I have no reason to protect Liam. He certainly didn’t protectmewhen he broke his vow to marry me the instant he fell for Anastasia. He knew that it could render me worthless, damaged goods, that my father might have ended up having to marry me off to anyone who would take me and offersomethingin return. I couldn’t have remained unmarried, or worse still, married someone ordinary. SomeoneIfell in love with. That would have shamed my father even more.
Liam knew all the consequences when he threw me over. If Niall is to be believed, he knew about this, too. He knew Anastasia’s baby might not be his. That she’d fucked some other man—or that some other man fuckedher, considering what I’ve heard about what she’s gone through. And he chose her anyway.
That stings my pride, even now, even when I’m glad I didn’t end up as Liam’s wife.
If he knows, then I’m not protecting Anastasia by keeping the information to myself either, not from him anyway. But if the baby isn’t Liam’s, and the Kings discover that—
There’s no telling what will happen to them. Even if Connor tries to protect them, will that be enough? I try to imagine what Connor’s reaction might be. I don’t think the information would anger him, but he could certainly use it to strengthen his claim. He could even use it to convince Liam to leave in exchange for him keeping it to himself and not sharing it with the other Kings.
And then another thought occurs to me, one that makes my heart race.
If I give this to Connor—and I can’t think of any real reason not to—it could be the thing that shows him that he can trust me. That I won’t use something like this to manipulate him, that I won’t give it to my father first and ask his opinion before going to Connor. It will show Connor that I am loyal to him. That, like Caterina, I put my husband and our household’s well-being first.
That I amhis.
If I do that, will it ease his resentment? Soften his feelings?
I don’t know, but as I drain my glass of wine and pour another, I know I want to try. I want to reach out to him, to try to bridge the gap between us. I want a chance at reconciliation. I want to show him what a partnership we could be, husband and wife. A true power couple at the head of Boston’s crime world.
And this is the perfect means to do so.
I’m so busy staring at the envelope that I don’t hear the door open or Connor’s swift, heavy strides. I don’t hear him calling my name until he’s in the doorway of the living room, and I turn sharply, gripping the back of the couch as I catch a glimpse of him and my heart nearly stops in my chest.
He looks different. His gaze catches mine, hot and urgent, and he strides towards me, his jaw clenched. I think he’s angry at first, until I see how the top two buttons of his shirt are undone, the thick ridge of his cock straining at the fly of his trousers.
He’s already aroused. And he’s coming forme.
I feel adrenaline, hot and thrilling, race through my veins as Connor stalks around the side of the couch, intent clear on his face. I feel frozen to the spot, the letter forgotten from the shock of seeing him so suddenly and like this.
He snatches the wine glass out of my hand, and some of the red liquid sloshes over the edge onto my shirt. I let out a cry of protest, and Connor grabs the front of it, nearly tearing the fabric as he wrenches it over my head, throwing it aside. My skin prickles despite the warmth of the room, but he’s already pulling me towards him.
“Connor—” I try to pull away, startled and a little frightened by the force of his desire, but he doesn’t let go. We grapple with each other for a second, only to tumble sideways into the space between the sofa and the coffee table, me on my back with Connor atop me, his knee already shoving my legs apart so that he can move between them.
I smell something strange, sweet, and I wrinkle my nose, my eyes widening in horror as I realize what it is.Someone else’s perfume.“You were with another woman,” I whisper, my heart crashing into my gut as the realization hits me, even though I know exactly how hypocritical that is. “You—”
If I hadn’t realized how I felt about Connor before, I do now. The thought of him being with someone else, now that it’s a reality, is maddening and heartbreaking, and I want to scream. I want to punch him, kick him, but he’s holding me down against the carpet, and I writhe against his grasp, trying not to cry. “You—”
“I didn’t fuck her,” Connor growls, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand as he reaches for the button of my jeans with the other. “I didn’t touch her. I didn’t want her.”
He grabs the waist of my jeans in one hand, yanking them and my panties down roughly. “I want you.”
His words take my breath away, stealing it all from my lungs and replacing it with hot, fervent desire. They sink in, and I’m afraid to take them at face value, afraid to cling too tightly. Fearful of what they might really mean.
What Iwantthem to mean.
There’s no time to think, though. He’s already fumbling with his belt, his zipper, and I feel the heat of him between my legs in an instant, thick and hard and insistent. He pushes his swollen cockhead against my entrance, spreading me with his fingers, his piercing blue eyes fixed on mine.
He looks feverish. Fierce. Dangerous. And I want to see more of him.
Allof him. This man that I married, that I want, who terrifies me and infuriates me and drives me crazy all at once.
Who I’ve only just been able to admit to myself that I love.
I grab the front of his shirt the second he lets go of my wrists, ripping the buttons as I tear it open, revealing his tattooed, muscled chest. I rake my fingernails down his pecs, looking up at him defiantly as I arch my hips against his straining cock, and when he pushes into me, it’s not gentle.
If his sudden, violent desire hadn’t aroused me so much, it would hurt. He’s so big, big enough to stretch me and dance on the edge of pain even when I’m this turned on, but I love it. I love how he feels like he’s almost too much, in this way and every other. Almost too much for me, but I can take it.
I can take all of him, and I want to prove it.