Page 31 of Illicit Temptation

“According to you, I’m a Quinlan.” She shifts in the seat, and I imagine she’s wet from listening to a man describing in detail what it’s like to throat fuck a woman. “But I checked the marriage license, I didn’t change my name.”

“We took vows. You’re a Quinlan.”

“A divorced O’Rourke-Quinlan. The men will be lining up.”

I throw the car into park. “Be careful, princess. No one insults you in my presence. Especially you.”

She unsnaps her seatbelt and leans forward, our faces close enough to share breathing air. “I wouldn’t want to end up in the trunk of a car.”

“I’d just fuck you in the backseat until you understand how goddamn gorgeous and sexy you are.” My breathhitches. “I’m... That was out of line.”

“Don’t worry, husband.” She pats my hand and opens her door because I didn’t get a chance to. “You’re on a roll.”

I fumble with my own seatbelt and shift my stiff cock. He’ll get a workout in the shower later.

Shea, in a tight black pencil shirt and sheer, pale blue blouse with her cashmere coat over her arm, saunters to her front door. From the back of her Escalade, I take out my two suitcases and three garment bags.

“When did you pack up my car?” She spins around.

“When I got to your office. I took car service out here. My Benz is in a Manhattan parking garage.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her Griffin’s plan to assume control of a powerful Irish family in Lower Manhattan. But that information remains secret to protect loved ones. Experts know the signs of someone lying and someone who truly has no clue.

“By all means. Make yourself at home.” With a hand on her doorknob, Shea points to a paved sidewalk that disappears into the yard. “You’re in the guest cottage out back.”

When she tries to slam the door in my face, I stop her. “No. I’m not an outhouse kind of guy.”

“I put a fifty-grand kitchen in thatouthouse. You’ll be very comfortable.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” I step over my luggage and tower over her, “I’m quite the big boy. Your cottage isn’t roomy enough for me.” I have first-hand experience spending the night there six months ago. I hated it.

“Fine.” Shea’s head sags forward, which might be from exhaustion since she left her house early this morning. “Can I help you with those?”

I cock my head, surprised. She’s not spoiled, and I always knew that, considering how damn hard she works. “I got it, princess. Just show me your bedroom.”

“My bedroom?” she shrieks, but a blush changes her glowing peachy skin to a rosy red delicious.

Delicious she is. Christ, I need to taste every inch of her again, starting with those sweet lips right down to that tangy pussy.

“As your husband, I have every right to make you share my bed,” I emphasize.

“Plenty of married couples keep separate bedrooms. And since we’ve been married, we’ve slept apart.”

“You can force me to sleep in a spare bedroom for appearances,” I argue. “Wandering into your bedroom in the middle of the night sounds like fun.”

“I think it’s time to get a dog,” she says, shaking her head.

“Great, a puppy we can raise together.” I manage both suitcases stacked in one arm with the three garment bags slung over my shoulder. “Any breed you fancy? I’m a Belgian Malinois fan. They can scale walls. If you believe TikTok.”

She spins around, looking at me like I have ten heads. “There’s a spare bedroom behind the kitchen.” She points.

“No. I want one closer to yours.”

She exhales roughly, growling almost. “If you insist on being upstairs, you’ll have to sleep in the smallest guest room. The two others are for kids. One has a racecar bed and a white four-poster frame with a sparkle tulle canopy, and the other has...”

She turns from me holding her stomach.

I drop everything and spin her around. “What? If you tell me one of your bedrooms has anything that belongs to that piece of shite who raised his hand to you in August...”

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