And then off she goes before I can even ask her questions about whoever she let into my office. She’s like a fairy returning back to her homeland after doing a good deed. She climbs in her small and speedy red car—as if anything else could suit the ferocity of a woman like my aunt—and in a blink of an eye she’s zipping down my driveway like she’s late for more important things.
Amy’s eyes are on me when I turn to her, not on my aunt’s departure. A hunger burns through me unexpectedly, a bone-deep yearning to see her cocooned in my house, in my bed, fully satisfied and happy, with no desire to leave me and no energy to.
Amy gives me a soft smile. “She’s a very nice lady.”
I can’t help but snort in amusement. “For you, it seems she is.”
Amy raises both of her eyebrows as if she doesn’t believe me. “Is she not normally?”
“No. She’s usually a hardass to everyone around her, and a bitch if you piss her off. I’ve never seen her warm up to someone so quickly.”
A smile lifts Amy’s lips, reaching up until it makes her eyes crinkle in the corners, pink warming her cheeks. She’s clearly pleased with my assessment. “Well, I’m glad she likes me so much.”
My hands twitch at my sides, itching to touch her, to draw her near, to show her how muchIlike her. As much as I’ve always longed for her, it seems bringing her to my home has unlocked the next level of it.
Amy’s smile softens as she tilts her head, looking up at me as if she can vaguely read my thoughts, but they’re out of reach. “Do you want to give me a tour of your home?”
Our home,I want to correct her. My hand clenches into a fist to keep from touching her, from giving her a tour ofotherthings. Now that I have her, I want to show her all that I have to offer her. Anything I can do to prove to her that I’m good husband material.
I’m good at many things in life, including the knowledge of how to please a woman. I fully intend to exercise that skill for my future bride as much as she wishes.
Instead of offering that, I take a deep breath and try to relax the tightness in my shoulders. The fight to win Amy over isn’t done just because she’s in my home. No, it’s really just beginning.
I give her an easy smile, trying to conceal the stress at the nagging thought ofsomeonebeing in my office, some English prick that’s related to my business according to my aunt. I trust my men at my estate to not let just anyone in, but there’s still a level of anxiety when I don’t know what’s going on. I’d be getting a debrief from one of my men right now, but I instructed them to keep out of sight so they don’t scare Amy.
“I would be happy to, leannán.” I step into the house, closing the door behind me. I gesture to the room around us. “Foyer, obviously. Open concept, so it leads straight into a kitchen and living area. Great for parties, not that I have many.” I grin at her.
The smile she returns to me nearly makes me lose all train of thought and steals my breath away.
Amy doesn’t speak much over the next twenty minutes or so as I show her around. Just little comments here and there,it’s so light and airy in here,andwhat a lovely accent color.But she doesn’t need to speak, not when she’s so expressive. Her posture has changed from shrinking, eyes darting all over, breathingsharp and agitated, to a relaxed stance, eyes exploring but at their own pace, lips slightly risen in a smile.
I’m glad to see her calming down. I’m sure she just needs time to rest from the journey here and the intensity of what she’s been through.
Now I just needed to figure out a way to ease her into the understanding that she’ll be sleeping inmyroom. I’m not going to let her go far from me. I doubt she’ll be opposed to it, but I still want to handle it with a certain gentleness. I can’t afford to be a brute, even though that’s all I want to do. To make demands, secure her place by my side, and ravage her like an animal.
The damn Nameless better come through with their promises of security, or else. I’ll not lose everything that I’ve been working so hard to build, just when it matters most. Not when everything I’ve ever wanted is sitting right at my fingertips.
9
Amy
Idon’t want to admit it, Kerry’s house feels kind of…sterile. Like it’s more of a place he runs his business in than a home. It’s different enough from my grandparents that I don’t feel anxious, but it does make me think. It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong. Almosttoobeautiful, like it was carefully crafted by an interior designer and hasn’t been touched since. It makes sense with his line of work, and the fact that he’s probably not here very much. But there’s part of me that’s sad for him. I can’t imagine living like this, without any ofmythings that make me, well…me.It might be an autistic thing, too, I’m not sure.
My grandparents’ house is all glitz and gaudy, giant shiny chandeliers and marble floors, Kerry’s house is a model house ready for a magazine photoshoot. There’s no grand staircase, but the kitchen looks like no one’s ever cooked in it. The couches seem brand new, freshly delivered from a store and then promptly forgotten about.
Someonecouldmake a home out of Kerry’s house. That’s the difference between his house and my grandparent’s. A fancy and still wealthy household, but itcouldbe cozy if someone settled down in it. It’s just that no one has. The cold marble of mygrandparents’ mansion would be almost impossible to ever be madecozy.
Kerry’s eyes watch me closely, as if he knows my thoughts as he gives me the tour. Either that, or he knows something I don’t. Which is entirely possible, knowing him.
As we walk intoanotherliving area with a gray and white color scheme and just the rightamount of accent color, Kerry turns to me with a grin. I don’t know what his expression means. “What do you think, leannán?”
I’m not sure what the right thing is to say. I take a deep breath to buy myself time to think, and smile. I doubt honesty is the polite thing to do. “It’s very nice. I really like this painting.” I gesture to an abstract painting in blacks and reds. I do like it, it’s not bad as far as modern art goes, so it’s not like I’m lying. More like…stretching the truth a little.
Kerry’s smile grows, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he scans my face with a knowing gleam. “Oh really? You like this painting, hm?”
Why does he say that like he’s actually secretly the artist and I’m going to get stuck pretending to enjoy modern art for the rest of my life?
“Um…yeah?” I shrug, not sure what to say to him.
