Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I should be embarrassed. I should want to cover myself in modesty or push him away. But I don’t. I’ve lived a sheltered life, and yet here, with him, I’m somehow still sheltered. He’s got me under his watchful eye, but there’s more to it. The way he looks hungrily at me makes me feel… I don’t know. It’s all too foreign, too overwhelming.
But I know one thing. I don’t want to hide from him. There’s nothing short of adoration in those brilliant green eyes of his, and I want to keep that focus on me. The more he hungers for me, the more I want him to. It’s all so new to me, so unexpected, I don’t know how to react except to welcome him. I close my eyes and relax into his touch.
Leaning closer to me, he places gentle kisses to the stripes of red. His marks. The feel of his sensual mouth and the roughness of the whiskers send a tremor through my body. Heat pulses between my legs, warmth and pressure throbbing. I’m filled with the need to have him closer to me. My pulse races when he kisses every inch of my aching, throbbing skin.
“You’ve never been with a man, Caitlin.”
He isn’t asking a question but stating the obvious. I’m not sure why.
“Of course not.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“You will.”
I want to. I don’t know why or how, but I’ve tasted his bold, uncompromising possession… and I want more.
More.
He returns to kissing the marks he left, his mouth traveling upward until he reaches the valley at the small of my back. It tickles, so I can’t help but giggle when he kisses me there.
“Does it tickle?” he asks, his voice husky and affected.
“Yes.”
“Does this?” he asks, dragging his tongue along my naked skin. I close my eyes at the warm, sensual feel, and moan.
“No,” I gasp. “Not that.”
Then he stops. Pressing his forehead to the small of my back, he holds my hips in his hand and sighs.
“We have to go,” he says. He rises to his feet, and I watch as his shield goes back up. The change in the expression on his face is palpable. Is this man such a chameleon, that he changes to suit who he has to be next? His jaw hardens and his eyes grow colder and distant again. He doesn’t speak at first, adjusting his pants and flexing his shoulders. I watch his muscles ripple, and I’m reminded I’m in the presence of a powerful man.
“We will go to meet with my brothers now.”
I don’t even know what could have happened right then, what he could’ve done to me. I feel the loss of his heat and touch, but try not to show it. I have to be brave.
Stay brave, sweet Cait.
I’m terrified at the thought of entering a crowded room full of strangers. I don’t want this. I want to be alone and solitary again.
“What will happen?” I ask.
He won’t meet my eyes. “They’ll ask questions, and I’ll tell them what I found. No more, no less. Answer truthfully, and you’ve nothing to fear.”
But I do. I do.
The look in his eyes makes one thing imminently clear: he’s what I should fear the most.
Chapter Nine
Keenan
I don’t like her being in the presence of my father and brothers. She’s nervous and jittery, stuttering when she’s asked a question. I remind myself that she’s not been around others very often, and socializing like this is likely quite overwhelming. With my prompting, she answers quickly and honestly. My father seems satisfied. I don’t mention that I know he paid her a visit.
“Bradley will have news tomorrow,” I tell him, and we continue with business as usual. But I want her alone. I need her alone again. Caitlin is uncomfortable in the crowded room, and I want her taken back to quiet. I don’t blame her. She’s been alone for how long? And now she’s thrust in the open, taken away from anything and anyone familiar. And she’s still mourning the loss of her father. So before dessert is served, I excuse both of us.
Her father… something tells me there are clues I’ll need to unearth.
She holds my hand when I take her back to my room, an act of trust. A small one.
“Your father didn’t seem as—” her voice immediately trails off when she clamps her mouth.
“As what?” I ask her, ascending the large, carpeted staircase with her.
“Oh, nothing,” she says, her cheeks flushing pink.
“It wasn’t nothing,” I admonish. “If you’ve something to say you shouldn’t, then don’t open your mouth to begin with. But since you did, you’ll complete the thought. Now say it.”
It’s harsh, I know, but a lesson Malachy taught me at school and one I adhere by. Say what you mean and mean what you say.