Page 44 of Corrupted Union

I don’t know! My brain is too mushy to think.

“No, I … it’s just … you didn’t shower with me last time.” I walked to the glass door and hesitantly stepped inside.

“A lot’s changed since then.” He guided my bandaged hand away from the spray, but I got the sense he wasn’t talking about my hand. Not at all. He switched the spray over to the wand and began to wet my hair.

I stood transfixed as Keir Byrne shampooed and conditioned my hair. When he squirted a dab of body wash in his hand, I almost hyperventilated.

Stetson and I had sex for the first time a month into our relationship. He wasn’t my first, but he was the most serious boyfriend I’d ever had. Not once in almost a year of sex with him had he ever done anything so intimate with me as what Keir was doing right now. He was tattooed and scarred and could be abrasive when he wanted to be, but the way he touched me was nothing short of reverent.

He made me feel cherished. Safe. Beautiful. All without even trying.

Nothing about his actions in the shower were overtly sexual, yet his hunger for me was palpable in every single touch. Scarred knuckles grazed the bottom of my breasts. Calloused palms glided down my hips. When his soapy hands slid to the inside of my thighs, rising higher to my cleft, I thought I might black out from the intensity of my arousal.

How could I feel so turned on by someone who had kidnapped and married me after drugging me out of my mind? It shouldn’t have mattered that he’d talked to my father beforehand. It was my life he had derailed. Yes, he was trying to help. Yes, I was obscenely attracted to the man, but did that negate the other stuff—the fact that our involvement could harm my father’s reputation? The fact that he’d tricked me, and our entire fake relationship was an illusion only serving to keep me safe?

You’re overthinking this, Ro.

Am I? Maybe for once, I should do a little more thinking, and a little less denying the truth. I’m messed up, and he's a criminal—what kind of relationship could we possibly have?

“I think I’m ready to get out,” I said breathlessly, the contents of my stomach growing more unsettled. “Thank you.” I met his impenetrable gaze before stepping into the cool bathroom air. I toweled off, forcing myself not to stare while Keir finished his shower, then grabbed my clothes and fled for a minute of privacy.

After taking off the towel wrapping, I was able to get dressed and brush out my tangled hair. I even brushed my teeth and was feeling halfway human again when I went back into the living area and found Keir watching television on the sofa.

God, how was this supposed to work? It didn’t feel right to just cuddle up next to him. We’d only known each other a week! But we’d also been through a lot together in that short time.

I did my best to let my instincts guide me, sitting near him but making sure to leave a foot of space between us.

We both stared at the television—a documentary about World War II. It could have been worse, though I wasn’t exactly tuned in.

“I can change it, if you want,” Keir offered after a minute.

“No, this is fine. I like history.”

Keir grunted.

The awkwardness seemed to intensify exponentially as each second ticked by until he huffed and scooped my entire body up to plant me right next to him. He kept his arm around me, forcing me to relax into his side. Instantly, the tension settled, like a missing puzzle piece locking into place.

We sat together companionably watching television until it was time to order dinner. It was one of the most peaceful afternoons I could remember in a very long time.

* * *

“Doesyour family know what’s going on?” I asked once we were seated back at the kitchen island sorting through the takeout that had just arrived. He’d ordered enough food for a small family. Though, with his size, that might be a normal meal for him.

“No reason to keep it a secret.”

Guess that was true. I wondered how they felt about it. Did they care that I wasn’t Irish? I mean, I had Irish in my blood, but not in the same way as the Byrnes. They probably would have preferred he married someone fully Irish and not so … law abiding. Of course, he was thirty-two and unmarried, so maybe they were just glad he’d settled down.

Oh shit. Had he been married before? Surely, he hadn’t been dating anyone when I met him.

A stab of jealousy struck between my ribs. I didn’t like the thought of him with someone else. Would he go through with all this and still plan to find an Irish girl later? It wasn’t like this marriage was real.

Take it easy, tiger. You’re deep diving down that rabbit hole.

Yeah, well. This whole surprise marriage to a gangster thing is new to me.I grumbled back at Ivy.

And you’ve always been sooo good at adapting to change.Ivy’s voice dripped in sarcasm.

Easy to say from a dead girl.

---