Chapter 16
brONX
Tierney's been out with Livvie three times this week, and every time she comes back, she's less like a caged animal ready to bite me.
Actually, the biting thing is hot. I can’t lie.
But even though her jagged edges have smoothed out a bit thanks to my sister-in-law, there’s still plenty of fire in her. She told me to go fuck myself yesterday when I told her to wear a jacket.
Still, there's just something different about her. She’s lighter, more relaxed. Like she's remembering she's more than just the angry victim of a shitty deal made by her father.
It should feel like victory. The Livvie strategy working exactly as planned.
Instead, I'm standing in my kitchen at midnight making mushroom risotto because I can't sleep and need to control something other than my wife with my hands.
“Fucking pathetic,” I mutter, stirring the rice.
Not ideal, but at least it’s a distraction from thinking about my wife's ass in those tiny shorts she wears to bed.
“I didn't know Viacava men cooked their own food.”
Her voice drifts in from the doorway. I look up from the stove. She stands against the wall in those fucking shorts that show the perfect curve of her ass cheeks and one of my t-shirts.
Her hair is messy, flowing over her shoulders, and she watches me with curiosity instead of her usual hostile glare.
“There's a shitload you don't know about me, princess.”
I don't stop stirring. Let her watch if she wants.
“Smells incredible.” She steps closer, bare feet silent on the marble. “What is it?”
“Risotto. Mushroom and truffle.” I try to ignore the sensations coursing through me at her nearness. But dammit, it’s like she can read my mind because she moves even closer, breathing in the rich scent of the food.
“Very fancy for a midnight snack.”
“I like knowing exactly what’s going into my body.” I glance at her over my shoulder, taking in the way my shirt hangs loose on her frame. “Control freak, remember?”
She laughs. It jars me because it’s not the sharp, sarcastic sound she usually makes. It’s softer, more genuine. “I should have guessed.”
“You’ve gotta be patient with risotto,” I say, adding more stock. “If you rush, it turns to mush.”
“Like everything else in your life?”
“Like everything worth doing right.”
She walks over to the kitchen island stool and hops on it. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“Ma tried to teach us when we were kids, but we never wanted to learn.” I continue to stir, feeling her eyes on me. “Nonna stepped in when I was sixteen. She loved to cook and I loved to make her happy. So she taught and I listened.”
“And Nonna is your grandmother?”
“Yeah. She lived with us for a few years before she died.” I add more stock and watch it absorb. “She made me practice this same risotto every Sunday until I got it right. Let’s just say I wasn’t a natural.”
A smile tugs at Tierney’s lips. “How long did that take?”
I chuckle. “Six months. I kept rushing it, getting pissed off when it didn’t turn out the right way.” I glance up at her. “She'd make me throw the whole damn thing out and start over every single time.”
Something flickers across Tierney's face, a faraway look that disappears almost as quickly as it came. “Sounds like she cared about you.”
I turn away from the stove and look at her.
“She was the best. When we were younger and she’d babysit, the two of us would always stay up to watch The Late Show. She’d give me two pieces of my favorite chocolate. It was like our little secret.”
“That’s sweet,” she muses.
“Did you have someone like that?”
Her jaw tightens. “Yes. My ma's ma. Gran. She died when I was fifteen.”
“What was she like?”
“Oh my God, she was so tough. So no-nonsense. She used to tell me stories about how she grew up while teaching me to braid my hair.” Tierney's eyes drop to the marble countertop.
She drags a finger over the black vein that runs through it.
“She said a woman needed to know how to be soft and hard at the same time. How to look pretty while hiding a knife in her boot.”
She raises her eyes to me and shrugs. “Basic life skills.”
I grin. “Smart fucking woman.”
“The smartest. When Ma died, Gran was the only one who understood that I wasn't just angry. I was lost.” She looks down at her hands. “She taught me how to shoot even before Da. She said if the world was going to be cruel to me, I better be ready to be crueler back.”
“Sounds like someone I would've really liked.”
“Yeah, she would've liked you too. She had a thing for dangerous men with smart mouths.” She raises an eyebrow and shoots me a pointed look.
I turn back to the stove and grab a ladle from the drawer. Then I scoop each of us a serving and slide a plate across the island toward her. “Sorry that you lost them both.”
“Yeah, well. Life happens.” Her voice cracks just a little.
She scoops some of the risotto onto her spoon, blows on it, and pops it into her mouth. Her eyes drift closed, a soft sound escaping her lips. It goes straight to my dick.
“This is incredible,” she says.
“You like?”
“I love. This is the best thing I've eaten since I got here.” She winks at me. “Don’t tell your ma. I don’t want her to hate me more.”
I chuckle and take a bite, watching her eat. A tiny burst of pride makes my chest swell. She savors it instead of just shoveling it down. “So what'd you cook back in Dublin?”
“I could barely boil water. Da had people for that.” She shrugs. "Besides, I was usually too busy with other things to care about food.”
“Like what?”
“Training. Target practice in the basement range Da built.” Her voice gets wistful. “I had my own setup down there. It was a great way to let off steam. I’m an incredible shot, too, in case you were wondering.”
“Not a shock,” I say. “Do you miss it?”
“Every day.” She meets my eyes. "I don’t want to lose that skill, either. And here I can't even carry a knife without setting off your security.”
It’s pretty clear why she's been so restless and pissed off. No way to channel the emotions. I mean, I could think of ways but she’d probably try to cut off my dick if I suggested them. “When's the last time you shot?”
“A week before our wedding. I went to the range with Damien, let him think he was teaching me.” A small smile tugs at her lips and my spine stiffens when I hear his name. “Poor guy thought he was impressing me.”
“Was he?” I bite out, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
“Nah. He couldn't hit the broad side of a barn from ten feet away.” She laughs. “But he was sweet about it and kept encouraging me to ‘try harder.’”
Jealousy flares sharp in my gut. I fucking hate hearing about that prick. “Sounds like a real winner.”
“He was kind. Gentle.” Her voice softens in a way that pisses me the fuck off. “He thought I needed protection from everything, including Da.”
“And you liked that white knight bullshit?”
“I thought I did. It was nice having someone who wanted to take care of me.” She looks up, eyes spitting blue sparks. “Turns out I prefer men who think I can handle myself.”
“Well, it’s a good fucking thing you married one then.”
“Did I?” She cocks her head to the side.
“You think I don't know exactly how dangerous you are?” I lean forward, voice dropping. “News flash. I know you could kill me six different ways with the shit in this kitchen right now. And it gets me hard instead of making me wanna lock up the knives.”
Her eyes widen and her breathing hitches. “Why?”
I smile. “Because I like my women deadly.”
“Your women?” She rolls her eyes.
“My woman. It’s just you now, princess.”
The possessiveness in my voice surprises me. But her eyes narrow in response.
“I don't belong to you.”
“Keep telling yourself that shit.”
Her lips pull into a tight line and for a second, I think she’s going to lash out. But then she shocks the hell out of me.
“Boxing. Krav Maga,” she says, switching subjects entirely. “Da made sure I could handle myself in a fight.” She flexes her fingers. “I haven't sparred with anyone in over a month. My hands are getting soft.”
I drag my spoon around the plate. “There's a gym in the building with a full setup.”
That perks her up. “Really?”
“Yep. Forty-second floor. Bags, ring, weights. Private access.” Her face lights up. “You wanna check it out?”
“You'd let me?”
“It's not me letting you, princess. I’m telling you it’s there and giving you something to beat the shit out of that isn't me.”
She grins, and fuck if that expression doesn't make my dick twitch. “You might regret that.”
“I'll take my chances.”
“Why?”
“Because watching you pace around here like a caged animal is driving me insane.”
We eat in silence for a while, but it's charged as hell. Like we're both thinking about shit we shouldn't.
When she's done, she carries her plate to the sink. I follow, and we end up working side by side, her washing, me drying.
“This is weird,” she says, handing me a plate.
“Doing dishes?”
“Being normal. Like we're actually married instead of just pretending.”
I turn to look at her but she's focused on scrubbing.
“You think this is pretending?”
“Isn't it?”
“Feels pretty fucking real to me.”
She looks up then, and something shifts in the air between us. A small hiss of breath escapers her lips.
“What are we doing?” she asks quietly.
“Dishes.”
“That's not what I mean and you know it.”
“I know what you mean.”
She turns off the water. “Then answer me.”
I put down the dish towel and turn to face her fully. “We're dancing around the fact that we both want each other.”
“Real subtle,” she scoffs.
I shrug. “You asked for honesty.”
She reaches up, her fingers trailing along my jaw. The touch is light, like she’s testing...me, herself. Maybe both of us,
“This is dangerous,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“We can't.”
“Why the fuck not?” I ask.
“Because...” She searches my face. “Because I don't know if you're playing me or if this is real.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if it's real, then everything changes. And if it's not...” She sighs. “Then I'm just another job to you. Which I expect to be.”
The honesty in her voice catches me off guard. I cup her face in my hands, stare deep into her eyes, and lie.
“You're not just another fucking job.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because if you were, I wouldn't be standing here at midnight making you dinner and talking about my dead grandmother.”
She studies my face. “You could be very good at your job.”
“I could be. But I'm not that good a fucking actor.”
She grabs the front of my shirt and yanks me close until our mouths are almost touching.
“I still don't trust you,” she breathes.
“You’re smart.”
“So why do I want to kiss you so badly?”
Heat explodes through my veins. “Then do it.”
For a hot second, we're dancing on a knife's edge. Her grip is tight on my shirt, my hands cup her face, both of us breathing hard.
Then something dark shadows her expression and she shoves me away.
“No.” Color floods her face. “Not like this. Not when I still have questions.”
She pushes past me, heading for the door.
“What kind of questions?” I call after her.
“The kind you won't answer honestly.”
She disappears, leaving me alone with a hard-on and the scent of her shampoo lingering in the air.
Fuck.
She wants me. That wasn't strategy or games. That was pure fucking need.
But she's also smart enough to know something's not adding up. I’ve given her too many evasive answers, deflected too many times.
And if she starts digging too deep...
The mission gets complicated fast.
But standing here, thinking about the way she stared at my mouth, the way she grabbed my shirt like she wanted to tear it off...
I'm starting to realize the mission's already more complicated than I can handle.