Page 103 of Stolen Rival
“I’m not defending them.” I tuck a lock of hair that’s fallenacross her face behind her ear. “Your father should have at least tried to hide you from me, even if any attempt would’ve been futile. That’s why I’m having panic rooms built on each floor of the house.”
Her eyebrows shoot up her head. “You are?”
“Yes.” I take hold of her hand and brush my thumb over her knuckles. “Before you came along, I didn’t see the need. Arrogance told me that my brothers and I could protect the staff, and therefore, what use would a panic room be?”
“A panic room wouldn’t have stopped Andrew from taking me.”
“True, but it could stop future attacks. It’s all about minimizing risk.” I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss her soft skin. “I have never experienced the kind of fear I felt when I realized you’d been abducted, and by a man I knew was capable of murder and thirsty for blood. To almost lose someone you care about deeply is a special kind of torture, and one I’m not willing to put myself through ever again.”
It takes a solid five seconds for what I’ve said to register. Her eyes widen, and her mouth falls open. “What did you say? You… youcareabout me?”
“Yes.” Sliding a hand around the back of her neck, I bring her forehead to mine. “I can’t pinpoint the moment when you became more important to me than a pawn in my maneuvers. It wasn’t a sudden thing, more of a gradual shift. As much as you’re a splinter in my arse much of the time, I cannot imagine my life without you in it.”
It’s as close to an admission of love as I can get. She deserves more than I’m capable of giving her, but I’m selfish enough to keep her anyway.
Cupping my cheeks in her small hands, she kisses me. It’s the first time we’ve kissed since she was taken, and I reactto it like a man starved of attention who’s suddenly drowning in it.
“Come and sit here.” I pat my thigh. I’d love to get her beneath me, but with a messed-up shoulder and a gunshot wound to the leg, I can’t do it. And I fucking hate that I can’t.
She straddles me, hands braced on my chest. I brush my thumb over her peaked nipple then give it a firm pinch. Instantly, she wriggles away putting too much distance between us for my liking.
“Oh no, you don’t. You are not getting me all hot and bothered when you’re still recovering.”
“But—”
“Nope. No, no, no. I refuse to let you turn me into a horny bitch who forgets that her husband nearly died just so she can get some.”
She climbs off me, her attempt at a disapproving scowl making me laugh. “Sorcha Mahoney, you are some kind of woman.”
She grins. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“True.” I pop my uninjured shoulder. “I’m a fucking catch.”
Her lips flatten. “You didnotjust say that.”
I push myself upright, exhausted but determined not to let it show. She’ll only worry and fuss and insist I get some sleep. Extending an arm, I cock my head. She gets the message, tucking herself into my side. She fits like a woman made only for me, and I can’t imagine a single day without her in it.
“We never got to talk about the conversation you overheard when I was on the phone.”
“No.”
That single word tells me she hadn’t forgotten but was biding her time. I kiss her hair and hold her that little bittighter. “The meeting I went to the day you were taken was with a man who’s been stepping on my patch, and I flew to England to put him in his place, without shedding anyone’s blood. He asked me on the phone if I was planning to bring you, and I instantly knew his game. He’d heard I’d married but didn’t know the circumstances and thought it might’ve made me soft. What I said to him was a lie, but at the time, it felt like the best approach. If my enemies ever find out what you mean to me, it will put your life in jeopardy.”
“That’s ludicrous, you know? Most, or rathernormalpeople only marry someone who means something to them. My parents loved each other; I bet yours did too. I can’t imagine being married to someone who doesn’t at least like me.”
“It happens all the time in our line of work.”
“So, you don’t think I’m a useless eejit?”
“Far from it. In fact, I’ve been mulling over something Dylan said when we visited him in New York. He said you’d be the making of me, and he was right. I don’t want a meek wife who hides in the shadows. I want a partner, an equal, in my bed, my life, and my business.”
“I want that, too,” she whispers. “And it seems you’re one of the few men in our world who believe women are more than broodmares.” She tenses, like she’s reliving a memory, or gearing herself up to say something. “When we were at Dylan and Mairead’s house, I saw a man backhand a woman on the way to the bathroom, and Andrew was there, too, encouraging him. He said something about needing to put women in their place.”
Every muscle locks tight, coiled like a fuse waiting for a spark. Whatever my faults, I have never—and will never—hit a woman or think of women as less than men. In mostcases, they’re far fucking better than the male of the species. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shrugs against me. “Like I said, in my experience mafia women are here to breed the next generation and obey their husbands. At the time, I didn’t trust you to be any different.”
“I can understand why you’d think like that, and I’m pleased you shared that with me, but that’s not me. I realize that words are meaningless, but I hope, over time, you’ll make up your mind for yourself that I’m different to your brothers and your father.” I clench my jaw. “And fucking Andrew.”
