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The muscles in my stomach clench. “There’s nothing to discuss. I meant every word of it.”
She shoots me an incredulous look. “You let jealousy of another man drive you, Jameson. Don’t make what just happened about anything other than that.”
“You believe that?” I ask, my chest tightening with the realization that she still hasn’t forgiven me for what I’ve done all those months ago.
She dips her chin in a slight nod.
“I’ve been bottling these feelings up for a long fucking time, Saoirse.”
Her lips scrunch with frustration. I refrain from sliding my hand out, smoothing them with a thumb. She’s angry with me still, and I have to prove to her that I meant every word I said.
Her gaze drops to my hand, focusing as I bandage mine. “This … blood oath …” She huffs, a dramatic eye roll following suit. “Isn’t a marriage. It’s you not wanting Corbin to be my savior. And it’s null and void in the eyes of the Russians.”
I catch her chin between my index finger and thumb, dragging her gaze to make eye contact with me. “It’s the start of my declaration. You’ll have the wedding you want, in the venue of your choosing, when you want it. Which I’m assuming is at least a year from now so you can design your own dress.”
Saoirse’s degree is in architecture because that’s what her father wanted. But she took design courses too. Fashion and decorating had always been what she truly enjoyed. When she proved she could manage good grades, Murphy Sr. had allowed the extracurricular courses. She mentioned plenty about how she wanted to design her own wedding dress.
I know how long it took to do something like that, so detailed and intricate. I also know with the hotel getting up and running, she would struggle to make time for a dress.
Saoirse’s eyes twinkle, shining like a bright stone. There isn’t any liquid fire there like there has been whenever she regards me anymore. It takes me a second to realize she’s daydreaming. She’s dreamt of the day her father will give her away to another man since she was a small child.
I remember the way she strutted around the house in her mother’s high heels, forcing Sean to ordain the marriage between her and her stuffed bear, Rocky. Rocky even wore a tuxedo with a black bow tie for the occasion. Saoirse would sneak into her mother’s closet and pick out a white dress, then cover her head with one of her mother’s hats that had the sheer fabric a veil would.
Every once in a while Declan and I would indulge her, pretending to be guests as Sean grumbled his way through the vows. Her giggle still rings in my ears, if I focus hard enough on the memory. We all indulged her. She held an innocence that we didn’t want her to lose. Especially not in our world.
Her tongue darts out, and she reaches for my cheek, her thumb stroking softly. “I’ve been working on my dress for the last four months. It’s almost done.”
A flash of defiance flickers in her gaze. I grab her wrist, squeezing as she continues to stroke her thumb along my cheek, and I brace myself for whatever cruel thing she’ll say next. She’s always calculated. First comes her sweetness, sucking you into her, pulling your guard down, making you believe she cares. That she’s on your side. And then, she attacks when you’re at your weakest.
I suck in a breath, waiting, knowing that the next words out of her mouth will be meant to inflict pain.
“The venue is already booked, Jameson. I’ve been planning this wedding since the day I stepped off that plane and came home to nothing.” Her nostrils flare and she inhales a slow, heavy breath. “That hurt doesn’t go away just because you fucked me and sliced my hand open like a savage.”
I chew on my tongue, stewing as the fire returns to her eyes. My grip on her wrists tightens. “That wasn’t fucking, baby girl,” I say, my voice thick with frustration.
Her brow raises, as if daring me to explain. Threatening me without words that she won’t tolerate whatever is on my mind.Don’t cross the princess, or she’ll sick her dogs on me.Well, I don’t give a fuck about the consequences.
My grip on her wrist tightens, twisting until she winces. She tries to pull back from the pain. I don’t let her. I keep her hand placed against my cheek. “That was a man claiming his wife.”
“Stop saying that word,” she says, her patience snapping. She yanks her hand again, as if she could ever be strong enough to escape my hold on her.
“Wife?“ I ask, spitting the word out as a dare.
Saoirse can deny it all she wants, but sheismy wife. I’ve got my mother’s engagement ring waiting for her, a meeting to ask Declan to give us his blessing, a plan in motion to get Callum on board, and the letters of her name carved on my heart.
I lean in, my lips so close to hers I can feel the warmth of her breath. “Your life is mine. You spoke the words without coercion. And then you let me fuck you while our blood mixed and dripped, warming your already sweet cunt.” I chuckle, recalling the earlier moment. “You were wet and ready before I sliced your precious hand. But fuck, you looked so beautiful, dripping blood on my cock. Don’t pretend like you weren’t turned on by what we did.”
A shocked gasp leaves her lips, and I capture it with my mouth, devouring her taste, her scent, her sounds. It may take an eternity, but it will happen. She will surrender. I won’t quit until she does.
There’s no turning back.
I force away the anxiety swirling as nausea in my gut, and focus on our reality. The fact is, something could happen to her, and we need to be prepared. I brush the hair from her face, not allowing her words to affect me. She doesn’t need me reacting to the bitterness of her words, or the bite of her tongue. She needs me to show her I’m not going anywhere, that I’m withstanding the punishment she feels I deserve.
“Remember when we talked about what to do if you’re ever taken?” I ask.
She nods slowly, the light and fire from her eyes dimming. “It’s been a few years, but yeah.”
Relief washes over me. At least I know she can try to hang on if something were to happen and we were separated. “Tell me everything you remember,” I demand.
