“Oh God, that felt so nice,” she whispers, her voice exhausted. “So nice.”
My bollox ache, and there’s a yawning need in me I can’t ignore. I’ll wake with fucking blue balls between my legs, but I’ll deal. I don’t want to ruin this, to push too hard or fast.
She falls asleep, her pretty lips parted, holding my arm to her like I’m a stuffed animal or something.
“Really, Aileen?” I mutter, watching her cozy up to my arm. She only sighs in her sleep. I smile to myself. I hate that she was injured, and I honestly fear how she’ll be when she remembers. But for now, I’m grateful we have a second chance.
I don’t want to wake her. I won’t fuck her, not now. Not like this. I’ll ease her into that.
Maybe I’m too gentle, I don’t know, but we go on like this for days. I return to work, and Aileen tours the grounds with Caitlin and mam. She loves little Seamus, and I frequently find her bouncing the baby on her knee, or holding him in a swaddled blanket, singing one of her Irish ditties again.
“It’s good to keep her busy, Cormac,” Sebastian says. “Keep her singing. When she remembers the lyrics of her childhood songs, it’ll help trigger more memories.”
It’s triggering memories I’m afraid of, though. But she needs this.
Every day, she remembers a little something more, it seems, but she remembers little about us. Makes sense, I suppose. There wasn’t much to remember.
Keenan would normally send me on a few jobs, but I insist I won’t be far from Aileen. I stay here for now, nearby in case she needs me. Our guard let me down once. I won’t give them a second chance.
I know I’m treating her with kid gloves, but I can’t seem to help it. I could’ve lost her. I don’t want to risk that again.
I find her on the third day after she’s woken, sitting in the garden on a beautiful spring day. She’s got the baby in her arms, and Caitlin’s braiding her hair.
“Aileen, a word.”
“Just a minute,” she says.
I’ve given her slack these past few days, even after my reminder of who I am and who she is. I’ve teased her with promises of punishment only to arouse her, but in our interactions I let her get away with murder.
Every day, she’s been pushing her limits with her back talk and mouth. Before her injury, I wouldn’t have tolerated that, but now I can’t help but give her some leeway.
“Aileen.”
“I’m right in the middle of something. Not now.”
Caitlin looks at me with wide eyes. She isn’t allowed to speak rudely to Keenan. I know it as well as she does. We’re an old-fashioned clan. We protect and care for our women, but there’s a hierarchy of authority even between the men, and everyone knows their place. She’s forgotten hers.
“Not in a minute,” I tell her. “Now.”
Caitlin finishes plaiting her hair and fastens it with a rubber band.
“There you go,” she says. “Your hair is lovely. Can’t wait to play with it again.” She comes in front of Aileen and takes the baby. “Now, go with Cormac before he gets all angry. You know these McCarthy brothers have no patience.”
She gives me a small smile and a wink. I grunt in return.
Aileen stands up, and to my shock, doesn’t come toward me, but turns and marches away. I look at Caitlin in confusion, but she only shrugs. I stalk after Aileen.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask her.
“Away from you.”
What the hell is this?
“Excuse me?” I reach her and grab her arm, spinning her around to look at me. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
Her lips purse together. “Not sure why you even want my attention. Don’t you think it best you go on with your men? Hmm?”
“What are you yapping on about?” I say with a frown. “Why do you have a hair across your arse?”
“Hair across my arse?” she says, her pretty eyes flashing at me.
“Watch it, woman,” I warn. “I’ve let you get away with much, but I’ve had it with your smart mouth.”
“Have you?” she says. “You wouldn’t know it, Cormac.”
We reach the bench under the trellis, and the shadows hide her features.
“Sit down, Aileen.” I don’t give her a chance to disobey, but yank her hand until she sits beside me. “Now tell me what’s going on.”
“Fine,” she fumes, her cheeks pink with indignation. “You’ve touched me a few times, but you haven’t done any more than that. I suppose someone barely over being an invalid doesn’t appeal to you, hmm?”
“What?”
“We don’t make love. You don’t talk to me. You do your job and leave me alone, like I’m going to come apart at the seams if you breathe the wrong way.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m stuck in that room or the grounds and I have nothing. No knowledge of who I am. No memory of what I liked, save the little songs that come to me in bits and pieces and drabs of memory, and those memories suck.”