Page 8

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

I turned to face my new husband, hardly knowing what to expect. His face was unsmiling, stern, maybe even pissed off.

His gaze flicked to the diamond ring his sister had handed him when the judge asked for the ring, and I wondered if maybe he didn’t like jewelry.

Ironically, there was no mention of a ring for him, and I was in no position to ask about it.

The ceremony had ended much as it began, with my heart half beating me to death as I stood there with my now husband’s hand clasped around mine.

He finally let go of my hand to cup my cheek, bending his head to seal his mouth over mine.

He didn’t close his eyes.

Neither did I.

I just kept my gaze steady on his, grateful for his hand on my skin. If it wasn’t for that, I feared I might have lost myself in the flecks of blue hidden deep within his emerald gaze.

Liam had the most stunning eyes of any man I had ever seen. I’d always thought so.

They were vibrant, teeming with knowledge and secrets.

Hypnotic.

I felt frozen as I stared. Then he moved, pressing his warm lips to mine. The second our mouths touched, instant attraction flooded my system. A sense of rightness, of destiny, settled over my shoulders like a warm blanket and my body went on high alert.

Heat.

Need.

Yearning.

Like a surge of lightning coursed through my body, starting at the place our lips met.

He hummed a deep, growly sound, but ended the kiss, tugging on his lower lip with two fingers. I thought he might be wiping his mouth, but that wasn’t right.

It was like he was pressing the kiss in. Trying to make it seep into his skin somehow. Like he wanted to remember it.

Crazy, Micky. You sound crazy.

“There’s my married baby brother,” Margaret O’Doyle squealed, hugging Liam to her skinny frame.

I smiled and stepped back, not wanting to get caught up in all that. I shook hands with the judge instead, trying to hide my nervousness.

But I couldn’t stop looking at him.

Because the world was unfuckingfair. Liam O’Doyle had only gotten better looking since the last time I saw him, which was roughly eight or nine years ago.

Next month I’d turn twenty-seven. So, no, I was not a kid anymore. But could I handle being married to a man like him?

Liam was almost ten years older than me. Still ruggedly handsome with thick, dark hair, brilliant green eyes, and smooth, fair skin. A shadow of stubble framed his face, purposely so, and he looked good.

Real good .

The man who was now my husband was just so much hotter than I remembered.

He had to be six foot-four at least. Muscles corded around his large frame, making his shoulders seem even wider in his tailored suit. I was practically drooling.

Ridiculous.

I felt chubby and frumpy standing there with my wide hips and belly rolls beneath the shapewear I had on.

Margaret turned to me then. My one time savior was the first to pull me in for a hug, offering her congratulations.

Sure, she’d checked in on me over the years, reminding me of our promise to one another. She’d keep that incident to herself, and I would owe her one. I always knew I would have to pay her back for her help one day.

I just hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t known she would ask me to marry her brother.

The man I’d secretly crushed on for years.

Not so secret now, thank you very much, Shelly.

“I can’t believe you’re married,” my bestie cried, hugging me tight. “Your family is gonna flip, Micky. But remember, they love you. We all love you. Okay?”

“I know. And I will.”

“I wish I knew why you did this,” she whispered.

“It’s gonna be fine,” I told her, wishing I believed it.

After hugging Shelly goodbye one more time, I promised her I’d call her in a few days.

I knew she was angry, confused, maybe a little hurt, but what could I say? It wasn’t like I was a great liar. But she believed I’d been keeping my relationship with Liam a secret.

What fucking relationship?

But it wasn’t like I could admit that. And she was right about another thing. My family was going to flip the fuck out. Which was why I wasn’t telling them right now.

First, I needed to have a discussion with my husband. Set some ground rules. Then we could go from there.

“You ready?” Liam asked, appearing at my side as I glanced down at my phone.

I’d just received a text from my little sister, Leanna. She was still in high school and was currently experiencing boy drama of her own. I made a note to call her later this week, too.

“For?”

“To go home,” he replied slowly. Like I was dumb.

“Oh, um, I live on Central Park West,” I replied.

“Not anymore. We live on Barclay Street.”

“Barclay Street?” I parroted, not quite understanding.

“That’s right,” he said, taking my hand and dragging me to the front door.

“I don’t understand.”

“What’s not to understand?” he asked, but I had a feeling it wasn’t really a question.

The November wind bit through my dress and I realized I forgot my coat inside.

“Wait! My coat,” I said, but Liam didn’t stop moving.

He lifted his hand and a black SUV with tinted windows appeared out of nowhere. Several men, all in black, seemed to pop up just then and Liam gave one of them directions to go inside and retrieve my belongings.

I followed him down the stone staircase, worried he might just pull me with him if I didn’t.

Admittedly, I was a little bit stunned.

Whether by Liam’s caveman behavior or by the fact he was so close to me, touching me, his spicy cologne infiltrating my senses, turning my brain to mush, to really understand what was going on was anyone’s guess.

“Get in,” he said, so close to my ear his warm breath tickled my skin just there.

He had one massive hand on my back, and I was stunned at how much of me he was touching. His pinky skimmed the top of my ass, and his thumb was pressed against the back of my bra.

Liam was basically pressed against my entire back with just the one hand.

I wonder what else he can manage with that thing.

With the other, he held the open SUV door.

“Why, I don’t?—”

“You’re my wife. We live together.”

“Oh! But that’s not what Margaret?—”

“You didn’t marry Maggie, Brat. You married me. Now let’s go.”

Brat?

He wore a naughty smirk that made my panties want to just about tear themselves off my body.

“Get. In. The. Car. Sweetheart.”

I scoffed.

Liam just waited, staring me down.

“Fine,” I growled and got in, annoyed at being handled by him.

Before he shut the door, I heard my sexy husband say something that had my ovaries exploding like fireworks.

“Good girl.”

I am so fucked .

Two minutes later, Liam slid into the seat beside me. He made a small grunting noise and nodded his head as if in approval.

I followed his gaze to my buckled seatbelt and had to bite my lip to stop from grinning.

I was pleased with myself but made no move to speak. In fact, I was a little embarrassed that I was happy I’d done anything he approved of.

It was silly. Juvenile, even.

Don’t be stupid, Micky.

Liam handed me my coat and purse, and I murmured my thanks, taking them from him, but making no move to put the coat on. The SUV was heated, and I felt quite comfortable.

“Where to, Mr. O’Doyle?” the driver asked.

“Take us home.”

Home.

The word flashed inside my brain, blinking in time with the steady drum of my heartbeat.

“I think we need to talk,” I started, but he dropped his heavy hand on my thigh and squeezed.

He wasn’t looking at me. But the way his hand felt on my thigh, squeezing me tightly but still gently, he almost had me panting.

“At home,” he said, in a tone that brooked no arguments.

At home, indeed , I thought and pressed my lips together.