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"So what? You're the one who wanted to wager me in the first place. How does that make ya any better than him?" I accuse.
Tynan clenches his jaw.
I glare harder.
"From now on, we don't talk about this. Ya made your choice. Now you're my wife, and you'll act like it at all times. Are we clear?"
I don't agree or disagree. I continue tossing daggers at him with my glare as more anger builds inside me.
I'm pissed at Da.
I'm irate with my husband.
But worse than that, I'm in a losing situation. I don't underestimate the O'Leary men, and I'm definitely not going to make that mistake with an O'Connor.
He never flinches, giving me a challenging stare down.
I swallow hard.
He tightens his hold on me. "There's no point being upset, lass. I assure ya it's way more fun when you're not."
I inhale deeply and shake my head, claiming, "The only way I'm sleeping with ya is if ya force me. Are you that type of monster?"
His smile falls and his eyes turn to slits. Time stands still as we lock eyes with each other, not moving.
To my surprise, he caves first. He releases me and steps back, stating, "You're not sleeping in wet clothes, so get them off." He moves to the other side of the room.
I don't move.
He pulls the covers back and points. "That's your side. Get your wet clothes off. Ya aren't sleeping in them." He goes into the bathroom and shuts the door.
I debate, but a chill runs through me. My soaked clothes aren't helping this situation, but it is what it is. I decide it's probably better not to push him.
I remove my clothes, leaving my bra and underwear on, and then slide under the covers. I yank them up to my chin and turn toward the window so I don't have to face him.
He's in the bathroom for another minute, then comes out. Seconds pass, then I feel the bed shift. He slides behind me, and his warm skin presses against my back. He places his hand on the top of my hip.
"What are ya doing?" I fret.
He flips me so I'm on my back and cages his body over mine.
"I asked ya what you're doing," I repeat, my voice shaking, his scent sending tingles throughout my body.
Why am I fighting him?
I'm married. I should just give in to him.
No. I'm not. I won't.
He stares at me, warning, "I don't like to be played with, Maeve."
"I'm not playing with ya," I declare.
"Aren't ya?" He studies my lips.
I can barely breathe when his heated gaze meets my eyes again.
He presses his mouth to mine, caresses my tongue with his, and I do everything I can not to give in to him.
