Chapter 19
TIERNEY
“Earth to Connor.” I duck low and catch his eyes, grateful the focus is on him and not the thoughts of Bronx haunting me. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
He blinks a few times and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t you have a husband to torment or something?”
I make a face at him. “Someone’s in a mood.”
“Can’t a guy just get some space, Tier?” He sighs. “If it’s not security following me, it’s you askin’ questions.”
“Wow.” I get to my feet and glance at my phone as a message from Livvie pops up on the screen. “Looks like you’ve realized this isn’t a vacation anymore. I was going to mention my coffee date with Livvie and ask if you wanna join us.”
As I head for the door, I glance over my shoulder and find him typing out a text message, his jaw tight and shoulders hunched like he’s picking a fight with someone who isn’t in the room.
“I miss Dublin too,” I say. “But we’ve gotta evolve, Con. This is our life now.”
My usual security guy is already standing in front of the elevator. The same lad who’d escorted me to the penthouse when I first arrived. He punches the button for me and steps aside to let me move into the elevator when the doors open.
“You had lunch yet?” I ask.
“No, ma’am.”
“Want me to grab you a coffee while I’m out?”
There’s a flicker of a smile on his mouth. “Once you’re back home, safe and sound, then I’ll have a break.”
“Suit yourself.” I shrug. “I know what it’s like trying to steal a few minutes when you’re on a job.”
The doors slide open, and we head into the foyer, where another guy joins us. I know it’s overkill, but there’s comfort in it. Not in the men themselves, but because Bronx has stayed true to his word.
A shiver runs down my spine when I think about him again. I’ve let him get under my skin… and it feels like he’s winning.
The coffee shop sits half a block from the condo, tucked between a florist and a bookstore. Roasted beans and the waft of warm sugar hit me when I push inside.
Livvie waves at me from a table at the back, far from the windows, a paper bag of pastries and two coffees waiting in front of her.
Our security spread out the moment I weave through the crowd. One takes a stool by the counter, another lingers near the exit, both of them pretending they’re just regular customers killing time.
Livvie slides a coffee mug across the table when I sit.
“Hey… you’re looking suspiciously radiant.” She grins.
I glance at the drink, then at her. “Hardly. I barely see sunlight these days.”
She smiles, unwraps a croissant and sets it on the plate between us.
“Just as well you have me then.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “A sister-in-law who understands.”
The word still sounds out of place.
Sister-in-law.
I lean back in the chair and wrap my hands around the warm mug. For a minute we sit there in silence while the crowd shuffles around us.
Livvie blows on her coffee and studies me over the rim. “So… how’s married life with Bronx?”
“Fine.”
Her eyebrows drift up.
“C’mon, Tierney, don’t hold back on me. You bought that squirrel monstrosity to piss him off because you enjoy sparring with him.”
I glance toward the window, watching a cab crawl past the curb. “I bought it to make a point. You’re reading way too much into it.”
Livvie tilts her head, unconvinced. “You know, fighting him won’t make the feelings go away.”
Every muscle in my body locks.
“What feelings?” I ask flatly.
“Fine.” She pulls at the croissant and pops a piece in her mouth, chewing as she considers me. “Answer me honestly. Have you two had sex yet?”
A laugh escapes me, and my cheeks flush for some weird reason.
“What is this?” I roll my eyes. “You taking interrogation lessons from the Wicked Witch of the West? At least his ma’s a little more discreet.”
Livvie smirks. “You’re deflecting, Mrs Viacava.”
I sit forward, setting my coffee down with a gentle thud. “I’m keeping my sex life private. End of story.”
“Which means you have a sex life to hide… and there’s nothing wrong with that, by the way.”
“It was just once,” I shoot back. “And it’ll never happen again.”
Her brows pinch together.
“Really? Was it an anticlimax, or was he just not that good? I mean, I’d find it surprising if he was bad in bed since Kingston is...”
Her gaze drifts with her words as if she’s fallen into a memory that she doesn’t want to forget.
“It was fire,” I admit in a low voice, glancing over my shoulder. “And that’s why it can’t happen again.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“I told my da I’d give the marriage six months. Then I’m out,” I tell her. “And I’m not naive enough to think Bronx wants forever. So I want to walk away with my feelings intact.”
She reaches across the table and places her hand on top of mine. There’s pity in her blue eyes, or maybe it’s more than that. Either way, I hold my breath, waiting for what she’s about to say next.
“I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?”
My stomach twists. Because the worst part is, I knew she was going to call me out.
“You two look good together,” she continues. “Even if you’ve put an expiry date on the marriage, you can still enjoy having him to yourself. Half the single women in New York had their hearts broken when Bronx finally picked a wife.”
“Yeah… a fake wife, Livvie,” I correct. “He’s playing along.”
She cocks her head. “Do you really think a man like him needs to play his part… in his own home? If he didn’t want you near him, you wouldn’t be living in his penthouse. Bronx Viacava shares his bed with you, Tierney.”
Livvie finishes her coffee and stands.
“Think about what I said,” she tells me. “I have to go now. We’ve stayed here long enough to draw attention.”
I don’t answer, knowing she’s right. That angers me. A few weeks ago, I would have been scouting the coffee shop for threats, and today, I was more interested in chatting about my husband.
Who the hell am I?
Five minutes later, I’m walking into the penthouse with two shadows trailing behind me.
Bronx is at the kitchen island when I walk in, laptop open, sleeves rolled up.
The first thing I notice is his hands… and the wedding ring he still hasn’t taken off.
Livvie’s voice is still in my head.
He shares his bed with you.
“How’s Livvie?” he asks. “You two spend the morning talking about me?”
I head straight for the fridge and grab a bottle of water. I don’t really need a drink, but I need to play it cool because the cologne he’s wearing puts me under a spell.
“We talked about Reign, actually.”
My stomach flutters when he pivots on the stool to face me. “Why were you talking about him?”
“He’s single… isn’t he?”
“And?”
“Livvie was telling me she gets plagued with women asking about him.”
“What’s interesting about that?” He rises to a stand and pushes his sleeves up a fraction more.
“Nothing, really.” I shrug. “He just came up in the conversation.”
Bronx pushes away from the island and walks toward me. Before I can step aside, he plants one hand beside my shoulder and cages me against the fridge.
“Reign,” he repeats quietly.
His thumb drifts to my mouth and brushes over my bottom lip, the touch lazy…possessive.
My pulse jumps.
“Funny,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine. “You spend the morning with your sister-in-law and come home talking about the brother who isn’t married.”
His thumb presses a little harder against my lip. “You trying to make me jealous, wife?”
“Are you jealous?” I shoot back.
His expression remains neutral.
“No,” he says in a low rumble while his thumb hooks under my chin, tilting my gaze higher. “But I am territorial.”
His jaw flexes when I inch into him, my breasts nudging into his chest. I stay there and let the heat between us simmer in the air.
“Same thing, husband…”
My fingers trail down the center of his shirt, over the buttons and the rise and fall beneath the fabric. They skate lower until my palm settles over the thick ridge trapped behind his zipper.
God, he’s so hard it makes my mouth water.
I cup him over the zipper, firm enough to make his pupils flare, light enough that it’s more promise than relief.
A low growl rumbles in his throat.
“You’re always so hard for me,” I murmur, stroking the length of him once, slow, dragging my thumb along the length. His hips jerk forward. “Poor thing.”
His eyes flash, dark, dangerous, the look that makes my body tight and my clit throb. But this afternoon, I’m the one holding the reins.
I keep the pressure steady, rubbing up and down, feeling him pulse and thicken even more under my hand. His breathing changes, and a muscle twitches in his cheek.
Rising to my tiptoes, I lean in, lips brushing the edge of his mouth. He exhales a long breath against my cheek.
“You want my hand inside these pants so badly, don’t you?” I squeeze just enough to make him hiss. “Want me to wrap my fingers around this hard dick and stroke it until you’re coming for me?”
One of his hands lands on my hip, gripping hard. “You know where this is going, princess. Don’t you?”
My thighs clench and my nipples are tight against my thin top. But my clothes will stay on. So will his.
I kiss along the corner of his jaw, then move to his mouth in a slow, filthy, tongue-sliding kiss that lets him taste how much I want this too.
He kisses me back, and it takes every shred of self-restraint to hold back. I bite his lower lip, sharp enough to make him grunt, then pull back just far enough that he has to chase.
My hand never stops stroking, feather-light, then firmer, so he’s almost panting. The dominant man who usually has me whimpering is unraveling under my fingertips… and the power rush is intoxicating.
I’d surrender to him all over again. Drop to my knees and worship him as he wants me to. However, I’m not that easy. And this isn’t me falling for a man. Or wanting to be his.
I let my lips hover over his. “You’re close to losing it… aren’t you?”
“Touch me the right way. Now,” he rasps.
I smile against his mouth. “Begging for it?”
His other hand braces on the fridge behind me when I drag my nails down his zipper, hook one fingertip under the metal tab—and then I stop, duck low and move out from under his arm.
“Tierney,” he says, all throaty and hoarse.
His eyes widen, pupils blown, chest heaving. For a second, he looks as if he might actually lunge at me.
I tilt my head, voice soft but steel-edged. “I’m not a dial-a-date, baby.”
He freezes.
“You don’t get to snap your fingers and have me on my knees whenever it suits you.”
I blow him a mocking little kiss, turn on my heel and saunter toward the hallway, leaving him standing in the middle of the kitchen… aching and stunned.
Behind me, I hear him exhale slowly, and goosebumps race over my skin.
I glance back to find him watching me, a slow smile spreading across his handsome face.
“Anyone ever tell you not to play with matches, princess?” he says. “Enjoy the head start.”