AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My heart seizes again when I feel Theo’s hands on my shoulders, and I wonder if he saw.
“I’m going to go down and get started.” He brushes a lock of wet hair off of the back of my neck, stooping to brush his lips over my skin there, and a guilty prickle of desire washes over my skin. “Come down whenever you’re ready for a glass of that wine.”
I close my eyes as he lets go of my shoulders and stands up, listening to his footsteps receding as tears fill my eyes.
I’ve gotten myself into such a terrible situation.And I don’t think Theo deserves what is being done to him here.
With the pills hidden deep within my suitcase, I find my blowdryer and go into the bathroom to finish getting ready for the night.
—
A half-hour later, I feel presentable again. It’s clear from Theo’s clothing that he likes to be more casual here—I imagine it feels like a bit of a vacation for him, too, from Chicago, where he’s expected to be more formal and sophisticated. I put on a pair of comfortable dark jeans and a loose, light-blue knit sweater that falls off of my shoulders a little, showing off the sharp line of my collarbone. There’s a cream-colored bralette under it, the lace straps visible, and the panties beneath my jeans match. I told myself I shouldn’t care if Theo likes them or not, but even as I slipped them on, I was imagining the look on his face when he discovers them later.
With my hair blow-dried and pulled into a loose, messy bun atop my head, a few pieces artfully falling out, I swipe on a little brow gel and mascara, and leave it at that. By now, Theo will be wondering if I’ve fallen asleep again, and I need to unpack my things.
It’s been an hour by the time I finish and go downstairs. I can’t help but marvel all over again at how beautiful the house is as I go down. Everything about it has clearly been designed with a loving hand and a specific vision in mind. Theo’s home in Chicago is gorgeous—but I can see that this manor is a love letter to his family, to the people who worked hard to ensure that he can create something like this now. There are portraits of generations of his family along the walls, everything from black-and-white and sepia-toned photographs from long ago, to the more updated versions from the last generation. I see one towards the bottom of the stairs of an auburn-haired man and a woman with vibrant red hair standing side by side, a boy who looks about eight standing stiffly in front of them, and I feel certain that this is a picture of Theo and his parents.
I look at it for a long moment, wondering what kind of man that child has really grown up to be. Chicago’s underworld rumors and my own family would have me believe that he’s a ruthless, greedy killer who wants nothing more than to ruleallof Chicago, to have every family under his thumb, to have more power and wealth than anyone else. But to be honest—that sounds more like my own father than the man I’ve married and gotten to know over the past week, a man who told me just this morning that he wanted to leave Chicago and the rush and glamour of the city and spend most of his time in this rural country manor with me, raising the children he’s been doing his level best to get me pregnant with over the past few days.
Thatthought sends another rush of heated desire through me.
There’s space at the end of the wall for more pictures. I know who would be there, if things were different. A framed portrait of Theo and I, and our child—children, in time. Next to it, our grandchildren. And then—
An unexpected lump rises in my throat. If Theo is being honest with me, if all of this is genuine and has been since the moment he asked to take me on a date to get to know me before we were married, then what my brother and I have planned is exactly the sort of thing that Theo is being unfairly accused of. And as far as what he’s rumored to have done with my mother—
I realize, at that moment, that I genuinely don’t believe that. And if there’s anything about this situation with Theo that I don’t believe, it calls it all into question.
Swallowing hard, I walk the rest of the way down the stairs, towards the kitchen in the back, the wood floor cool under my bare feet. I can smell the scents of herbs and onions and butter, roasting meat and vegetables, and my stomach growls as I step into the squared-off doorway leading into the huge kitchen.
Theo doesn’t hear me at first, and I stand there for a moment, my thumb idly rolling over the emerald engagement ring on my left hand, pushing it back and forth. I remember Adrik telling me on the stairs, back at my own mansion, how Theo should have given me something bigger, fancier. Howhewould have bought me something better than that. But standing here in the kitchen, which manages to be elegantly rustic despite its size, seeing the type of home Theo has built here and why—I understand the meaning behind the ring even more.
Theo’s past matters to him. Hisfamilymatters to him. And I realize how much it meant that he gave me this ring, instead of one he’d purchased himself.
He’s taking this marriage seriously. He clearly put off marrying for a long time, but now that he has, he’s giving it his all. And I’ve had one foot out of the door and one hand on his grave since the moment I agreed to it.
The guilt feels like it could drown me.
Theo looks up, a smile spreading across his handsome face as he gestures to the decanter of wine on the counter, a long-stemmed wine glass sitting next to it. “Help yourself. Dinner is in the oven; it should be out soon.”
There’s a glass of wine by his hand, and he picks it up, tilting it in my direction as he leans against the counter, looking at me in a way that manages to seem romantic and erotic all at once. I’ve thought before that he looks at me the way a man might look at a piece of art he particularly enjoys. It’s becoming a familiar—not unpleasant—sensation to see him look at me that way. There’s nothing lewd in it—yet I can see the heat in his face that tells me he sees the lace beneath my sweater and is imagining how it will feel against the palms of his hands.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs as I pour myself a glass of wine. “But then again, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look anything other than stunning.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’ve never seen me in sweatpants and a t-shirt.”
“You’d look beautiful even like that. Besides, they’d be designer sweatpants.” He winks at me. “Cashmere, or something I’d equally enjoy touching as I slipped them off of you.”
I roll my eyes at that, but he’s right, of course. I don’t own anything thatisn’tdesigner. I don’t feel guilty about it—it’s one of the few pleasures of the life I was born into that is entirely for my own pleasure, and that I can indulge in freely. “As far as I’m concerned,” I tell him archly as I take a sip of the wine—which is every bit as delicious as I expected it would be—“since the men in my life have all these expectations of who I should be and marry and what I should do, the least I can have is the ability to spend their money while I’m doing it.”
Theo laughs, crossing the space between us. His hand drops to my waist, turning me so that my back is to the countertop, and he leans into me, effectively pinning me there as his gaze lands on my mouth. “I’ll be happy to give you my unlimited credit card tomorrow,” he murmurs, leaning to brush his lips over mine, the same taste of wine on his mouth. “You can spend in Dublin to your heart’s delight while I’m in my meeting, dealing with old men and their old ways.”
“Aren’t you an old man?” I ask him teasingly, reaching up to run my fingers through his auburn hair, in a genuinely affectionate gesture that I realize too late that I’ve made. “That’s what I was told. That I was marrying an old, decrepit—”
Theo growls low in his throat, his free hand sliding around to squeeze my ass through the tight jeans. “If the duck in the oven wouldn’t burn, I’d hoist you up on that countertop and show you just how decrepit I am.”
“Not theduck,” I whisper innocently, and he narrows his eyes at me, stealing another kiss. This one is long and lingering, his tongue sliding over my lower lip before slipping into my mouth and tangling with mine, wine and the faint taste of herbs filling my senses as his hips lean into mine.
“Christ, woman,” he swears under his breath, nipping at my lower lip before pulling away regretfully as something near the stove chimes. He takes my hand, slipping it between us so I can feel the hard ridge of his cock through the fabric of his pants. “I don’t think anyone’s gotten me this hard, this often since—” He lets out a long breath as he pulls away, shaking his head. “Maybe never. If so, I don’t remember it.”
