Chapter 15 #2
My chest warms under her attention. And she hasn’t even seen the tattoos yet. “Good morning to you, too, Mrs. O’Connor,” I say, just to see her eyes flash with indignation.
Catriona sucks in a breath, and my eyes drop to her mouth, where she’s biting her lower lip.
“Right. Yes. Um, good morning.” It doesn’t escape my notice that she doesn’t correct her name.
Pleasure rolls through me, but I don’t let it show on my face.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you. I just wanted to give you a heads-up that I have a meeting with my, um, advisor this afternoon.
So I’m going to be a little late. I didn’t want Bren or Tadhg to freak you out, so will you give them a heads-up? ”
“Of course,” I say, and use another towel to blot the water streaming from my hair.
She blinks. “I’m sorry, are you still drunk right now? Because if I’m not mistaken, you just agreed with me. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
Giving her a sly smile, I move to leave the bathroom, and she holds her position until I’m within inches of pressing against her from knees to chest, then she backs away to let me out.
Her footsteps are close behind as I move to the bedroom, the one I’m supposed to be sharing with my wife, but that is noticeably lacking any of her things.
When had I gone from wanting her as far away from me as possible to imagining her here every morning when I wake up?
Maybe it’s her name inked into my skin, my ring on her finger, and that she carries my last name that’s causing me to lose sight of all my previous objections to having her as my wife.
I study the bed and give half a thought to persuading her to lie on her back instead of letting her go to school.
She’d fight at first, but if I got my mouth on her cunt, I bet I have a fifty-fifty chance I could convince her.
Maybe seventy-thirty. She seemed to like the things I could do with my tongue.
She makes a sound of discontent in the back of her throat, and my attention returns to her face, then trails down her body. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
Before she can answer, she zeros in on the thin, glossy patches of skin on my knuckles as I turn on the overhead light in the closet.
Whatever she’s going to add dies in her throat as I shift to pull clothes from drawers.
Humor tempers any lingering hesitation, and recklessness has me undoing the towel, twisting more than necessary as I pull socks, briefs, and whatever the hell else from the drawers.
Enjoying her attention, her indignation, I retrieve a shirt and slacks from the closet. The room is dark and quiet, still as midnight, so I can hear her harsh breathing… and I can hear when she stops as she finally puts the pieces together.
“What the hell is that?” she demands, taking my hands in hers. She’s so shocked, she doesn’t even comment on my nakedness. Should I be offended?
Eamon would die to be here to see her reaction to his handiwork. “They’re tattoos.”
She turns a lovely shade of red. “I know what they are. Why do you have my name tattooed on your hands? Is this some sick joke, O’Connor?”
I glance down at where she’s cradling my hands in hers, her pretty lips pulled into a frown as she tries to find the words to express her frustration. Surrounded by irritated red skin are the dark, black-inked gothic letters, one on each knuckle.
C – A – T – R on my right, and I – O – N – A on my left. When she arranges my hands next to each other, it spells out her name, inked on my skin forever. The thought sends a delicious thrill skating over my nerve endings.
“It’s Eamon’s idea of a wedding present,” I say in a low, gravelly voice.
Her hands are on me. Who knew all I had to do to get them there was shock her a little?
“I’m sure if you asked, he’d be willing to give you one, too.
What do you think? Want my name on you?” At her silence, I muse, “Probably not on your hands, though. Somewhere you can hide under all your pretty pink suits.”
She’s frozen in place as I shift toward her, unmoving as I lift a tattooed hand to those red-tinged cheeks.
Her eyes draw up my body, studying the ink on my chest, skating over my lips, until she meets my eyes.
Now she notices I’m not wearing anything.
The clothes I’d gathered are in a pile on the floor by my feet, forgotten.
Her breath hitches as I inch closer, and I take in her lavender and honey scent, letting it fill my nose.
“What about here?” I whisper, thumbing her wrist where she could hide a tattoo with long sleeves.
“Have you lost your mind? Why would you get my name tattooed on you? Is this another one of your stupid family traditions?”
I could lie, but I don’t. “This? No. This was all Eamon. He does most of my tattoos.”
“And, what, you couldn’t tell him no?”
“Maybe I thought it was a good idea. More convincing.”
“So this is just another twisted way to make your stepfather believe this is real?” She searches my face for answers. “Well, I have to give it to you, you’re dedicated.”
“Maybe here would be better,” I say, instead of giving her any answers. My hand glides up her arm, over her shoulder, grazes her breast, and rests just underneath on her ribs, so I can feel when her breath catches. “Yeah, I like the thought of it here.”
“I don’t think so,” she says. Her hands are on my shoulders, clutching or preparing to push me away, I’m not sure. A heartbeat passes, and she doesn’t do more than grip me tighter. “Ribs would hurt like a bitch.”
A smile teases at my lips, and my hand moves to her lower back.
“A tramp stamp?” she snorts. “Over my dead body. Before you suggest it, there’s no man on Earth I’d be willing to tattoo on my ass.”
We’re so close our lips are almost touching. “Then where?”
“This is insane. I’m going to be late.”
“So tell me, and I’ll let you go. Where would you get it?” I should drop it. I should let her go and banish the thought from my mind. But I pull her closer with my hand on her back.
She chews her bottom lip before she reaches across to guide my wrist around, so my hand is flat against her belly.
Our gazes catch, hold. She urges my hand down, across her button, down her zipper.
Fuck, I don’t think I’m breathing. But she skims over the front of her until my hand is gripping the curve of her hip, nearly the top of her thigh.
My thumb presses intimately close to the heat of her.
My dick is hard and leaking. I’d give anything for her to touch me.
“If I were to get a tattoo of a man’s name—”
“My name,” I interrupt.
“—this is where it would be.”
Is it just me, or are we somehow even closer? Did she move, or did I? My typically organized mind feels like it’s in the center of a tornado.
I imagine it there, branding her. Another way to show the world—and her—that she’s mine. Something inevitable holds me in its grasp.
She doesn’t back away when I shift my free hand to thread through her hair, but her eyes are flashing in warning.
Her hands shove at my shoulders, but I’m immovable.
I pivot until she’s against the wall, no way to escape, at my mercy.
She strains against me, then realizes how much I’m enjoying it, and she freezes.
“Don’t you fucking da—”
I capture the words with my mouth, swallowing her protests.
Her hands fly to my biceps, and she tries to push me away, but I pull her closer to me with a bruising grip on her hips.
When she gasps, I deepen the kiss, feeding her my tongue, letting her nip at my lips until she softens.
It’s only for a moment. Just one where she kisses me back.
But it’s enough to have her tearing herself away.
She shoves me and brings a hand to her tender mouth. “What the hell are you doing?” she whispers.
“Kissing my wife.”
“Don’t kiss me again,” she says, ignoring my comment. “I swear to God, I’ll break something valuable the next time you try.”
I brush the hair that’s fallen into her face. She flinches away as I lift my hands, and at that, I let her go. “Whatever you say, Mrs. O’Connor.”
“I’m going to go. Remember, I have that meeting this afternoon.
It may take a while, so have Bren and Tadhg wait in the car.
I don’t want them embarrassing me in front of my advisor,” she demands, chest heaving.
“But if you ever touch me again, I’m going to make you regret it.
” As she talks, I get dressed, ignoring my protesting dick.
“I hope you’re prepared to laser those off as soon as possible. ”
I don’t dignify the laser removal comment with a response. If anything, her reaction to them has ensured they’re never coming off. “I’ll let them know. Is there anything else you want?”
Her jaw clenches, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “I mean it, O’Connor. Laser them off, or I’ll figure out a way to tattoo over them myself.”
“If that’s what pleases you.”
“I doubt you care about what pleases me,” she mutters behind my back, still following me as I move to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
I meet her eyes in the mirror. “I care very much about what pleases you.”
She scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. Just keep your hands to yourself, O’Connor, and I’ll do the same. There’s no reason we can’t be civil.”
“You? Civil.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What if I don’t want you to keep your hands to yourself? What if I don’t want to be civil?”
She makes a disbelieving sound in the back of her throat. “You’re only saying that to fuck with my head. I don’t even know why I’m having this conversation with you. Tell Bren and Tadhg what I said. And for God’s sake, don’t do anything else like this while I’m gone today.”
I watch her all the way out of my room, then I call Bren and Tadhg to give them the day off.
My wife is up to something.
Because she wouldn’t have let me kiss her otherwise.
She wanted me to. Let me touch her. Get close to her. And she never would have done that unless there was something she wanted. Or wanted me to ignore.
And I’m going to find out exactly what it is and why.