Chapter 18 #2
Except Leila isn’t sleeping when I walk into the room.
She’s sitting up, the white sheets wrapped around her chest, and I can see from her bare shoulders that she hasn’t gotten dressed yet.
The knowledge sends a white-hot bolt of desire through me, searing my veins and making my cock stiffen instantly, but I force myself to keep my distance.
She’s looking out the window when I walk in, but her attention instantly snaps to me when I step into the room. I avert my eyes briefly before looking back at her, and I hear a dry chuckle.
“Can’t even look at me now?” She sounds slightly sad, and I breathe in slowly, trying to ignore how clearly I can still smell the warm scent of her skin and perfume in the room, making my desire ratchet up to a nearly painful degree.
“Just trying to be a gentleman about it.” I clear my throat. “Last night was a necessity, Leila. I don’t intend to treat you as if you’re a commodity to be had, now.”
She swallows, her delicate throat moving, and it takes everything in me not to think about wrapping my hand around her throat to feel it move as she swallows my cum.
Christ. The throbbing in my stiff length intensifies.
It’s fucking painful, this level of arousal, and I could satisfy it so easily.
I must have turned into a fucking masochist, because there’s not a man on earth who would say I shouldn’t fuck this woman right now, who is mine in every possible way that matters in my world.
But not to me. She’s not really mine, and I’ll only hurt us both by pretending.
“You should get dressed,” I manage finally.
“And wake your mother up. Ida is fixing breakfast for everyone downstairs. We’ll eat, and then head back to the mansion.
” I pause, taking a slow breath. “Your mother should stay with us for the time being. It’s safer that way. I can’t imagine you’ll mind.”
And maybe that will help me get my head on straight. Nothing less arousing than having one’s mother-in-law living under the same roof, right?
Except she’s down the hall currently, and that hasn’t seemed to affect my libido in the slightest.
I clear my throat. “I’ll meet you both down in the dining room.”
Leila nods, and I turn on my heel, intent on finding the nearest empty guest bathroom and dealing with my arousal before I run into anyone else.
This is fucking ridiculous, I think as I close the door behind me, my fingers already itching to undo my belt and wrap around my throbbing length so I can have some relief.
Jerking off twice in the same number of hours over a woman I’ve already fucked.
I was never this bad, even when I was in my late teens and fucking around for the first time.
I don’t know what Leila Murphy has done to me, but I need to find a cure for it, and fast.
One that doesn’t involve being inside of her again.
—
Three hours later, we’re en route back to the mansion.
We had a tense breakfast that Ida made and served, with Leila’s mother thanking me for my hospitality and accepting my offer to stay at the mansion with us for a while longer, with Leila’s urging.
She protested at first, saying she didn’t want to intrude on newlyweds, but I could tell she was rattled by what happened at the church.
And I could tell that Leila was too—that she genuinely wants her mother to stay with us.
And why wouldn’t she? It’s clear that Claire Murphy is doing better, but she’s still sick with cancer.
I can imagine Leila wants every minute that she can with her mother, and I’m happy to facilitate it.
It means that I can bring back the security that was guarding Claire’s apartment, as well, which is good. I need my resources close to home, not stretched thinner.
As the SUV carrying me, Leila, Ida, and Claire pulls into the mansion’s circular driveway, I see my father’s black Mercedes parked out front. I help the women out one by one and then turn to Leila, speaking quietly.
“Ida should have a room prepared for your mother. Help her find her room and get her settled, and then go back to yours.”
Leila looks at me confusedly, and I keep speaking quickly.
“My father is here. He’s likely waiting for me in his office. I don’t want the two of you interacting if at all possible. Stay out of the way, and I’ll come talk to you after.”
Leila’s face pales slightly at the mention of my father, and she nods.
She reaches for her mother’s hand, giving her a smile that looks real, but I can see it is tense.
“Come on, Mama,” she says, forcing the smile brighter.
“We’ll get you settled in and spend a little time together while Ronan is getting settled himself. ”
I walk ahead of the women, leaving Finn to escort them and get the security handled as I head to my office.
As I expected, when I step inside, my father is already seated in front of my desk, waiting for me.
He looks at me expectantly as I walk in, his face thunderous, as if we had a planned meeting and I kept him waiting instead of him having barged into what is technically my home.
But it’s our family home. So until he’s dead and in the ground—which I’m beginning to wish for—the house technically belongs to him. He can go where he wishes in it.
"You should have called me."
My father's voice is deadly quiet, which is somehow worse than if he were shouting. He’s furious, and there’s still some part of me that feels like a twelve-year-old boy who’s done something wrong.
I’ve sought his approval all my life, and now I’ve deviated so far from what I know he wants that I have no idea what happens next.
All I know is that for now, I’m the one leading the O’Malley family in Boston, at least visibly. And I have to keep Leila safe.
I’d expected him to storm the safe house. To try to take her away. Hell, to stand up and object during the wedding. I was surprised when he let me have half a day’s peace. But I knew today there would be a reckoning.
“You went back to Miami after you gave me your ultimatum. Or at least I assumed you did. And I already knew your opinion on the matter.” I draw in a breath, looking at him from across the room. “I knew the solution you had in mind. I found a different one. You could have objected at the wedding.”
Padraigh snorts. “And show the cracks in our family in front of everyone in Boston who matters? You know better than that, boy. You know as well as I do that I couldn’t say a damned word, not without giving any jumped-up asshole who has the idea in his head to try to make a play against us ammunition.
And De Luca. You think someone wouldn’t have taken word back to him that Ronan O’Malley is going against his patriarch’s wishes.
Christ, son, you know we have to show a united front, or not at all.
I couldn’t have spoken up, and you knew it.
That’s why you kept the wedding a damned secret until the day of. ”
I force myself to stay calm. He’s telling the truth—I sent his invitation late the night before, when he’d get up in the morning and have no choice but to come straight to the church. I overruled him, and I didn’t give him a chance to interfere. And I know he’ll say I overstepped.
“I found a way to resolve the situation that didn’t involve handing her over to a monster,” I say tightly.
“I knew you’d disapprove, but what was I supposed to do?
Tell you in time for you to step in and put a stop to it?
I made a decision, as a leader. That’s what leaders do.
I chose according to my conscience. What else was I supposed to do? ”
It’s a rhetorical question, but I already know he’ll have an answer for it.
"You were supposed to consult me before making a decision that affects the entire organization!" He slams his hand down on the desk. "Marriage, Ronan? To her? Do you have any idea what you've done?"
I let out a breath, projecting a calm I don’t feel. “I protected her. I made it so that there’s no reason for me to hand her over, as you and the Russians wanted. And I’ve married again, which strengthens our position—”
"Strengthens our position?" Padraigh laughs, but there's no humor in it. "The Russians didn’t want you to marry the girl, and you knew it. They wanted you to hand her over to De Luca like she's supposed to be. End of story. There was no other solution."
"She's not supposed to be anywhere near De Luca," I say sharply. "She defaulted on a loan; she didn't sell herself into slavery."
"Didn't she?" My father pulls out a file and throws it across the desk. "Her mother's medical bills, Ronan, and the contract she signed. With interest, she’s well over sixty thousand dollars in debt to Neil Sawyer—who I know now is dead, by the way, and I’m sure it was by your hand.”
“He deserved to die.” My jaw tightens.
Padraigh snorts. “I don’t give a shit about some loan shark. But when that girl—”
“That girl is my wife—”
“When the girl couldn't pay, Sawyer sold the debt to De Luca, and De Luca considers that debt to include the girl herself. We’ve been over this. You know that, Ronan. Marrying her doesn’t change facts.”
“You’re right,” I reply evenly. “And you and I both agree that humans can’t be bought and sold.
That’s a fact. So whatever Rocco planned to do with her after he ‘bought’ her—and you and I both can guess at what that was—it’s not something I’m going to allow or facilitate.
Handing her back to him would be as good as saying I’m fine with what he was going to do, and I’m not.
I won’t send her back into that situation.
As far as I’m concerned, that’s not how debt works. ”