His gaze holds mine.
“You’ll be my wife. A wife who owes me a debt for agreeing to this instead of sending men to Ireland to erase your family from the map.”
My stomach drops, and when his mouth brushes my temple, I hold my breath.
“Shall I show you to your side of the apartment, little hellcat?” he murmurs. “If we’re doing this properly, I’m sure you can wait until the wedding night before we share a bed.”
“We’ll share a bed over my dead body,” I say, swaying slightly, my head light and my stomach painfully empty.
His hands settle on my shoulders and, unexpectedly, his expression shifts.
“I’m into a lot of kinky shit,” he says, studying my face, “but that’s not one of them. When was the last time you ate?”
I shrug because I genuinely don’t remember. “That’s none of your business.”
“Come on.” His tone lowers. “I’ll see what my chef left in the fridge. You’re my fiance now, little hellcat. Can’t let you starve.”
He moves to tuck me into his side, an arm lifting toward my shoulder, but I duck low and slip behind him instead.
“I said no touching,” I snap. “And stop calling me that stupid name before I show you my claws again.”
When he pivots back toward me, I glance at his face, searching for the scratches I left in Bucharest. They’re faint now, soon to be invisible.
“Now that,” he says, a slow grin spreading, “that’s what I’m into. You can scratch your nails across my back tomorrow night when you’re wearing my ring.”
“Tomorrow?” I blink.
“Yeah.” He lifts a shoulder like it’s nothing. “Me and you in the courthouse at ten a.m.”
My chest tightens.
“Don’t worry,” he adds with a wink. “I won’t let you sleep in for your big day.”
8
BRONX
I walk over to the partially open guest bedroom door the next morning and lean against the frame with my coffee. Tierney is awake and stalking around the room only in a towel, opening and slamming drawers, her dark hair hanging in wet strands around her face.
Christ, her jaw is so tense, her teeth are gonna crack.
She refuses to look in my direction, but I know she sees me.
A slow smile lifts my lips.
“Big day today, princess,” I call out. “Hope you slept well.”
She still doesn't look at me, just keeps stomping around, tossing clothes. “I didn't sleep at all.”
“Wedding nerves? Don't worry, I'll be gentle.” I pause, letting my gaze travel over the exposed skin of her shoulders. “At first.”
That gets a reaction. She spins around to glare at me, clutching the towel tighter. “Get the fuck out.”
“It's my apartment.” I don't move from the doorway. “Besides, we’re getting married. Might as well get used to me seeing you like this. Actually, I’d prefer a view without the towel blocking it.”
“You fucking pervert.” Her eyes pop open wide, fury igniting like a bomb. "We'll never be that kind of married."
I push off from the doorframe and step into the room, enjoying how she backs up instinctively. I nod toward the dress hanging on the back of the bathroom door. “Nice dress. Very bridal.”
