Page 60 of Dirty Eoin

I would never ask her to remove it. It’s a narrow barely-there band, much like the ones I’ve had made. I slip the new one on, so it rests just above.

She looks up at me. I see gratitude. It’s fleeting, but it’s there all the same. It will be short-lived, I’m sure.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Neither of us will have given this part any thought. The part most couples look forward to. A kiss that holds the promise of what’s to come later.

The wedding night. The consummating of the marriage.

Maybe we should have discussed and agreed on how best to approach this beforehand.

My gaze drifts over her natural beauty with her blonde hair and large green eyes before coming to rest on that pouty mouth of hers.

She steps forward, and my eyes connect with hers once more. It’s clear she wants to seal this deal in the traditional way.

With a kiss. No doubt a chaste one.

She licks her lips in silent invitation and my gaze drops to her mouth.

JAINE

I feel emotional at having to repeat the vows. More so as I should only have had to say them once in my life.

This is wrong. What we’re doing is wrong.

Me with him is wrong.

I want to bolt for the door. Refuse to go through with it. But I know I can’t. My son is an O’Connell. For that reason, in their insane minds, it means I need to be one too. What would they have done if I’d still been married to Ace? Taken Finian away from me?

There’s no point dwelling on that. I’ll never know.

I’m not married to Ace. Ace is dead.

I’m remarried. But to the wrong brother.

I swallow down the guilt and the feeling of betrayal. I’m doing this for the right reasons. I just need to keep focused on the silver lining.

I know I need to go through with the next part. That I need to kiss him for my plan to work. I feel sick at the thought. Not in disgust. In I don’t know what. For two years, he and I have shared whatever the toxic fuck this is.

I guess we’re about to find out.

His gaze drops to my mouth.

I’m not sure who moves. Me? Him? I’m conscious he’s in my space now. Or am I in his? I don’t fucking know anymore.

My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to explode in my chest.

Nerves. Apprehension.

Something else?

I focus on the strong column of his throat. I can see his heartbeat. It’s fast. For whatever reason, its speed calms mine and slows it back down.

Mr. Impassive is actually affected.

I raise my hands to his shoulders. He feels solid beneath my fingers. Like a wall of hard steeled muscle wrapped in a ten-thousand-dollar suit.

Does he have tattoos? Scars? Beneath this professional image he portrays, is there an inked, scarred bad boy underneath?

---