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Her wide green eyes flash with animosity. Her lips pull slyly at one side. “Neither did I.”
I step out of the shower and advance on my wife strutting away. She yelps when I fling her onto the bed and press her into the mattress.
“You let another man touch you and his blood will be on your hands,” I hiss vehemently.
“And do I get the luxury of making your women bleed?” Cara snaps, her mouth turning down at the mention of me taking another woman. I grip her face and lean in. she forces her gaze to the side and sniffs. “I can smell her on you.”
“She’s a club whore. I did nothing more than jerk off.” What does she expect when she won’t let me touch her?
Her jaw slackens, and hurt darkens her eyes. “You’re too kind. You won’t mind me touching myself in front of Deacon, then?” she snaps, glaring at me spitefully. Her voice is tinged with sadness.
“You disrespected me in front of my men.” I seethe. An unwanted image of her pleasuring herself in front of Deacon whirls across my mind, and I shake. “You disrespect me, and I reciprocate. Remember that.” I push up, my cock hard and angry with need.
Cara swallows, her lip trembling. “If you want a mistress, I can’t stop you.” She shrugs, pulling her nightgown back up her shoulder. “I only ask that you don’t insult me by introducing us.” She pulls the quilt back and gets in, flicking the lights off as I stand, panting, her taunt too vivid an image to bear. This marriage is spiralling into a territory I have no time for. Cara was born into this life, and she understands the traditions and expectations we have. If they weren’t bred into her, they would have been beaten. This isn’t a marriage of love. Men in the syndicate take lovers. Why should our arrangement be any different? She hasn’t tried to disguise her dislike for me. I promised my boss marriage, not fucking celibacy.
I’m surprised to find she is anything but the docile woman I met at the altar. She’s full of fire and a wildness I can’t help but want to tame. Maybe punishment is what she needs.
“Don’t forget we are attending Olson and Rebecca’s engagement party tomorrow. I expect you to be the perfect wife.”
Cara slips her arm through mine as we exit the car. Her dress is a deep shade of green silk and chiffon. She picked a dress that’s both revealing yet disguises her scars. I voted for a more daring dress, but she refused, and I admire her choice. Lola appears on Aidan’s arm. She swans over and pecks at my wife’s cheek. “You look stunning, Cara. This dress is gorgeous.”
“Thank you, you look lovely.” They chat quietly as I brief Aidan and Isaiah. Deacon arrives shortly after with Connor, and I know it’s my cue to head inside.
“Let’s go.” I steer my wife away towards the bar. “Drink?” I ask. Cara has done something different to her hair. It’s sleek and straight, and under all the lights, it glows like molten lava. Several men eye her up, and I sneer, warning them off.
“Ronan,” a gentle purr interrupts my wife's response. Simone appears to my right, her hand gliding down my suit jacket. “What a lovely surprise. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
She knew. It was mentioned during a meeting at the club. Simone was serving.
“Don’t insult me by introducing us.”
It was only last night Cara asked that of me, and the stupid woman is here, rubbing it in my wife’s face. I had every intention of punishing Cara into submission. I refuse to look like a fool in front of my men, but this was not how I planned to manipulate her into doing my bidding. I have no desire to disrespect her like this. To discredit our union, or Connor’s name.
We both have an image to maintain.
Parading another woman under my wife's nose repulses me. I’d be livid if she flaunted a lover. Not that I’d ever let her have a lover.
“Simone.” I barely smile in her direction and lift my brow for my wife to order her drink, subtly reading her expression. Cara’s face is set into a hard glare. Turning to the bartender, she asks for neat whiskey, and as soon as it lands in front of her, she takes it and leaves me with Simone.
“Oh dear, she does know you don’t do emotions, right?” Simone titters. I move quickly, placing my gun under her chin and eliciting a fearful scream from her overplump mouth. “Ronan,” she begs.
“Oh dear,” I mock as Cara reappears by my side. My wife reaches for the gun, trying to stop me. “Fuck you,” I spit at Simone, finger on the trigger.
“Ronan,” Cara pleads. “Don’t. No one needs to die.”
“Why?” Why does she care if I kill her? I’m doing her a favour.
“No one deserves to die, least of all because of me. You wanted pretty and accommodating. I’m sure she lies like the best of them.” Cara nods towards the svelte woman trembling against the bar. “Now you have one.” I glare at my wife as Connor heads our way. “It’s a win-win,” Cara murmurs before stepping away. That's twice she has walked away from me now. She is almost throwing the other woman into my lap. She thinks if I take a mistress, she won’t have to consummate our marriage.
She’s wrong, very fucking wrong. I want her more than I dare think about. Possibly because she is refusing to give in to me, but also because she is not what I envisioned. She’s haughty yet grounded, innocent but strong. She’s impossibly gorgeous, and since she stepped out of the bathroom in her dress, I've struggled with my self-control. I want her, all of her.
I turn back to Simone, who is several shades paler and crying unattractively.
“Ronan, get your shit together,” Connor demands as he approaches the bar. His attention moves to the woman. “You shouldn’t be here,” he hisses.
“Please.”
“Take this outside and end it,” he says, and I drag a blubbering Simone across the room and down the back stairs, ignoring her pleas. I push her through a door leading out to where the bins are. It’s empty and dank from the heavy rainfall. She holds her hands up, keeping me at arm’s length. At one point, I’d felt cheated at the possibility of not fucking this woman again, and now I want rid of her, and for my wife to be as eager to please me.
