“What the fuck?”
Her voice is in high-pitched panic mode, and it makes the animals scatter. I grab her face, drawing her close before smashing my mouth against hers. My tongue invades her mouth, and for a few minutes, we kiss long and wild. Then I let her go.
“Upstairs, now.”
She turns and marches up and I strip off my jacket, noting my hands are indeed spattered with blood. My face, too, I imagine.
I drag her to the shower, already hard, and I turn on the water. I push her under the spray, rip her skirt up, and push her panties to one side.
“You could have died,” she gasps.
“I could have, and I’d have died without taking you one more time.” I take her against the tile, our bodies in a carnal frenzy, the way we fuck when death gets too close.
“I wish I was there, you fucking me while someone shot at us,” she moans.
I laugh. “You’re a twisted, filthy lass, Molly, and I fucking love it. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I’d fuck you with people watching. Anywhere, anytime, just don’t scare me again.”
The orgasm tears through me, and I fill her with everything I have.
It’s perfect. Us. Just like this.
But like all good things, it has to come to an end.
Or else there will be a lot more at risk than just a sham marriage to my kinky, danger-seeking exhibitionist.
TWENTY-TWO
marlowe
If hell hadcrown molding and a wine cellar, it would look exactly like this place.
Lucie’s family home is a full-on mafia mansion…old-money Italian, stiff and over-decorated, dripping power from every chandelier. It’s perfect for this stupid night.
I don’t want to be here. I want to be fucking Declan until I forget my own name.
Something’s changed with us. And I don’t think it’s the fact that Leon’s left town. He sent me a text saying he won’t be in touch for a while and wishing me the best.
Maybe it’s that this is going to end soon.
Declan will find Daddy, or at least—my throat tightens as I smile at a retired dancer I move past—or at least what happened to him.
Someone, somewhere, has to know. Declan thinks Daddy doesn’t want to be found. So he could be fine. Safe. Hidden.
The reality of it all sinks in.
If Declan killed the stalker and squashed that hit, then this will all end.
It’s one of the reasons I’m avoiding Mom.
What if she says it’s time to pull the plug?
Time to hand me off. Time for me to be married off for real. Time to cut me loose.
Not that she’s said anything like that. When I spoke to her, or rather, when she spoke to me about tonight, she gloated over the move, and only had praise for the little bodyguard business she hired—especially since it comes with the powerful Murphy family attached to it.
Honestly, she turns my stomach sometimes.
