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“What’s the matter, Babydoll?” he asks, his voice smooth, calm. “This should be a happy day.”
“I-I am happy,” I counter, but my falter proves me to be a liar.
He arches a smug brow, continuing his saunter toward me. “Happy days then.”
When he gets within feet, he stops, watching me with those predatory eyes. I need to leave.
When I move to make a mad dash for the door, his hand snaps out, and he grips my forearm. The touch sets me alight, and I bite my cheek to suppress my moan. “Let me go.”
Punky smirks, tonguing over his bottom lip. I’m instantly hit with the memory of how that bottom lip looked pierced. I whimper when I remember how it felt.
“So, Rory? I didn’t realize ya felt that way about him.”
“Neither did I,” I respond sharply, trying to yank my arm free. “But he was there for me when I needed him. When you refused to see me.”
“That was awful convenient,” he says, smirking. “I just find it…weird. I don’t see ya havin’ that much in common.”
He’s right.
We disagree on the smallest things, but opposites attract, and I love that he challenges me. That he isn’t a yes-man.
“He’s your best friend. You can’t find it that weird,” I argue, standing tall. “You know what a good person he is.”
He reaches out while I forget to breathe as he runs a single finger along the seam of my mouth. “Aye, he’s the best. I’m glad y’ve found yer happiness with him. When’s the weddin’?”
“I-I don’t know,” I reply from around his finger. “We haven’t set a date.”
“And yer gettin’ married here? Yer goin’ to live in Belfast then?”
I nod, and my knees buckle when his signature fragrance hits me. He looks like my Punky, only older, harder maybe. I suppose being in jail for ten years does that to a person.
His blue eyes can still hold me prisoner, as does his entire being. He’s built as the tux hugs his taut frame, allowing me to imagine his defined muscles beneath. His hair is longer, the dirty blond strands falling whichever way they flick naturally to give him a sexy bedhead look.
Even though he wears a tuxedo, I don’t mistake him for a gentleman because he is anything but. And God strike me down, I like it. He still towers over me, even in my heels. I remember his weight pressed against me. I remember how I knew he could hurt me, but he never did.
He pushed me to the point of breaking, but that sort of pain had never felt that good. I grow wet between the legs at the memory.
My cheeks flush as I’m ashamed I can’t control myself with him. I need to remember we’re blood. I need to remember that I’m engaged.
“I think so. Rory and I haven’t discussed the details. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
But he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he pulls me toward him, pressing us chest to chest. He peers down at me, the perfect poker face in play. “Why did ya not tell me Rory was yer fiancé when you came to see me?”
I lick my lips nervously.
I wanted to tell him, but I didn’t know how. And I promised Rory we would do it together.
“I don’t know,” I confess, losing sight of what’s right and what’s wrong. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re Darcy’s new pet?”
I regret the words the moment they leave me. But it’s too late.
With a low growl, Punky shoves me up against the wall, holding me captive with his body. “I’m no one’s pet,” he snarls, inches from my face.
I laugh in response. “Could have fooled me. You’re following her around like a little lost puppy.”
He cups my throat, arching my neck back. “If I was, what business is it of yours?”
“It’s not,” I gasp as he squeezes tighter. “I don’t blame you. After being starved for so long, anything will look appetizing.”
