“It never is,” he says tightly. “Never.”
“Is that right? You’re the expert on this?” I throw back at him, unable to stop myself.
“A naïve, innocent virgin like you is?” he says. The barb stings more than it should, more than I like to admit. “You watch that smart mouth of yours.”
“Let me go,” I say, suddenly angry. “I don’t want to—” but he silences me when his mouth slams down on mine. It’s the first time he’s kissed me in days, and I’m instantly swooning. I hate that I am. I try to fight against it, to tell myself not to let him sway me, but when I feel the soft, insistent, brutal clash of his lips on mine, my body revolts against my mind and begins the slow surrender.
Tears of anger and hurt blur my vision. I try to push him away, try to resist the enigmatic pull of his body to mine, but it’s impossible. He’s got an impenetrable grip on me I can’t break, and no matter how hard I push against him, it’s no use.
“Mmmph,” I say, trying to pull away, but he only holds me tighter and backpedals until my legs hit the bed and we fall in a heap. Holding himself on one arm, he braces himself above me with the other, effectively caging me in. He pulls his mouth off mine long enough to glare at me, his face all lines and angles, the brutally, savagely beautiful face of a fallen angel.
I know he could rape me. He could force himself on me or break my bones with one casual swipe of his massive hand. It’d be laughably easy for him to overpower me, with those muscles and strength and the biological advantage of being a man. But that doesn’t mean I have to cave to him, give into his every whim like I’m some spineless woman. I’ve submitted to him. I’ve trusted him. Against all logic and reason, I’ve even fallen for him. But marriage? He won’t get that so easily from me.
He holds my jaw in his huge hand, as if to keep my gaze from straying. Well, that’s simple enough. I close my eyes.
“Caitlin,” he warns. I turn my head to the side.
“Open those eyes and look at me, or I’ll take you straight across my knee.” He would, too, and I know it. I flush at the thought of being spanked in this room, likely overheard by any others nearby. With a reluctant sigh, I open my eyes, but I glare right back at him.
“Listen to me,” he says. “It isn’t just for fun or show. But we—”
A knock sounds at the door. “Always fucking interrupted.” He curses angrily, pushing himself off me but pointing a finger in my direction as if to remind me, we aren’t finished yet. I sit up with as much dignity as I can muster and try to smooth my skirt, when he opens the door.
“Malachy,” Keenan growls with a sigh.
A large, tall man with short, iron-gray hair and matching steely gray eyes enters the room. Unlike most of the men Keenan spends time with, this one’s clean shaven and a bit older. Keenan shows him respect like he does his dad, inclining his head to welcome him, though his jaw tightens. He sighs and gestures toward me. “Meet Caitlin.”
The man enters the room, his gray eyes twinkling, and bows his head toward me. His eyes quickly take in my tousled hair and rumpled dress, but he only says, “Pleased to meet you, Miss Caitlin.” I have the distinct impression this man’s not often gentle or quiet, and this is a stretch for him.
“Caitlin, meet Malachy,” Keenan says tightly. We were interrupted and he’s none too pleased about it.
“Was I interrupting something?” Malachy asks, and the amused twitch of his lips makes me think for a moment he either knows he did or wishes he had. He’s like an overgrown, stern leprechaun, full of mischief and mayhem.
“You did,” Keenan says, his gaze swinging back toward me. “But we’ll resume our discussion later.”
“Will we, then,” I say quietly, meeting his gaze with conviction. I’ve gone along with more than I should have, and this time, I’m not acquiescing as easily. I don’t know what I expected but being married to a man like him wasn’t it.
Malachy’s gaze swings from Keenan to me, then back again, and he gives a quick nod before turning back to Keenan. “We’ve cleared a meeting space in the main community room to bring you all up to date,” he says, and the jovial look he had in his eyes just moments ago vanishes. He looks suddenly older, when he brings his hand to his nose and pinches the bridge as if to ward off a headache.
“Aye,” Keenan says. He turns to me and crooks a finger, snapping out an order. “Caitlin, come here.”