Chapter 15
AIDEN
The silence on Catriona’s side of the car during the ride home grates. What I’d give to know what she’s thinking. This week has been a bitch. The waiting. For the news of the reception to break. But even more, for Catriona to come to me.
Five days and she hadn’t.
So I’d finally given in and gone to her.
Both because I needed to ensure her safety if something were to happen to me, and because I wanted to see her face. Gauge her reaction. The concession in our constant battle was worth it.
Frances greets us, and dinner is served—steaks, asparagus, and sweet potato, but I barely taste any of it.
The little liar is hiding something, and getting her to let down her guard the slightest bit had been the first step.
I don’t want to push her, but I know there’s something about her interaction with Devin Franklin that doesn’t sit right with me. Something she’s not telling me.
She may have only wanted me as her husband for her sister’s sake, but now that she’s got me, I want everything from her.
Especially her secrets.
My plans are thwarted as soon as both of our plates are clean. Frances appears in the doorway with a grinning Eamon at her side.
“Well, isn’t this nice?” he says, giving a jaunty little dip at the knees. “Dinner with the missus. I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Yes.”
“No,” Catriona says at the same time.
I flick her a dispassionate look, and her lips press together. To Eamon, I say, “You’re always intruding. Now, what do you want so you can go?”
Eamon rests against the doorjamb, crossing his ankles. “I’m stealing you for the night.”
“No.”
I see Catriona sip on wine out of the corner of my eye, a cautiously amused smile semi-hidden behind her glass at the byplay.
“You haven’t even heard what it’s for.”
“I don’t need to hear. Besides, we’re occupied.” I gesture to the plates.
“You’re done. Surely, you can survive being away from her for a day.”
“We—”
“Of course you can have him for the night, Eamon. I have readings to do. And a new clerkship to find. So I’ll be busy for the evening.” Pushing to her feet, she nods at me before rushing out of the room.
“Now look what you’ve done,” I say flatly.
“You’re the definition of a happy groom,” he says, twitching his eyebrows at me. I try to escape to my study without him, but he doesn’t get a clue and follows. “I always thought marriage would suit you,” Eamon adds at my back.
“I can’t wait for the day when something like this happens to you,” I answer through gritted teeth, as I pour myself a glass of gin. I knock it back, appreciating the floral notes and, with pride, noting that the brand is from Ireland: Dingle Gin. No wonder it’s excellent.
It’s almost like she knew what I was trying to do, I muse to myself, as I sip more.
Did she sense I was trying to get her alone?
Needle information from her? Clever little wife.
Of course she did. My brilliant, ruthless Catriona.
If any other woman has offered me half as much amusement, I can’t pull them to mind.
Ever since she stole her way into my life, every other woman has been lackluster in comparison.
Eamon chuckles, throwing himself into a chair with that infuriating grin of his. “There isn’t a woman alive who could knock me off my feet.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, I take the chair opposite him. Maybe if I get him drunk enough, he’ll pass out, and I can interrupt Catriona’s studying. “Why aren’t you on a job? What do you want?”
Slumping dramatically with one hand on his chest, Eamon says, “You think I’d let you get married without doing something special to celebrate? You wound me.”
I glare at him over my drink. “I’m going to wound you, you gobshite.”
He gestures, and I sigh before handing him my glass for him to drink. Will I ever get to finish a drink in my own house?
“You seem like you could use a bit of distraction.” He gestures with the now-empty crystal tumbler. “And I’m your favorite distraction.”
“What you are is a giant pain in the arse.”
He shakes the glass for a refill, and I retrieve the bottle and another cup. “Not telling me anything I haven’t heard before. Besides, you love me. Want to know what I have planned for you?”
“If it’s not a bullet to my brain, I’m not interested.”
“You always know just what to say.”
I think of Catriona upstairs and rub a hand over my face. “Fuck it. Tell me your plans.”
“Really? I thought it would have taken more convincing. Mrs. O’Connor must really have you in knots.”
I make a rolling motion with my free hand. “Do you ever stop running your mouth?”
Tsking, he says, “But I have so many interesting things to say.”
“Start with what the hell you’re doing here,” I suggest.
He shifts the bag at his side that I didn’t realize he’d brought with him. “We’re going to start with this.”
“You think now is the right time?” I question drolly.
Eamon smirks. “Why? Are you planning to consummate tonight? I didn’t think Catriona was interested, based on the videos I’ve seen this week.”
“It’ll be in your best interest to refrain from commenting about me fucking my wife.” I throw back the rest of my gin. “I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”
His expression turns rueful. “’Fraid not.”
“Do I get a choice in what or where it is?” He gives me a look that says how can you be so stupid. “Fine. Get it set up. I’ll pour more drinks.”
“I’m surprised your pretty bride isn’t wondering what we’re up to.”
I scoff, trying not to imagine what she’s doing right now or if she’s wearing any of those negligees I’d seen in her room. How tonight could have gone if we were any other people in the world. “I’m sure she’s pleased you’re keeping me busy.”
While he sets up his supplies, I retrieve a bottle of Teeling vintage reserve single malt whiskey from behind my desk.
Despite the fact that I haven’t been to Ireland since long before the Emerald Isle opened, I still prefer Irish whiskey.
By the time it’s poured, Eamon is ready.
Gesturing to him, he grins wide, and I pour us two generous measures.
“Sláinte!” Eamon toasts after knocking his glass to mine.
“I take it by the look on your face, marriage isn’t the happily ever after you always dreamed?
” Eamon snickers, bringing me back to the present as he arranges his supplies on a sterilized tray: tattoo gun, needles, ink, petroleum jelly, and a bunch of other shit I don’t know the name for.
I find myself looking forward to this. Maybe Eamon, the bastard, isn’t such a gobshite after all.
“Shut the fuck up unless it’s to tell me what you’re planning on putting on me.”
At this, his grin spreads wider, and he pulls out the stencil from his bag.
I lift a brow at him as I study it.
“You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack, mo chara.”
I think about Catriona and how she’ll react when she sees. She’ll be pissed, no doubt in my mind. Probably call me crazy. Honestly, I think it may be worth it.
When my lips pull into a smirk, Eamon says, “I knew you’d love it. It won’t take long, and then we can drink the rest of this whiskey.”
“Like hell. It’s for special occasions.”
“Lad, you married Rory Gallagher’s daughter. It’s either a special occasion or we’re toasting to your impending funeral.”
He isn’t wrong. “Alright, fuck, I’ll drink, but you’re going to finish the bottle on your own.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
By the following morning, I’m cursing Eamon’s name for convincing me to finish half the bottle with him—sneaky bastard.
When I’m done, I study the tattoos and imagine Catriona’s reaction—ire, disgust, and confusion, probably.
But what I’m really hoping for is outrage.
She’ll do all sorts of interesting things if she’s pissed off with me. Hit me. Yell at me.
Tell me all the things she’s been keeping from me.
Let me pin her down and fuck her into submission.
Maybe all of the above.
I listen for any sign she’s awake, but the room next to mine is still and quiet, and there’s no indication she is when I peek out into the hall.
A shower is the first order of business, to wash away the reek and peel off the bits of film covering my fingers.
Eamon has done most of my tattoos. Some of them were at my request, but most were because I liked the pain and he needed the distraction.
Over the years, I’ve accumulated so many that I’m running out of room as his canvas.
One of these days, he’ll have to find a new one.
The Saniderm comes off relatively easily, though it always feels like I’m peeling off a layer of flesh, no matter how much I soak the surrounding area.
I wash the sensitive skin with antibacterial soap, then dry the new tattoos with a clean towel and apply a light film of Aquaphor.
They’re small, but they’re on my hands, so they’ll require a little more attention than tattoos in a less exposed part of my body.
Or maybe I want to baby them because of what they are.
A bottle of water clears away some of the muddiness from my thoughts, and aspirin does the rest.
When I glance up, I see Catriona in the fogged-over mirror, standing at the doorway to the bathroom, wearing a pink camisole and jeans. Her shoulders are bare, framed by delicate straps of lace on her upper arms. Her golden-blond hair tumbles from a clip at the back of her head.
Having just spent the past half hour thinking of her, seeing her appear out of nowhere does something primal to me.
“Do you have a second?” Her voice is still husky with sleep, but her eyes are clear.
Based on the way she doesn’t look away from my face, I can tell the sight of my half-naked body is distracting her.
“Or I can come back. I didn’t want to wake you, but I heard the shower, so I tried to call for you.
” She swallows hard. “The, um, door was unlocked.”