Page 20 of Stolen Sin

Fucking hell.

I planned on sealing our agreement with a peck on the cheek. Something chaste and appropriate to the moment. But then she turned into me and I was kissing her like I wanted to fuck her mouth into a cum-soaked oblivion.

I hadn’t expected it. And it only left me wanting more.

Which is not an ideal situation, given I have to keep my hands to myself for four months, and even then, I’m probably going to have to fuck my own fist.

Not the best start to my marriage, but fine, there’s only up from here.

I ring her bell. Emily answers, looking dazed. She’s dressed in a gray polo shirt and jeans with a little nametag shaped like a piece of bacon.

I narrow my eyes at the outfit. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Uh, Simon, I mean, I have work?—”

I step forward, forcing her back inside. “Get changed.”

“No, I have a shift in fifteen minutes.” She crosses her arms. “This can wait until it’s done, okay? I have a few hours this afternoon?—”

I stare at the ceiling. My god, this girl is beyond dense sometimes. “You don’t need to work anymore, topolina. Don’t you get that?”

Her jaw works, and she looks annoyed.

Fucking annoyed.

I’m giving her financial security and freedom, and the girl has the balls to look like I’m in the wrong here. What the hell is with her?

“I like working,” she says and sounds like she’s struggling to keep herself under control. “I’ve always had a job. Maybe I don’t need two anymore, but?—”

“You can stay at Cucina Amore if you really have to. That’s one of my places and it’s always filled with my men, so that will be acceptable. Though I’ll have to come up with some excuse when my family criticizes me for letting my wife work as a waitress, which won’t be comfortable.”

Her mouth falls open, and that was obviously the wrong thing to say.

“I don’t give a crap what your snooty little family thinks of my profession.” She storms over and jabs a finger in my chest. It’s like a bee buzzing around with a dull stinger. Cute, but annoying. “I work hard because I have to. We’re not all born rich. I won’t be shamed for it.”

“I’m aware of that, baby.” I gently guide her wrist away. “But you’re also rich now, whether you like it or not.” She glares at me, and I glare right back. “None of this is relevant. Call your breakfast boss and tell him you’re not showing up because you’re getting married today.”

That finally gets her attention. She squirms away, putting some distance between us. Her lips open and she turns pale as what’s going to happen sinks in.

“We’re really doing this?” she asks, whispering.

“Ideally in the next half hour.” I check my watch. We’re already running late. “I have a priest waiting?—”

“You have a priest waiting?” She throws up her hands. “Maybe you should’ve told me about this before booking a freaking priest.”

“He’s a family friend.” Which is a nice way of saying Father O’Shea takes a lot of bribes. “Don’t worry about him. He’s just there to make it legal.”

“There’s no ceremony?”

“Just you, me, and my sister as a witness.” I look at my watch again. Elena’s going to be annoyed, and unlike the priest, she’s not on my payroll. “We need to get moving.”

“Wait,” Emily says, hurrying toward her bedroom area, which is like six steps away. “Just let me get changed really fast.” She starts grabbing her clothes, ripping them from drawers and tossing them onto her bed.

It’s a frenzy. I lean back against the door and watch, unable to hide my amusement, and then my excitement. She lands on a black silky top with a bow at the throat and lace around the shoulders plus a pair of black slacks. It’s not exactly the traditional color for a wedding, but I couldn’t care less, because she starts getting changed right in front of me.

Her gray polo comes off, tossed onto the floor, and she’s muttering to herself as she unhooks her bra?—

And pauses, her eyes going wide, when she realizes I’m still standing there.

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