Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Keenan.”
“Found them, Lach.”
I run a hand through my hair. Bloody hell. I know he means the guard.
“Did you?”
“Aye. Tiernan called me.” He tells me how our Boston brothers were called in. They’re under no obligation to protect our family, but they come to our aid when we need them to.
“Were they hurt?”
I know they were. They had to have been.
I close my eyes and cringe when he describes the condition of their mutilated bodies. I instantly regret the plateful of bacon and eggs I just finished. As he tells me details, I walk to where Fiona is, because I need to see her, I need to tell myself one more time that she’s safe, that no one’s taken her.
“Be careful, Lach,” he says. “Check in with Tiernan. I want the two of you in contact until we find out what’s going on, understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I would tell you to come home, but—”
I shake my head. “Need to find out who did this first.” If we run, we may never know, and Tiernan could be in grave danger.
I hang up the phone with him and walk to the closed door that leads into the bathroom. I can hear her singing in there, soft and clear. I reach for the doorknob and find it unlocked.
I can see the outline of her body through the filmy glass door, naked and beautiful, and my earlier arousal flares with a vengeance. Her singing ceases, though the hot water still steams up the small room.
She opens the door a little sliver. Her soaked hair hangs in her eyes, and water drips down her face as she looks at me.
“What are you doing in here, sir?” she asks, and is it my imagination, or is her own voice affected with arousal? I don’t realize I’m walking over to her until I’m only a few feet away. “Do you… do you need to shower?”
I shake my head.
Her guard’s been killed.
She’s in danger.
Somehow, even the brutal reminders of who we are don’t school my thoughts. All I can imagine is taking her into my arms again, and this time, not letting her go.
“Lachlan?” she asks. “Are you okay?”
“Aye,” I say in a hoarse whisper. “But you need to finish up.”
She bites her lip. “Oh, I’m done. Was just enjoying the water a bit.” She turns to shut it off, not bothering to pull the door shut, so she gives me a full view of her full arse, still pink from her spanking.
I barely stifle a groan.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
“Spoke with Keenan, lass,” I tell her, not able to bring myself to tell her the full truth. “I don’t want you to leave my side.”
Then I realize she’s standing there, dripping wet. I take a towel off the shelf, open it, and jerk my chin at her.
“C’mere.”
She bites her lip again. I wonder if the light pink color on her cheeks is from the heat of the shower, or something else.
When she steps out, I wrap her in the towel and dry her off. I relish the feel of her in my arms. Of her letting me take care of her. I take my time, wiping off every drop of water, massaging the fluffy white towel over the slopes and valleys of her perfect skin. But the closer we are, the more I want her, and by the way her breathing’s hitched and her body trembles, I think she feels the same.
I need her to let me take care of her. Some men like to be with the independent sort of woman. But the men of the Clan have been raised to protect, care for, to lead. I’ve seen every one of the married men in the brotherhood take to the role of head of the house with ease, and it makes sense to me now. Her allowing me to care for her fulfills me.
Hell, it’s been a missing part of who I am.
When she’s dry, I wrap the towel around her, though her damp hair still drips all about us. I reach for a second towel and wrap it clumsily around her head. She giggles, and it’s so fucking adorable I lean in for a kiss. Just a brief one. I pull away much too soon, and she sighs when our lips part.
I take her by the hand and bring her into the room. All she has for clothes are the ones she wore the night before, but they’ll do.
“Lachlan,” she says softly, almost tentatively. She holds onto my shoulder while I help her into her clothes. “I can dress myself.”
“Of course you can,” I tell her. But I like this. It’s almost like a form of acceptable foreplay, the way she leans her hand on my shoulder to steady herself. The way the fabric slides up her naked, beautiful skin. The way she pants a little when my hands brush her breasts. I need this. It’s fucking wrong, but I need this.