Chapter 7
SEVEN
Ronan
Simone and I ride the hotel elevator in silence. We stand side by side, now husband and wife with tension crackling between us. The noise and crowd of our wedding and reception have fallen away, leaving just the two of us.
Alone for the first real time.
Simone won’t meet my eyes. Her nerves are palpable despite how unbothered she tries to act, smoothing a hand down her lacy dress and clearing her throat, holding her chin high.
My princess bride seems to have a million thoughts running through her head.
I stuff both hands in my trouser pockets and glance up at the floor levels glowing red. We climb higher and higher… twelfth floor… seventeenth floor… twenty-eighth floor… forty-second… then finally a ding, and the doors roll open to the fiftieth.
The luxury suite. Ours for the next twenty-four hours.
I offer her my arm. “Shall we, princess?”
She glares, then struts forward without me.
We step to the lone door on the floor. I use the key card to scan us in, the door swinging open to reveal a suite fit for a king.
Dark gray floors and ivory walls. Crown molding and artwork in gilded frames. Giant floor-to-ceiling windows offering a glittering view of NYC at night. Modern, curved French-style furniture that looks as if it belongs in some palace.
The room drips with more luxury and elegance than most people experience in their lifetime.
And all of this is for us.
I gravitate toward a display set up welcoming us. The staff has covered the credenza table with Dom Pérignon champagne, chocolate truffles, strawberries, and a charcuterie board of freshly cured meats, cheeses, and figs.
I grab the champagne bottle and pop it open, pouring two glasses of the fizzy drink.
“Champagne?” I offer, holding one out to her.
She strides over and takes the glass, downing it whole in a single gulp.
I raise both brows. “You might want to slow down.”
“Why should I?” she retorts. “I’m going to need all the alcohol I can get to make it through the rest of my life.”
I grin. “You think being married to me’s gonna be that awful?”
She snorts. “Didn’t you just get done telling me you didn’t want this either, Callahan? We’ve been forced together by our parents for their selfish reasons. Probably the only thing we agree on.”
“That may be true. But I’m not about to mope about it, princess. That’s where we differ.”
“Because you have some power in the situation. You were at least present for the negotiation. Me? I was given away like a mule.”
I set my glass down, watching her. “The illusion of power isn’t the same thing as power.
Nevertheless I’m loyal to my family, and I’ll serve them however necessary.
This marriage happens to be how I’m of use as the spare son.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself and realize being Malcolm Langston’s only daughter, this is your use. It’ll be what you make of it.”
“Thanks for the words of encouragement. I didn’t realize Irish gangsters were such optimists.”
“And what’s there to be mad about, huh?” I fold my arms, leaning back against the table. “You won’t want for anything, princess. You’ll be taken care of.”
She laughs bitterly. “You mean we’ll be well off? Well that solves everything.”
She downs a second glass and turns to walk off.
I grab her by the arm and reel her back, once again bringing her up against me. The tension cinches the air as she glares up at me, and I stare down at her, still partially amused by her tantrum.
She’s beautiful. Even now, even several glasses deep, where most people start to look sloppy and disheveled.
But Simone Langston—Simone Callahan, my wife—still looks as gorgeous as ever.
If anything, the alcohol has made her less inhibited.
There’s a sexiness about her. How her full lips part and her brown skin glows with flushed heat.
I have an urge to kiss her again like at the altar, yet this time even deeper and harder. I want to ravage her mouth and then the rest of her.
Make her writhe and cry in pleasure.
And I will. Very, very soon.
She’s my wife, and this is our wedding night, after all.
As we peer into each other’s eyes, I decide to deliver more harsh truths.
“I won’t ever lie to you. So no, being well off is never gonna solve our problems. If anything, being in the world we live in, we’ll have more problems than most people.
” I pause, my grip on her arm firm, only a couple inches separating us.
“But what I can promise you is that you’ll always be protected.
You’ll be valued in your own way, as all wives are in our family.
And even if you feel like a pawn in all this, you’ll be a beautiful one.
A useful, beautiful one. That’s more purpose than most people serve in their lifetimes, princess. Take comfort and pride in that.”
She wrenches her arm from me. “If you keep touching me like that, you’re going to regret it.”
“How so? What are you gonna do?” My grin widens as I lean closer. “I welcome what you’ve got, Simone. In fact, I’m a little curious about it. How dangerous is the daughter of a weapons dealer?”
Her glare heats up, practically furious enough to burn me to ashes on the spot. Yet I merely loom closer, hardly any space left between us.
You’d think I were about to kiss her with how close I’m leaning.
“I doubt you’re very dangerous at all. In fact, I’ve looked into you, princess.
I’d say the beautiful woman in her high heels and designer dresses, driving through the city in her shiny convertible with Daddy’s black card in her purse, has never really suffered a day in her life.
You’re about as lethal as a lamb, no matter how loud you bleat.
It’d be foolish of you to make an enemy of your husband. ”
“Is that a threat?” she asks.
I release a low chuckle. “You decide.”
She steps back, her hazel eyes blazing. They’ve darkened to a deeper brown. “Never underestimate a beautiful woman. You’d be surprised at what we can do, Callahan.”
Then she spins on her heel and storms out of the room. A second later, the bathroom door slams shut with a resounding thud.
I stand in place, staring at the closed door, still grinning.
This is going to be interesting.
I grab my champagne flute and finish the rest it.
My family’s managed to marry me off to the one woman in Manhattan who isn’t impressed by my wealth and high-ranking status in the Irish Mob—the only woman in the city who wouldn’t be content simply being a beautiful woman on a dangerous man’s arm, playing her role as a docile and pampered wife.
They’ve picked the one woman impossible to please.
I take off my waistcoat and tie, tossing them onto the nearest chair. Rolling up my shirt sleeves to the elbow, I sample some of the other items from the welcome display.
Cured meats, aged cheeses, a fig that bursts with sweetness on my tongue.
Simone remains in the bathroom, not making a peep.
I’ll give her another ten minutes, then, if she’s still in there, I’ll check to make sure she hasn’t fallen in the fucking toilet.
…or tried to escape somehow.
I wouldn’t put it past my bride to try something that extreme.
Finally the door opens.
Simone emerges, coming to stand in the doorway. Her anger has seemingly faded, but she’s not exactly jubilant either. Her expression is curiously neutral.
I hold up a piece of cured ham, a mock offering. “Want some?”
She folds her arms across her chest. “We might as well get it over with.”
“You’ll have to be clearer than that, princess,” I say, swallowing another bite. “Get what over with?”
“Consummating the marriage. Isn’t that what tonight’s about? What else is the fancy suite is for? The huge, king-sized bed?” She lifts her chin in challenge despite how otherwise nervous she suddenly seems. “Go ahead. Make your move.”
I put down the slice of cured ham and slide both hands into my pockets, debating if she’s being serious or if this is some kind of test.
But as she stands in front of me, my beautiful bride in ivory, I notice she’s taken some of the pins out of her hair and let the rest of her loose curls fall over her shoulders.
She’s slid out of her heels, making her about four or five inches shorter all of a sudden. Her lipstick is gone, yet her lips look just as full and kissable.
She’s meeting my gaze even as her breathing deepens.
She’s serious.
I start toward her, the silence between us loud and rife with more tension than ever. I stop in front of her, for a second peering down at her as if in study.
Then… very slowly, I cup her heart-shaped face in my large hand and bow my head to give her a kiss on the mouth.
For a split second, it’s the wedding kiss all over again—she’s still against me, not responding—then her lips move against mine. She answers my kiss by leaning into it, and just like that, I can’t hold myself back.
My other hand comes up to hold her face. I deepen the kiss, swiping my tongue to her lips, demanding entry. The kiss quickly grows heated and impatient.
I’ve never been a man to savor the moment; I’m the type who dives right in and seizes the moment.
She tastes sweet from the champagne and wedding cake.
It instantly makes me want more. Crave more of her.
Simone proves to be a good kisser, her tongue meeting mine, her lips addictively soft and full against mine. I hook my arms under her ass and lift her up off the ground, walking her into the bedroom portion of the suite.
I set her down on the bed where she lays back, and I use the moment to undo the buttons on my shirt and wrench it off. Her eyes round drinking in the muscles and tattoos that make up my torso. She might never admit it, but she’s attracted to me. Maybe as much as I’m attracted to her.
I easily cover the length of her, kissing her mouth and migrating to her jaw and throat.
She runs her fingers through my hair, her breath sharpening even more.
She’s as turned on as I am.
That much is clear.