‘Oh, yes.’ He doesn’t even attempt to deny it.
‘Because that’s not creepy,’ I tease, patting the bed beside me. ‘Come back to bed.’
‘We were right to leave the country.’ He pushes his glasses up higher along the bridge of his nose as he stands. ‘News of our wedding reached Kavanagh.’
I bolt upright. ‘What did he do?’ Cold fear creeps into my bones.
‘Sent eight armed men to our place with the instruction to kidnap you and kill me.’ He chuckles, beaming at me as he lowers himself to the bed beside me.
‘And that’s funny?’ My voice cracks.
‘It is now that those eight men are in body bags buried somewhere beneath the Wicklow Mountains.’ He shrugs casually like he didn’t just tell me eight men were murdered last night. His black eyes gleam as they sweep over my body. ‘This is a good thing, baby.’
‘It is?’ I reach for him as he lies down beside me. I feel safer in his arms. The irony isn’t lost on me. He orchestrated eight deaths, and yet he makes me feel safe.
How fucked up is that?
‘Yes. The plan worked.’ He pulls me tighter against his chest and places a tiny, tender kiss on my forehead. ‘He broke the truce between our families. Now, we have the authority to wipe him from the face of this earth.’
A shiver rips over my spine, even though it’s what I prayed for—Rory’s demise.
I palm his chest, dragging my fingers over his tattoo. I glance down at his boxers. The bulge there sets saliva flooding my tongue.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
My husband just admitted to arranging eight murders, and I’m sneaking glances at his crotch.
But those men, given half the chance, would have doneexactly as Kavanagh instructed and dragged me back to the mad bastard my father promised me to—without sparing a thought for all the horrific things he would undoubtably do to me.
I don’t like it.
But it was them or us.
They got what they deserved.
Knowing what he’s capable of should set me running for the hills. But instead, knowing what he’s willing to do to protect me from those monsters makes me want to run towards him, throw myself at him and thank him in other ways.
I press my lips together and force myself to look out of the big windows to my right. The view is stunning. Blue skies. Sweeping streets. A city begging to be explored. But it has nothing on the view to my left.
‘So, what now?’ I ask.
‘Now, we enjoy our honeymoon, while Ciaran, Cathal and Owen search the city for Kavanagh.’ He reaches for my breasts. ‘Open your legs sweetheart, I’m starving.’ He fires me a wink and pushes me onto my back.
We spendthe first few days in Milan alternating between exploring the city and exploring each other’s bodies.
On our last day in Milan, Dominic drags me to the Prada store. I stand outside the big windows admiring the couture. ‘What are we doing here?’
‘Shopping,’ he beams down at me, draping an arm over my shoulder and steering me in. ‘I made an appointment for us.’
‘I don’t need anything.’ I attempt to wriggle free, but it’s futile.
‘You’re my wife,’ he growls. ‘Iwillspoil you.’ He beckons over one of the poised looking shop assistants, dressed in a stunning pencil dress that probably costs more than I’m going to earn at my new job in a month.
She drags her eyes over my husband, lingering on his torso for a little longer than I’d like. He speaks to her in Italian—low, fluent, confident—and just like everything else he does, it’s sexy as hell.
Her steely eyes flare with surprise as they land on me, then on my wedding ring.
He switches to English then, for my benefit. ‘I booked a private room. We’ll try both the dresses in the window.’ It dawns on me then that I might be the only Kincaid who can’t speak Italian. I’m going to have to get a crash course.
