Page 4 of Primal

My heavy, wet jeans are plastered to my legs and leave a massive puddle around my feet. “Fine,” I huff as I undo the button and lower the zipper. Quinn turns her back to me as I begin the struggle of peeling myself out of the wet denim. Tossing my soaked jeans and boxer briefs on the patio beside her, I tease, “You know, if you wanted me naked, Quinn, all you had to do is ask.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Declan groans from the far side of the living room as I wrap the towel Quinn gave me around my waist. “Do you need to constantly hit on my wife?”

I stare at him for a moment before raking my eyes over Quinn. It’s intended to be playful, but there is no denying how fucking gorgeous she is with her rapidly growing belly. Pregnancy definitely suits her. Wrapping my arms around her from behind, I rub my hands over her swollen stomach and place a kiss against her cheek before responding to him. “You probably should’ve married an ugly woman instead of this MILF. Because if she wasn’t your wife…”

“Finnigan,” Declan snarls, and I can’t quite gauge his level of seriousness.

“What is it you lot always say? Rud ar bith do mo dheartháir?” Quinn chimes with a chuckle, placing her hand over mine. “Besides, it’s not like he would knock me up.”

“Pretty sure I’m not the only one that enjoys riling him up,” I whisper against her ear, causing her to let out a loud cackle.

“Do not fucking encourage him,” Declan growls as he pulls Quinn from my embrace and holds her possessively close.

“Relax, old man. We’re just pushing your buttons. A blind man could see that Quinn Evans only has eyes for you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

CATLIN

Having finished the Callaghan baptism programs for tomorrow and the time being so close to lunch, I head down to the nave in search of Uncle Sean to let him know I’m heading out for a little while.

After mass last weekend, I met a wonderful pregnant woman. She lived just outside Dublin for a few years but visited Galway quite often. The two of us clicked immediately and made plans for lunch today. She should be getting here any time now. When I reach the narthex, I find she has already arrived. She’s talking to a well-built man standing with his back to me, and her sleepy little girl is resting her head on his shoulder.

“Catlin.” A broad smile spreads over her face as she waves me over.

“Hey, Quinn.” I wave as I approach. “This must be your husb?—”

My words catch in my throat when he turns and I find myself face-to-face with the heavily tattooed man I bumped into a week ago.

“I wish.” He flashes a devilish grin at Quinn.

She playfully swats at his arm. “Catlin just met me. I really don’t need her thinking I’m sleeping with my husband’s brothers.”

“Brother, because I wouldn’t be willing to share you. And no one said a thing about sleeping,” he teases.

She shakes her head with a smile. “Catlin, have you had the pleasure of meeting my relentless flirt of a brother-in-law?”

“Briefly,” he answers for me, a coy smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “But definitely not for long enough.”

“The two of you are going to have a few more minutes to get acquainted then because I have to pee every five minutes these days,” Quinn excuses herself.

“We haven’tofficiallymet.” He shuffles his hold on the sleeping little girl in his arms and outstretches his ink-covered hand. “I’m Finnigan Evans. Or Finn.”

Slipping my hand into his, a sensation like goosebumps—without the chill—travels up my arm. He squeezes it gently as I struggle to remember my name. “C-Catlin.”

“You’re new here, right?” As he continues to hold my hand, his thumb leisurely dragging along my skin. “I’ve been attending this church my whole life, and I know all thecailín deasthat come here.”

“I bet you do,” I quip, pulling my palm from his.

“But definitely none pretty as you.” He softly exhales as his gaze lingers on mine before glancing down my body.

I’ve met plenty of men like Finnigan. Older men flirting with younger women like me are only interested in one thing.At least that’s what máthair chríonna would always say.Thatonethingdefinitely isn’t happening. Not with him. Not with anyone. Well, at least not until I’m married. Or at least until I’m with the man who plans to marry me.

That has to be good enough for God, right?

“Something tells me that I am definitely not the first girl you’ve said that to,” I snidely respond. “Probably not even the first one today.”

“Yeah.” He smirks, silently acknowledging the accuracy of my observation. With honest eyes and a sincere tone, he confesses, “But you, beautiful, are the first one I actually meant it to.”

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