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“Naughty girl,” he teased. “I’ll make you something then.”
“You cook? I would have imagined you had private chefs for that.”
He laughed. “I wasn’t always rich. I told you about my past. If I didn’t know how to cook, I would have starved.”
“Of course.”
“But I’m no chef. I can manage some scrambled eggs, though.”
I sat at the counter and watched as he whisked eggs in a bowl, pouring them into a hot skillet.
“What happened to Brendan?” I asked suddenly. I had almost forgotten about the traitorous bodyguard.
“He regained consciousness but has amnesia.” He stirred the eggs, adding cheese.
“Amnesia? That seems convenient.”
“Aye, I thought so too at first, but the doctors confirmed it.” He set a plate in front of me, spooning the eggs onto it along with a piece of buttered toast. “Eat.”
At first, I didn’t think I could as my stomach tightened in a cramp, but after getting down a bite, I realized I was actually hungry. “At least he didn’t die,” I said between bites, polishing off the rest of my portion.
“True, but we are no closer to knowing who paid him to sabotage the weekend.”
I got up and took my plate to the sink. “And Bilderberg, it will be coming up soon.”
“Aye, it’s a little more than a week away.”
“You got what you wanted.”
“Leave it,” he said, pointing to the dishes. “Someone will get it in the morning. Come and sit on the couch.” He motioned to a spot beside him. I sat down, and he casually put his arm around me. “Now tell me about this ‘kind of’fiancé of yours. It seemed real enough on his part.”
“I suppose it is real for him.”
“But?”
“But-” I told him everything from my father’s and Patrick’s deal to wed me to Cormac to pay off the debts they owed to Cormac beating up Sean when I refused. The only part I left out was the money laundering. That was criminal, and no matter how mad I was at Patrick, I would never want to see him go to jail.
“Bloody fucking hell.” Keir clutched me tighter. “So, you’re not in love with him?”
“God, no.”
He relaxed a bit. “Yet you’re being forced to marry him.”
I felt a bubble of nervous laughter build up in me at the irony of the situation. “You forced me to marry you,” I said as a giggle escaped.
“Aye, I did, but it wasn’t supposed to go through, and it wasn’t the same thing they are doing.”
“How so? You forced me to marry you by threatening my family. I don’t see the difference.”
“Thank you for your candor, but there is a difference. A very big difference.”
His hand caressed my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. “And that is?” I asked. My sex clenched at his touch.
“You’re mine.”
“I’m not yours.”
His head was inches from mine, and he leaned in to whisper in my ear, the beard on his jaw scratching my skin. “You’re my wife until we divorce.”
