“Thank you for helping me,” she struggles to say under my watchful eye.
“If you want to thank me, then I suggest you put some clothes back on. And quickly.”
“Why the rush? I thought you said my virtue was safe with you?”
“It is. But that doesn’t mean I’m a saint. Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind and want to get fucked tonight?”
Her cheeks flame red at my crudeness, making her lean down and pick up her dress to cover her front with it. Unfortunately for her—and I’m starting to suspect for me as well—when she bends down, she unwittingly gives me a better view of the double D’s she’s been trying to shield from my wandering eyes. She swiftly picks up a small discarded bag sitting on the floor next to the bed and hurriedly races to the bathroom, closing the door shut behind her.
It’s only when I hear her turn the lock that I exhale.
Chapter 8
Rosa
I shut my eyes and lean against the bathroom door, placing my hand over my chest, praying that the pressure is enough to get my beating heart under control. Its thunderous pulse is so loud I wouldn’t be surprised if Tiernan could hear it clear as day in the next room.
Virgen.
It’s only my first night with this man, and already I feel like I’m way out of my depth.
His presence alone is intimidating enough, guaranteed to suck all the oxygen out of a room, ultimately making it hard to breathe. But what’s even more unnerving is when he directs that intrusive gaze of his and focuses all its attention on me. Summoning air into my lungs takes a back seat in priority when such eyes are hell-bent on picking away at the scabs on my soul.
One green.
One blue.
They would be beautiful if their intense stare didn’t make me feel like they were slowly peeling away every layer within me, pulverizing every wall I’ve ever built to keep me safe. I’ve never met anyone who could strip someone bare with just one look. And frankly, I don’t care for it.
It’s as both terrifyingly frightening as it is exhilaratingly seductive.
“Cálmate,” I whisper to myself when my heart refuses to settle.
Tiernan is just a man.
Made of flesh and bone.
Not a god ruling over the underworld, even if his subjects proclaim him as such.
“Just a man,” I repeat to myself as my heart slowly simmers down to its normal rhythm.
Once I’ve made sure I’ve collected myself, I dutifully hang my wedding gown on the door’s hanger and turn the shower on. Before I step in, I slide off the rest of my clothes and frown when I see a wet mark right at the center of my panties. As much as I should loathe my husband, it’s plainly obvious he affects me in other ways, too.
More carnal, sinful ways.
The evidence of my reaction to his hands on my body when he was helping me out of my dress currently stares back at me, mocking me for being so weak.
I wish I could call Francesco and ask for his advice. He would know how to handle this situation of desiring someone while still maintaining the upper hand. I fear with Tiernan he’ll always be the one to hold all the cards in this twisted union of ours. Most made men do in marriages, so why should mine be any different?
I get into the shower and let the warm water hit my skin, wishing it could wash away all my doubts and fears as easily as it can cleanse me of the day’s sweat and grime.
My thoughts are still on my esposo as I spill the fragrant hotel soap into my hands and begin to wash myself with it. I scrub the small patch of skin on my neck, shoulders, and back, making sure I cover every inch that Tiernan had defiled with his caress. To my utter annoyance, my lower belly warms at the memory, making the inside of my thighs slick with heat.
When I left Mexico to marry into the Kelly family, I expected many things, but not this. Not once did it ever occur to me that I could somehow become physically aroused by a man I barely know.
Maybe it’s a good thing that I’m physically attracted to my husband.
Maybe it will make it easier to compartmentalize when he finally decides to take what is now legally his.
I’ve heard Francesco say a million times that sex doesn’t have to involve feelings for it to be good. You don’t even have to like the person you’re fucking to have a good time. In fact, it’s an added bonus if all you feel is blinding hatred for each other. Makes the fucking that much better.
His words, not mine.
Unfortunately for me, Francesco’s experience in that department is all I have to go on. Neither Alejandro nor Javier would dare talk so openly on the subject of sex with me, which leaves my baby brother’s sexual exploits as my only point of reference. Bringing up such a topic to an outsider, or God forbid my parents, would only gain me ridicule, as well as Miguel’s punishing temper.