Page 135 of Handsome Devil
“He doesn’t deserve to be compensated.”
“Better to be smart than to be right.” He tapped his temple. “You’re usually not a dumbass, so I’m gonna go ahead and assume you’re the equivalent of a dumbass.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“In love. Either way, if you aren’t going to strike a deal with them, I highly recommend you let her go. The time will come when my brothers need me for an actual assignment, and all she’ll have left are simple musclemen to protect her. Tiernan will outsmart them.”
Tate and I retired to our respective rooms as soon as we arrived at the flat. I was exhausted and humiliated. I told my husband I was falling in love with him, and in return, he told me to sod off.
Not in so many words, but the message was clear.
After calling the nurse on shift at the hospice and checking in on Mum, I went through my night routine, put on a nightie, and slipped into bed.
Sometime after I fell asleep, I felt my body being scooped from my bed. My legs dangled in the air. My eyes fluttered open and settled on Tate’s hard jaw. He sailed across the corridor in the pitch black, carrying me honeymoon-style. He moved with predatory grace.
“What’s happening?” I asked groggily.
“Nothing.”
“Is it the Irish?”
“Relax. It’s not the Irish.”
“What’s going on then?” I yawned.
“You’re to sleep in my bed from now on.”
That woke me up instantly. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “You don’t let anyone sleep in your bed.”
“You’re not anyone. You’re my wife.”
“You hate me.”
He didn’t answer until he draped me gently across his bed.
“Just as I am incapable of loving you, I am also incapable of hating you. You could ruin my whole damn life, and I would still want you. Nothing you do or say could ever turn me away from you.”
He slipped under the blanket beside me, turning his back to me.
I closed my eyes, too exhausted to try to extract an explanation. But when I tried to slide back into sleep, I felt his fingers tapping numbers across his leg under the covers.
I shouldn’t have any sympathy for the man, considering what he put me through. Still, something compelled me to swivel and press myself against his back.
I kissed his bare shoulder, dragging my fingers through his hair. I needed his body, even if I could not have his heart. He turned around and searched my face in the dark. His thumb trailed the outline of my forehead, rolling down to my chin.
“What do you need?” he croaked, grabbing my wrist and placing a kiss against my palm.
“You.”
“Do you want a quick, dirty fuck? Slow, missionary-style sex?”
“Rough and hard.” My thumb traced the shape of his thick eyebrow.
We both needed the distraction.
His lips crashed against mine, tongue belligerently dominating my mouth. Tate wrenched the top of my nightie down, tugging hard, stretching and ripping the fabric against my skin.
Twisted, sick possessiveness took him over. He kicked the duvet off us, clawing my pj’s from my body. The fabric stood no chance. I fumbled with his joggers, pushing them down. His cock sprang out, thick, veiny, and erect.
