“You’re nervous,leannán. Why?”
Tig turns her face up to mine, sighing as she gestures with her right hand, still in its splint.
“The last time I was here wasn’t very pleasant,” she grimaces. My face darkens, and I drop her left hand, reaching for her right and carefully cradling it.
“You don’t need to worry about any of that. This is dinner with my father, not an interrogation.”
Tig nods slowly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “I know.”
“You get this off tomorrow.”
“I know that too.”
Smirking at her dry tone, I drop a hand and tap her sharply on her gorgeous arse. She arches a single eyebrow, glaring at me.
“What did I tell you about spanking me?” Her breathy voice defies the glare and her words. Lowering my head, I let my lips brush her ear.
“Ye can tell me again after dinner,leannán. Sure, and I’ll do my best to listen.”
Tig’s eyes glitter, but before she can respond, the door in front of us opens, Pa smiling at us, his arms wide. Mickey O’Shea must have called through to let him know we were here. I never did get around to ringing the doorbell, too distracted by my wife’s deliciousness.
“Son, Tiggy, come on in.”
He presses kisses to Tig’s cheeks, turning to greet me in the same manner. Keeping my hand on Tig’s arse, I guide her into the house, following Pa through to the sitting room. Tig’s eyes dart to the easy chair she sat on to have her fingers set, a shudder running through her.
The chair is currently occupied by Aunt Siobhan, who smiles, hauling herself to her feet and holding out her hands.
Tig moves away from my hand, which itches to pull her back to my side. To distract myself, I cross the room to where Connor is standing at the sideboard, fixing drinks.
“You’ll be wanting a whiskey and a red wine, Fitzy?”
“And so we will, Lucky.”
Nodding, he makes up the drinks, handing them to me before we cross the room. Connor gives his mammy her screwdriver, and Tig takes her glass of red wine from me with a smile.
Pa gestures for us all to take our seats. Connor drops into the easy chair near his mammy’s, and I steer Tig over to the two-seater sofa, sitting her there and draping my arm around her shoulders. Pa sits in his wing-backed leather armchair he has occupied every time we have sat in this room for as long as I can remember.
He opens his mouth, closing it again as Aunt Siobhan shoots him a glare. Despite being widowed twenty-four years ago, Aunt Siobhan is still a typical mob wife. She wants the lifestyle without knowing a single sordid detail.
“When d’ye get that thing off yer hand?” Aunt Siobhan asks Tiggy, who glances over at her with a smile.
“Tomorrow. I can’t wait.”
“I can imagine. It must be hard to do yer housework.”
Connor grins into his whiskey as Tig blinks slowly. Aunt Siobhan keeps Connor’s house, and the place is sparkling no matter what day or night you walk into it.
“It is a bit,” Tig admits, darting a look at me. I shrug at her.
“We manage,” I take charge of the conversation. “We’ve had a cleaning service in while Tig’s hand has been out of action.”
Not to mention Tig has been at Oracle with me every day. That doesn’t leave her much time to clean and do laundry. My old cleaning service was happy to come back when I asked them.
I think Tig likes being at Oracle. She’s made some friends. A little blonde stripper - who I’ve thankfully never fucking touched - and the private lounge bartender Niall staked a claim on when she first walked into Oracle and has proceeded never to take advantage of that fact.
I know she was a social worker before we married, so she’s probably used to talking to people all day. I can’t imagine anything fucking worse. Of course, with Tig spending a lot of time in the office at Oracle with me, we talk. We also fuck a lot, so I can handle thechatting.
Tig and Aunt Siobhan lead the small talk, but when we move through to the dining room, where Pa has had a catering service in, he hangs back, falling into step with me as Connor gallantly escorts both the women in.