connor, isn’t he?” he asks.
I take a step closer. “You know he is.”
“Right…” Bronx takes another sip and my chest tightens. “Connor will land at JFK tomorrow.”
A surprised and helpless grin stretches across my face. “Connor’s coming here?”
“Well, he is not coming to our apartment. He’ll be staying in one of the apartments I own in this building since it is secure and has protection. It’s easier to keep on eye on things if he’s close.,” he says. “We need our privacy to shower together.”
As the new settles in, so does the suspicion. “What’s your angle?”
He shakes his head. “Shouldn’t you be thanking me, princess?”
“Don’t deflect. Why are you bringing him here?”
Bronx sighs and rises to his full height. “Maybe I thought you’d be less miserable with him around while I’m busy.”
“Bullshit. You don’t care if I’m miserable.”
“Don’t I?” he shoots back, sliding a hand into his dress pants pocket and heading my way.
“All you care about is control. And having my brother here is another way to control my family.”
“Or maybe I’m following through on my end of the deal.” He stops beside my shoulder, dangerously close. “Didn’t I promise to protect him?”
“You threatened to have him killed, Bronx.”
“And now I’m protecting him.” His dress shoes clip the floor as he walks away. “It’s been a long day. Let’s go to bed, wife.”
I fold my arms over my chest and stay rooted to the spot, not sure what the hell to think anymore. Bronx could’ve sent men to Ireland to watch over Connor, protecting him at arm’s length.
“There’s a catch, isn’t there?” I ask.
Bronx turns on his heel, expression tight, and walks straight for me. My pulse kicks, and I brace for the impact, ready to fight back. However, all he does is scoop me into the air and throw me over his shoulder.
Heat spreads where his palm presses into the back of my thigh.
“Maybe I just want you to know that I have your back.”
I don’t want to want his protection but I need him to help Connor.
I wiggle and kick my legs. “Whatever game you’re playing, I’m not falling for it.”
“This surpassed being a game when I put a ring on your finger.”
The wedding band seems heavier than it did a few minutes ago.
He carries me to the bedroom and sets me on the mattress, then strokes away strands of my hair caught in my lashes. His intense gaze drops to my mouth and his fingertips linger at my jaw.
For a thoughtless second, I lean into his touch. Realization hits immediately and I stiffen.
“Be a good girl and go to sleep. I’m up early tomorrow for a meeting and want plenty of time to enjoy our shower together.”
When he goes into the bathroom, I strip and throw on a fresh pair of pajamas before slipping under the sheets. If he thinks flying Connor to New York will make me grateful, then he’s wrong.
Bronx Viacava doesn’t do anything without calculating the return. If Connor is here, it’s because it benefits him. I just haven’t figured out how yet.
I roll onto my side, keeping my back to the middle of the bed, but when I close my eyes, that damn kiss replays and my veins run hotter. Despite building walls, I didn’t fight against him this time because I enjoyed it too much.
However, I know the Viacavas are playing the long game. And I refuse to be played.