Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Chuckling, I gave him the thumbs-up. “Thanks, Petar. You’re a star.”
He turned to leave while I pulled out my laptop. My yoga class had already started, so I might as well prepare new material for next week’s school lesson plans.
“May I say something?” Petar stopped at the door.
I looked up from my laptop, surprised. “Of course.”
“I can’t tell you how happy everyone in this place is to have you here. I’m not sure how exactly you managed to persuade Mr. Fitzpatrick into moving in—I’ve never seen a woman who wasn’t an employee, his sister, or his mother set foot in this house—but I’m glad nonetheless.”
My smile stayed intact, but something rattled in my chest. Something very close to maternal wrath I couldn’t completely understand. How lonely was Cillian that he hadn’t entertained any women in this place before?
The fact Kill had broken so many of his contract clauses with me had planted a seed of hope in my heart. I knew if I watered it with wishful thinking and faith, it would grow and blossom into expectations.
And expectations from a man who swore to never love you were a dangerous thing.
“I intend to stick around.” I kept my voice neutral.
“I hope you will.” Petar nodded. “And if there’s anything I can do to make you stay, please let me know.”
As soon as he spun on his heel and left, I made my way into Cillian’s room.
I had some homework to do if I wanted to learn who my husband really was.
I ended up dozing off on Cillian’s bed, the mixture of adrenaline, heartache, and anger making my systems crash. I should have gone back to my room, but his linens were drenched with his scent, and the temptation to nuzzle into them was too much. Besides, pissing off my new husband had become something I was dazzlingly good at—why break a tradition?
It was hours later, after the sun had already set, when a nudge to my foot stirred me awake. I stretched on the king-sized bed, blinking the world into focus.
Kill sat on the edge of the mattress, clad in a sharp navy suit, complete with a gray tie and a pea coat. His aroma—of ice, the crisp night, and cedar wood—told me he just got home. Didn’t even stop to take his coat off.
“That’s not your bed,” he announced.
“If I’m good enough to warm it, I’m good enough to sleep in it.”
I pushed up on my elbows, blowing my hair out of my eyes.
“No one said you’re good enough to warm it. I took you on the kitchen counter and against the window, not my bed.”
“Keeping track and cherishing every moment, I see.” I batted my eyelashes.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Aww, but you started it, hubs. What’s the time, anyway?” I looked around. My stomach growled, begging to be fed.
“Nine thirty.”
Jesus Christ and his holy crew.
“Do you always work this late?”
He undid his tie with one hand, shrugging off his coat at the same time.
“My social calendar is—by choice—wide open. As your legs should be every night when I come back home, by the way. It is not my job to undress you to candlelight and Frank Sinatra.”
“I prefer Sam Cooke and incense.”
“I don’t care what you prefer.”
“Rectify that,” I said dryly. “Today. Or live a life of celibacy. I’m not your blowup doll. If you want me to fulfill my marital duties, you better believe you are going to fulfill yours. You will never, ever touch my things without my permission again, move me around like I’m a chess piece, or make a decision about our lives without consulting me first. Additionally, you will be home every evening not a minute after seven, so we can have a meal together before we have sex. Like a normal couple.”
“What part of our relationship gave you the illusion of a normal couple, the fact I bought your ass like you were a discounted bread maker on Black Friday, or had you sign a thirty-seven-page contract, an NDA, and a waiver before putting a ring on your finger?” He tossed his tie and coat on an upholstered recliner in the corner of the room.
I ignored his words. The scar tissue Andrew had wrapped around this man made it hard to pierce through and touch his core.
Tough, but not impossible, I hoped.
I wasn’t a quitter, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to quit on a man who I was pretty sure had been let down by everyone else in his life.
“Furthermore,” I drawled in my teacher tone, ignoring his words, “during dinner, we’ll perform the taxing task of small talk.”
I could swear my husband actually paled. He looked like he was going to gag. I continued, undeterred.
“You’ll tell me about your day, and I’ll do the same. Then, and only then, will we make love.”