She blinks like she’s surprised by my apology. Footsteps come from behind. I turn from her. Jack and Nathan approach, each carrying a box.

  “Where do you want this?” the latter asks, holding his up.

  “Upstairs,” I say, grateful for the interruption.

  Just as the four of us step inside, Pierce and several of his men descend the stairs.

  “Glad you finally showed up,” he says with sharp sarcasm. His icy glare is bitter cold.

  Anya moves in front of me and closes the distance between them. She hugs him, and while his rigid frame softens, his expression doesn’t.

  “Thank you for bringing my things,” she tells him. “Let’s leave Paddy and his brothers to get his stuff inside.”

  She pulls him past us and out to the front porch. The rest of the Italians follow them out the door.

  “This way,” I direct.

  By the time we make it back down, Pierce and his men are gone. Anya is missing, as well. She still hasn’t shown up by the time Jack, Nathan, and I finish unloading everything. I glanced out my bedroom window a few times, hoping she was out in the garden, but she never appeared. Had she left with Pierce?

  “Thanks again for your help today.” The sun has completely disappeared behind the house, and dusk is settling in.

  Jack ignores me and walks out the front door. Nathan’s gaze bounces between me and where our oldest brother disappeared. He turns. “You and I both know he’s always been obsessively overprotective of women. He’ll calm down soon.”

  “You better go before he gets too annoyed and leaves you.” I tip my chin in the direction of the door.

  Nathan hesitates only a second before he nods. Then he’s also gone. I glance around the still-empty front room. It’s an uncomfortable sensation knowing that this is exactly how I left my wife. A scraping noise comes from above me. I climb the stairs to the second floor and pause, hoping there’s a repeat of it. It comes again. This time from the third floor.

  I flip on the hall light and head toward Anya’s sewing room. The door is open, and there’s movement coming from inside. Unsure if I should interrupt or not, I pause. She hadn’t seemed angry when I got back, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s also possible she doesn’t want me to intrude in her space. I turn to make my escape, and the floor creeks beneath my foot.

  “Hey.” Anya peeks around the door. “Did your brothers leave already?”

  “A few minutes ago.” I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t want to bother you. I was just checking to see if you needed anything or if you were all set.” A part of me doesn’t want to admit I’d been a little worried about her.

  She nibbles her bottom lip, and my eyes drop to it. A vision of my own teeth playfully nipping at the same lip rises up. Of swiping my tongue across it to ease the sting. Does she taste like a sweet berry? Christ, what am I thinking?

  Thankfully, Anya doesn’t seem to be able to read my thoughts because she steps back and pulls the door farther open. “If you don’t mind, I could use a little help moving my sewing table. I thought I wanted in one spot, but now, I’m not so sure. It’s heavier than I expected.”

  I step inside. Piled up alongside one wall are several boxes, and across from them, partially pulled away from the wall, is a long, white table.

  “Where do you want it?” I ask.

  “I was thinking there.” Anya points at the spot.

  She takes one end of the table while I take the other, and together, we lift it and set it where she indicated. With her hands on her hips, she takes a step back and studies its new location. She’s still wearing her wedding dress. She’s also barefoot.

  Her lips twist side to side, and her gaze bounces slowly from the table to different areas of the room. I take the time to study her like I’m not sure I ever have before. From her long, blonde hair that’s a bit windblown and has lost most of the curls she wore earlier to her tiny feet with their pink-painted toes. I lift my gaze back to her face. Blue eyes that could rival my own continue observing the space.

  She’s beautiful.

  Her expression shifts to satisfaction. “I think that will do it.” She turns to me. “Thank you.”

  I clear my throat and pray she doesn’t notice my semi-erect cock. “You’re welcome. Do you need anything else?”

  Anya does the lip nibbling again, and I harden further. Feck. “Would you put my sewing machine on the table as well? I mean, if you don’t mind.”

  I pick the thing up from where it had been stowed in the corner and set it on the tabletop.

  “Thank you,” she says again. “I think that’s everything. At least, until the rest of the furniture arrives. Mila and I will need to go shopping tomorrow. Do…do you need help with anything?”

  Her shyly asked question is almost adorable. “No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

  “Okay.”

  I should leave, but once again, I find myself unable to do more than stand here. Watching her. I’ve never been more aware of a woman than I am of Anya. My wife. A woman I shouldn’t want. More importantly, a woman I can’t have for so many reasons. Finally, I pull my gaze from hers. “I’m going to go unpack my stuff. Come get me or holler if you need something.”

  Not fast enough, I make my escape and hustle down the stairs and into my own room where there’s my unmade bed. Boxes are scattered haphazardly around. It’s gotten dark, and I’ll need to lock up the house soon. In the meantime, I should start tackling things in here.

  As I open box after box and put my clothes and other items away, I pointedly ignore the fact that Anya’s room is only just down the hall and that before the night is over, she’ll be sleeping mere feet from me. Does she wear a nightgown to bed? One of those flimsy and transparent things that showcases every curve of the body I’ve only gotten a few hints at? Or maybe she wears just a tiny pair of panties under a too-big T-shirt that falls off her shoulder and offers just a hint of the slope of her breast.

  I groan at all the images that pop in my head. Push that shit out of there. An uneasy sensation hits my gut. I need to go to Divine soon. Find a woman to distract me from the far-too-arousing thoughts of my wife. I have no intention of falling for Anya, no matter how tempting she might be.

  Chapter 22

  Anya

  * * *

  My eyes are gritty, and my head throbs. Outside my bedroom window, birds chirp. The sun is already shining, and from my view, there doesn’t appear to be any clouds in the sky. It should be the perfect morning. Except, it’s not.

  The first night in my new house had been spent tossing and turning. I’m tired. I’m also cranky. Not from lack of sleep. Or, at least, not only from that. It’s also from the disturbing dreams I had during the brief moments of sleep I’d managed to get. Every single one involved my new husband. The man who slept just down the hall from me.

  Paddy is the first man I’ve been alone in the same house with in years. There’d been nervous energy racing through me as I lay in bed last night. Every creak of the floor put me on alert. Memories of that other creaking floor crept in, along with faint screams echoing in the distance. I’d actually gone so far as to lock my door. Several times, my gaze would jerk to it, sure that someone—that Paddy—was on the other side, trying to turn the knob.

  During the waking hours, my thoughts are one thing. My dreams, on the other hand, are something else entirely. Even lying here, staring at the sky through my window, my cheeks heat, and a throbbing settles low in my belly. They’re far too unsettling to recall during the light of day.

  I have vague memories of sex before, but they’re always overridden by the other memories. Worse ones. So, I avoid thinking about it at all.

  I breathe in deeply. Wait, is that coffee? Cursing my curiosity, I climb out of bed and throw my night robe on, tying the belt around my waist. I open my bedroom door and head down the stairs, where the scent grows stronger. Outside the kitchen, I pause at the threshold.

  There’s coffee brewing in a pot that hadn’t been there yesterday. Paddy stands next to the counter with a steaming mug in his hands. His hair is messy and still damp as though he had recently gotten out of the shower. He’s also fully dressed. I put away the disappointment and tug my robe tighter around me, even though I’m wearing sleep shorts and a shirt beneath it. He turns and catches my eye.

  “Morning,” he greets me.

  “Morning.” It comes out sounding like a grumble.

  Paddy grins. “That wasn’t very enthusiastic. Don’t tell me you’re not a morning person.”

  “I am, actually,” I reply rather pertly.

  “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, then?” He chuckles. “Maybe a bit of java will perk you up.”

  “I’m not much of a coffee person unless there are no other options. I’m more a tea girl, actually.”

  He palms his chest and staggers back a few steps as though wounded. I snort at the appalled expression on his face. “Who doesn’t drink coffee?” he moans.

  I wave playfully. “At least you’ll have it all to yourself, now.”

  Paddy perks up. “You’re right. More for me.”

  My stomach growls. Except there’s no food in the house.

  “I ordered us some breakfast,” Paddy says. “It should be here in the next fifteen minutes.”

  Thankful for that, I move a bit farther into the room. “Since there’s no tea, I guess I’ll have to settle. Do you mind if I have a cup?”

  “Help yourself.”

  That means getting close to him. I hesitate briefly before crossing the kitchen to pour a small amount into the single mug sitting next to the pot. Paddy’s body heat radiates off him. It warms my entire side like it had yesterday at the reception when he’d stood by me. Beneath the scent of coffee, there’s also a clean soap fragrance. I’m actually glad he doesn’t seem to wear any type of cologne. I like the way he smells.

  Gornak always smelled like vodka and pungent sweat. As though he was never quite clean. A waft of his combined scents rushes up my nose. His cold, rough fingers brush my skin, making it crawl. My body shakes. No, don’t touch me. I jerk away and cry out in pain.

  “Feck, Anya.”

  The harsh curse jolts me back to reality. “Shit.”

  Coffee spills over the top of the mug, burning me. I nearly drop the thing, but Paddy grabs both it and the pot and sets them down. He gently pulls me over to the sink and turns on the faucet, thrusting my hand under the cold water.

  “Are you all right?” he asks. “What happened?”

  “Sorry, I must have been daydreaming.” My skin still stings, although the cold is slowly helping. I hope Paddy lets what just happened go because I don’t want to talk about it. I hate talking about it.

  His gaze constantly darts toward me, but he doesn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he continues taking care of me. And I let him because it’s…nice. At least until the sleeve of my robe rides up.

  Paddy’s grip tightens around my wrist. His thumb brushes across my scar. I yank my arm from his grasp and grab the towel. Once it’s wrapped around my hand, I cradle it against my chest and take several steps back.

  “Thank you,” I finally say, avoiding looking him in the eye. Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask.

  “No problem.” He cleans up the mess and hands me a fresh cup of coffee. Then he takes a sip of his own. “Didn’t you tell me that you and Mila are going furniture shopping today?”

  I breathe a sigh of relief at the change of subject. “Just as soon as I get ready and call her. I think we’ll still have an empty place until everything can be delivered, but I’m going to try and get at least a couple of barstools so we have somewhere to sit and eat.” I glance around. “I’ll figure something out temporarily for the front room.”

  Paddy shifts. “I really should have thought ahead.”

  “It’s fine.”

  He cocks his head and studies me a moment. A glimmer of emotion glows in his eyes. “Would you tell me if it wasn’t?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” I don’t, either.

  “I left you by yourself yesterday—your wedding day—and you said it was fine. Our house is completely devoid of any place to sit. Anything to eat. Anything to do, essentially, and yet you’re still saying, ‘it’s fine’.” There’s a tone in his voice I’m not sure I like.

  “Why does it feel like you’re mad at me?” I ask hesitantly.

  Paddy smacks his coffee mug on the counter. I flinch and take a step back. His expression tightens. “When won’t it be fine?”

  “What?”

  “Your answer to everything is ‘it’s fine.’” Paddy throws his hands up. “At what point is it not going to be? What am I going to have to do to make things not fine?”

  “I don’t know why you’re mad all of a sudden. Besides, what else do you want me to say?” I bite out, my anger rising to match his despite my best intentions to keep it in check. “Weren’t you the one with all the conditions? You’re leaving. You’re not doting on me. I’m on my own. You can’t get mad at me because I’m going along with the specific conditions you laid out.”

  Paddy rubs a hand down his face and blows out a breath. There’s a long pause. “I’m not mad,” he finally says, but it’s clear he’s definitely frustrated. Something I still don’t get.

  I fist my hips. “Are you sure about that?”

  He grits his teeth. “Yes.”

  Just when I’d thought things were a bit more comfortable between us, he has to go and ruin it. I dump out the remainder of my coffee, wash the mug, and set it on the counter. Then, I turn to leave.

  “Where are you going?” Paddy asks.

  I round on him. “To my room. I’m suddenly not in the mood for your company. How’s that for things not being fine?”

  “Anya.”

  Ignoring him, I nearly storm out of the kitchen and jog up the stairs. Once in my room, I have to refrain from slamming the door. Instead, I merely close it and turn the lock. I drop onto my bed with a huff and growl. “Grrrr, that man.”

  Who does he think he is? My gaze darts around as I search for my phone. It’s hidden behind a fashion magazine on my nightstand. I grab it and hit speed dial, not even caring what time it is. I need someone to talk to.

  “Why are you calling me at this ungodly hour?” Caitlín grumbles sleepily.

  “Because you’re my best friend, and I need someone to vent to,” I tell her. “Only you can’t complain about my husband because then I’ll have to defend him, and right now, I don’t want to. I want to vent.”

  “Lord, what did shit head do already?”

  “Caitlín,” I screech.

  “God, sorry, fine.” She heaves a sigh. “What did Paddy do?”

  “Did you know the house was completely empty yesterday when we got here? One hundred percent vacant. Not a single chair to sit on. Not a cup to drink out of. Nothing. Wait, there was one roll of toilet paper. But that’s it. Then,” I draw out, “five minutes after we get here…he leaves. Just walks out after asking if it was okay. What else was I going to say but fine? I mean, he was halfway out the door. It’s not like I was going to stop him when it was obvious he wanted to be anywhere but here.”

  Caitlín doesn’t respond. The silence hangs a bit longer.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?” I blurt out.

  “You told me not to complain, so I’m not,” Caitlín replies. “Is that everything?”

  “No, actually. Then, this morning, he finally admits he should have thought about having some type of furniture in here. I said it was fine because what else is there to say? It’s not like either of us can do anything about it now, right?”

  Again, there’s silence.

  “You’re supposed to answer that question,” I tell her a bit sharply.

  “Sorry, I wasn’t sure I was allowed yet.”

  She says it so seriously, I can’t help but laugh at my own ridiculousness. “You’re such a smart ass.”

  “Thank you.”

  My shoulders drop with a sigh. “I’m being a jerk, aren’t I? Wait, don’t answer that. I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize,” Caitlín scolds. “I lived with Paddy for over sixteen years. Believe me, I know how infuriating he is. And yes, that sounds exactly like him. He spouts off all those fucking conditions of his and then gets upset when you actually abide by them.”

  I throw myself backwards on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. “Am I a pushover?”

  “What? No, you’re not a pushover. What the hell makes you even ask that?”

  “Because Paddy’s right. Am I always going to just go along with whatever he says and does without any type of disagreement? Not everything is always going to be fine. I wasn’t happy about being left alone yesterday, but you know how hard it is for me to speak up,” I tell her. “I was also annoyed that he didn’t think to ask me about getting furniture for the house before we showed up. Although, I have to take some responsibility for that one because I should have considered it and taken the initiative.”

  “You’re not the only one in this marriage. The whole thing doesn’t rest on your shoulders,” Caitlín says. “And to answer your question, no, you’re not always going to go along with whatever he says. This marriage is new, and you’re figuring things out. There’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, take it from someone who knows. In no time at all, you’re going to be so annoyed with Paddy that you’ll be glad when he leaves you alone.”

  I giggle. “You’re terrible.”

  “And yet,” she pauses dramatically, “you still love me.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Look. Cut yourself some slack. Don’t cut my brother any, though, because he’ll take every inch you give him. If you’re not happy about something, tell him. I think sometimes you forget how strong you are,” Caitlín says softly.

  I don’t feel strong, though. Not after. Especially not after. Asking Paddy to marry me is the most courageous thing I’ve done. Maybe I used it all up with that one thing. “I think you’re talking about someone else.”