Page 16 of Eager Housewife

I nod and let the question of whether she’s pregnant yet slide. There’s plenty of time. For now. “Five is a good number. Three girls and two boys.”

“We might have five boys,” she points out.

“Then we keep going until we have girls too.”

“You want girls? Even though…” Her gaze slips to my hand on the coffee cup and the scars that cover my knuckles from where I beat the men who tried to hurt Ainsley. They tingle under her observation.

It’s only been a week with Blythe, and some conversations over dinner with my daughter over the year before that. But already I know what she’s thinking.

Admittedly, I sense her thoughts more when we’re having sex, as though the physical connection intensifies all the feelings of closeness I’ve been repressing since I met this girl who is far too young and pure for a grizzled old mafia boss like me. When I’m inside her it’s like we’re so in sync, a trivial thing like an age difference couldn’t get between us.

“There’s always risk in any life, Blythe. But nothing I do for the Blackstone mafia will ever touch our bairns. I learned my lesson on that with Ainsley.”

“Those scars…” She frowns. “They must ache.”

I swallow and look down at my knuckles. The memory of the anger I felt at those bastards trying to take my wee daughter echoes, as it always does. Along with that other feeling. Knowledge that I sent a message to the whole of London about what happens to people who touch what is mine.

“They don’t hurt.” It’s not entirely the truth. They’re sensitive, and uncomfortable sometimes.

Blythe reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers. Our fingers slide together, her slim digits dwarfed by my big, scarred paws.

“I’m glad,” she murmurs.

“Does seeing them bother you? I could get them covered with tattoos if?—”

“No.” And the honesty in her eyes when I look up leaves me in no doubt.

I’m proud of what I did, and she sees that. Those scars are a reminder not only to my rivals and enemies, but to myself.

Blackstones care for their own.

I stroke her knuckles and we shift easily so her palm is up against mine, emphasising the difference in our size. She’s delicate. Young and vulnerable.

“You’re so little.” The memory of protecting my daughter mingles with the certainty that I’d do the same for Blythe or any of the children I hope we’ll have.

“You’re a giant.”

“Your Scottish giant.” I love the feel of her palm on mine. She might be small, but as I link our fingers together again, I don’t think she knows how much influence she has over me. How she’s my world.

She glances away, her expression clouded by something I said, and I could bite my tongue out for messing this up. My last evening with her as my free use wife, to touch as I like, before her weekend off.

“What will Ainsley say?” she murmurs, withdrawing her hand from mine. Suddenly we’re both staring at the elephant in the room.

I think of some of the comforting lies I’ve been telling myself. Lines like,Ainsley will accept it in the end, orshe’ll be happy for us. And I know that’s not the problem. It’s the lies of omission that we’re both saying to Ainsley whenever she calls. It’s the way I said to my daughter that my new partner was beautiful but not around for a photo while I stood in the lounge and looked at Blythe curled on the sofa reading a book.

I’m lying to Ainsley, and that cuts me up, even as the illicit nature of what I’m doing with Blythe heightens my desire.

Our relationship is the ultimate contradiction. Blythe is my free useforbiddenwife. I can have her whenever I want, if it isn’t during her weekend off that is about to start, and as long as my daughter doesn’t find out. If only I could compartmentalise my affection for her as neatly as these two days. I can restrain myself physically, but my heart longs more for Blythe with every minute we spend together.

“We have a year,” I reply instead. “And it’s nearly midnight, Cinderella. I should get you home.”

8

DUNCAN

It’s torturing myself, but when we walk into the house after midnight, I ask, “Did you choose a bedroom for yourself?”

She starts and I stuff my hands in my pockets to prevent myself from reaching for her as she licks her lips.