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“We haven’t discussed where we want to live. I didn’t even sign a pre-nup,” I point out.
The way Mal lives, he doesn’t really give the impression of swimming in money—which I don’t care about—but everything about his track record of selling hundreds of songs—songs I listened to over the years and thought sounded familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on why until I came face to face with him again—tells me money shouldn’t be a worry for him.
Mal shrugs. “Why would you?”
“I’m officially entitled to half of what’s yours,” I joke.
I’d never touch a dime he’s earned, and he knows it. The money from Glen remains untouched in my mother’s bank account to this day.
“You can take my money. I never much cared for it.” He dips his head, kissing the side of my neck.
“What do you care about, then, Malachy Doherty?”
He smiles, takes my hands in his, and kisses my knuckles, his purple, magnificent eyes still trained on mine. “You.”
We stumble back into our room at three in the morning, not expecting any company. I head toward the little bar by our window to fix myself a gin and tonic. Mal is bending down next to me to grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge when the door to our suite flings open.
“Mal? Are you there?” calls a soft voice.
Brandy. My blood immediately boils to an unhealthy temperature, because:
What the hell is she doing in this room, and how did she get the digital key?
She just slept with someone else—her boss!—not even twenty-four hours ago, for crying out loud.
Whatever. I don’t need a reason to be mad at her. She is after my husband. My husband. I want to wave the ring he purchased for me earlier today at a local jewelry store—with a heartfelt promise to get me something bigger and fancier soon.
Like I’d ever care about the size of my ring.
I look down at Mal, who is holding the bottle of water at my feet. He unscrews the cap, takes a big gulp, and presses his index to his lips, smirking, so childlike in his mischievousness.
I get to break the news to her uninterrupted. Sweet.
“Over here,” I sing from behind the bar. She can’t see Mal from his position.
Brandy strolls in, looking like a high-class street worker: red mini dress and blow-dried hair intact, all wrapped in perfect makeup and crimson-red lips.
“Oh, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Her smile falls.
She stops a few feet from the bar. I take a sip of my gin and tonic.
“Can I get you anything?” I bat my eyelashes.
“Is Mal on his way? Is he in the shower?” She looks around.
“He’s around.”
As soon as I say that, I feel Mal’s fingers wrapping my bare thigh. He levels his head in front of my groin and hooks his thumbs into my underwear, pulling them down slowly.
What is he doing? We have company.
“What are you doing here at three in the morning?” I ask, trying to keep it as casual as possible when I feel his hot breath against my exposed self, now free of panties. My pulse quickens, and I feel the familiar pool of want coating my insides.
“I just thought…I mean…” She looks around again, like Mal is going to materialize through the turned-off TV at any moment. “Ashton said he works into the night, so I thought maybe he needed something.”
Like a dirty one-night stand?
“It’s okay. We work closely. I help him wherever I can.”
I trace the rim of my gin and tonic glass. I still haven’t gotten used to the weight of the ring on my finger, but it makes me feel empowered. Like I can conquer the world. It’s what Mal’s love does to me. Even though he hasn’t spoken the words aloud, I can feel them soaking into my skin when he looks at me.
“Have you ever been in love?” I should ask him that again, and soon.
Mal swipes his tongue—still cold from the water—along my slit, and I shudder violently with uncontrolled desire. Brandy takes a step toward me and parks her elbows on the edge of the bar.
“No offense, but I don’t think you’re helping him in the way he wants me to help him.”
“None taken,” I manage to say on a suffocated moan, just as his tongue digs deep between my walls.
I can feel how wet I am on his tongue, and I can also feel his smile, the rumbly, dark chuckle he emits in response to her last, stupid comment. He is eating me raw while she’s telling me it’s her he wants to bed.
Now that’s ironic. Although I doubt Alanis Morissette would’ve wanted to use it for her song.
“Anything I can pass on to him? Doesn’t seem like our guy is coming anytime soo—” I try to control my breathing as Mal thrusts his tongue in and out of me, swirling it around my clit every now and again to remind me what’s to come (me).
