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“You’re a lady. We don’t let filth drip off our lips like Neanderthals around women.” His lips curl into a smirk, like he’s considering another kind of filth to speak around me. “My father always respected my mother.”
I learned from the friends I’d made at school that a man whose parents had a strong marriage would make a good husband. “Still, this is your house.” I finger the warm sandwich and salivate at the cheesy goodness.
“This is your house now, too.”
I chew quickly and put the sandwich down. “You keep saying things like that. Lachlan, you did me an enormous favor, but you don’t have to stay married to me.” I sit up. “If I get into the conservatory, I’ll move to London, and you won’t have to deal with me anymore.” I watch his eyes for a reaction. But he’s trained to keep his emotions off his face.
“Dealwith you?” He bares his teeth, hungry for my answer.
I nibble on the sandwich, considering my response. “If I’m accepted into the conservatory, I’m almost guaranteed a job with a premier touring company. I prefer that. I want to see the world.” I hop off the stool and twirl. Spins are easy, but I don’t know my surroundings too well and slam into a wall of muscle.
“Easy, little one,” Lachlan gruffly hisses.
From his open shirt, I feast on curved pecs, and a chaos of ink etched into his warm skin.
“I’m not little.” I stand up to him because he seems to like it.
“Compared to me, you are.”
Lachlan isgigantic. What would it feel like if he were on top of me, pounding into me? His delicate hold suggests I’m fragile in his arms. I can’t go making promises of being tougher than I am. I can take a lot when it comes to punishing dance routines and practice sessions. I put my body through hell on a near-daily basis.
Rough sex with a man like Lachlan O’Rourke is something else.
“Do you calleverywoman little one?”
“I called Kieran’s wife, Isabella, little one when I met her.”
“I heard you refer to your brothers’ wives as sisters.”
“We don’t use ‘in-law.’ If you have our name, you’re part of this family.” Lachlan strokes my cheek. His touch ignites a fire in my belly that sends pools of heat between my thighs. He stares down at me like he’s affected, too. “As of this afternoon, your name is Katriane O’Rourke. You are one of us.”
My lips tingle, thinking of that kiss at the church. The one that bound us together for life, according to God anyway.
What if my husband is really the devil, though?
With the warm grilled cheese in my stomach, exhaustion pulls me under. Feeling faint, I almost tumble off the stool.
Lachlan reaches over the island to catch me. “I got you. Time for bed.”
When I’m steady, he swaggers around to my side and lifts me up. Next, he’s carrying me down the hall, and deposits me into that empty spare room. Spare, I was Papa’s spare. I hate feeling like this.
“Lachlan?” I say his name.
He purrs, “Katriane?”
“You don’t love me or anything, right? That’s not why you did this.”
His posture stiffens, and he just stares at me, his eyes moving across each bruise with a heated gaze I feel. Heat from anger, though. “Aye. You don’t love me either,” he rasps.
“I don’t know you. But in the few hours we’ve been together, you’ve proven to be honorable and kind. I’m…” I reach for his hand and gasp at how big it is compared to mine. “I’m proud you’re my husband.”
“I’m a murderer, Katriane.”
“So is my father. I understand the world we live in. It doesn’t bother me if you kill people. Just don’t hurt me.”
His hand tightens around mine, and he lifts it to his chest. “Never. I will never hurt you. We don’t hurt women.” Despite his scar and scary size, Lachlan is utterly gorgeous. He has a head full of thick black hair and his sharp jaw, long nose, and round, gray eyes make him easy to stare at. I can drink him in.
“Can you kiss me goodnight?” My heart pounds again, remembering what his mouth felt like on mine. “You said we’ll eventually have sex. We should start with a kiss.”
