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Which was probably why he had Daly and Strat staying so close. Manzani, Gambatto, Byrne, they all had it too. Anyone entangled in the world of organized crime wore a target recognized by the other sides.
“My McDade,” she whispered.
He descended slowly, meeting her mouth with his while he kept his weight braced. She appreciated his concern for her injuries, but really wanted to feel him, on her, in her, everywhere.
Breaking the kiss, his eyes landed on hers, though their mouths were just an inch apart. “You want us to trust each other?”
“Yes,” she said. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“Is it what you want? I can give you everything, Cushla Machree, but you have to give all of yourself in return. This is not a life, a world, that’s easy to abandon.”
What did this mean? Neither of them could know until they were in it. Yes, it was unexplored territory for her, but she had a feeling Connel didn’t have a manual for it either. They were feeling their way. His actions proved his willingness to go the distance. How did she show her gratitude and faith in him?
How was she supposed to…?
Licking her lips, certainty boosted her determination. “I am your subordinate,” she whispered, fixated on him. “I exist beneath you, under you.” Understanding seeped into him. He recognized his words. “I don’t think. Don’t make decisions.” She paused, hooking a hand around the back of his neck. “My life is yours. I am yours.” He tilted his head to hold his lips near hers, tasting the words as she spoke them. “McDade property on your terms. Your limits. I obey. Yield. Surrender. I don’t resist or get in your way.”
Pressing his lips to hers, they lingered there and raised a whisper, holding just at the threshold. “What is your job?”
“My job is to support you.”
“Give yourself to me, submit to me, and I’ll look after you, Macushla, in a way no other man can or will.”
He shot a man for invading their intimacy and killed two men for touching her. His capabilities were no joke. The life hadn’t seduced her, the man had, but God knew why her connection to him was so strong. Whatever the reason, they definitely weren’t done with each other yet.
TWENTY-SEVEN
PROPPED AGAINST THE pillows, she read the news on Connel’s tablet. With his permission, of course. It felt like an hour since he’d left her alone in his bed.
His timing was great. She’d just finished an article when he returned. Still naked, he wasn’t at all self-conscious as he brought steaming bowls over.
She loved it. Getting to see him in his incredible glory. Sculpted to perfection. Every time it thrilled her.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked, putting one bowl on the nightstand and holding the other to her as he got onto the bed at her side.
“What does this one mean?” she asked, touching the vertical line of black writing beneath his arm on his ribcage.
“Nothing without effort,” he said, putting the bowl in her hand. “Eat.”
“Thanks,” she said, wrinkling her nose as he picked up some noodles in the chopsticks. “I haven’t been in the mood for food mu—”
He forced her to take the noodles from the wood. She was all ready to say enough until she chewed and the flavor burst in her mouth. Surprise had to be written all over her face and he was drinking in every detail.
“Oh my God,” she said, swallowing. “That’s really good. That’s amazing.”
He fed her some more. For the first time in more than a week, she wanted to eat.
“Do you want to go downstairs to the table?”
“No,” she said, propping the bowl between her drawn-up knees and her chest, stealing the chopsticks from him to feed herself. “Did you cook this? I mean did you make it or did some restaurant sneak it upstairs for you? How does a guy like you…? You can cook. Play guitar. Speak two languages—”
“Three, fluently. I get by with a few more,” he said and shrugged. “Makes business easier.”
Humility? Not like him, which explained the swagger that lit his eye.
“Did you cook this?” she asked. “Are you messing with me?”
“Strangers don’t come up here.”
