I lead her to the smaller sitting room—what would have been a parlor back when this house was built, I suppose—and close the door behind us. Maeve steps past me, putting plenty of room between us, her arms wrapped around herself. She looks small and uncertain.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asks quietly.
Yes. No. I don't fucking know.
"I want you to stay away from Flynn," I growl, my voice harsher than I intend.
Her eyes widen. "What? Why?"
"Because I'm telling you to."
"That's not an answer." Her eyes flash, with anger, maybe, or frustration. "He's been nothing but kind to me. He's the only person besides Mrs. Brady who actually talks to me like I'm a human being instead of?—"
"Instead of what?" I step closer, and she takes an instinctive step back. "Instead of your husband who you're terrified of?"
"I'm not terrified of you." But her voice shakes when she says it, and we both know it's a lie.
"Flynn is not the kind of man you should be around," I say, forcing myself to stay calm. "He's not—he's not safe for a woman like you."
"A woman like me?" Maeve's chin lifts, and I see a spark of defiance I didn't know she had. "What does that mean?"
"You're too innocent for him." The words come out before I can stop them. "Flynn is a player. He goes through women like water, and he's not going to make an exception for you just because you're young and naïve."
"I'm not naïve," she says, but there's uncertainty in her voice now. "And he hasn't—he's just being friendly."
"He's flirting with you," I say bluntly. "And you're too inexperienced to see it."
Color floods her cheeks. "Even if he was—which I don't think he is—why do you care? You don't want me. You made that very clear on our wedding night."
"That's not—" I stop, struggling for words. How do I explain this without revealing too much? Without admitting that I want her so badly I can barely think straight, that I cut my own arm open rather than take what I wanted because I knew I wouldn't be able to stop once I started?
"Flynn won't touch you," I finally say. "He wouldn't dare. You're mine."
The word hangs in the air between us, possessive and primal. Maeve stares at me, her lips parted in surprise.
"Yours," she repeats, and there's something in her voice I can't quite read. "But you don't want me."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. "You can barely stand to be in the same room as me. You haven't spoken to me in three days except to give orders. And now you'retelling me I can't talk to the one person in this place who's been decent to me?"
She's right. Everything she's saying is absolutely fucking right. I've been a bastard to her, cold and distant and cruel. But I don't know how else to be. I have no idea how to be kind, or caring, or sensitive, or any of the things she needs. I don’t know how to let myself feel anything at all. And somewhere in the back of my head, I’m beginning to wonder how much I’ve dammed up over the years, and what would happen if I let the floodgates crack for her.
Nothing good, I’m sure of that.
"Just stay away from him," I say, my voice low. "That's all I'm asking."
"That's all you're asking?" A bitter laugh escapes her. "You ask for nothing, Sean. You demand. You order. But you never ask."
She moves toward the door, and without thinking, I reach out and grab her wrist. She freezes, her pulse racing under my fingers.
"Don't," I say, and I'm not even sure what I'm telling her not to do.Don't leave. Don't talk to Flynn. Don't look at me like I'm something she should be afraid of.
"Let me go," she whispers.
I should. I know I should. But my hand tightens on her wrist instead, pulling her closer. She gasps, and I stop. I can see her breathing quicken, and hot lust rolls through my blood, lighting my body up as I fight the urge to bring her in and devour her. To lock the door behind us and fuck her on the first surface I can lay her down on.
"You want to know why I left on our wedding night?" The words come out rough, scraped raw. "You want to know why I can barely stand to be near you?"
