I dash into the bathroom and check my reflection. My hair needs brushing, and my lips could definitely use some color. After a quick run-through with my wide-tooth comb, I slap some lip gloss on and smooth my shirt down. Mostly to wipe the sweat off my palms.

  With as much calm as I can manage, I stride down the stairs to find Paddy waiting at the bottom of them. His gaze is appreciative as it travels over me.

  “Ready?” he asks in a low, husky tone.

  I can only nod. He walks me out to the car, and his hand brushes against mine. Once. Twice. Is it intentional? Like he did on our wedding day, he opens the door for me. Until that first time, I’ve never had a man do that for me aside from Pierce’s driver, Fabrizio. But that’s his job, so it doesn’t count.

  “I’m not sure what you like, but I highly recommend the shepherd’s pie. Oscar is a culinary genius when it comes to it. I’ve never tasted one better than the one at Donnelly’s. And I’m not just saying that since he’s our cook,” Paddy jokes.

  “What is it?” I ask, unfamiliar with a lot of different foods.

  His expression is horrified. “That is the most disappointing thing I’ve ever heard. To think that, all this time, you’ve been missing out on what is one of the staples of an Irish diet.”

  “That good?”

  Paddy brings his fingertips to his lips and kisses them. “It’s pure perfection.”

  “High praise, indeed.” I chuckle. “I guess I’ll have to try it. Everything I learned how to cook at the community house is American or Italian. Although I’ve been known to make blinis for breakfast, I’ve never been able to make the perfect pirozhki, but I keep working on it.”

  “Okay, now you have me confused. What are those?” Paddy asks.

  “They’re both a Russian specialty. Blinis are similar to pancakes. Pirozhkis are a yeast bun stuffed with different fillings. You can make them either sweet or savory. I prefer them with meat and spices, but I can never get the center just perfect,” I lament. “It’s either still too doughy or overcooked, and the bun is hard on the outside.”

  “Sounds delicious. Feel free to keep practicing. I’m happy to be your guinea pig,” he offers.

  I laugh. “Brave words.”

  Soon, we’re parking. A couple of the buildings are vaguely familiar from the last time I was here. We exit the car, and Paddy rounds the front of it. We start down the sidewalk. He places a hand lightly on my lower back. The heat of it sears through my shirt and spreads like wildfire across my skin, diving deep into my veins. It travels through them and lands square in the center of me. I barely remember to breathe.

  Moments later, we arrive at the green front door. Just like with the car, he opens it for me. I could get used to this. It’s a completely different environment from the last time once we step inside. The lights are brighter, and there’s some Irish tune playing as opposed to the sensual song Paddy and the woman had been dancing to.

  The crowd is a mix of men, women, and families instead of filled with Irish soldiers. Several people wave and greet us. Or they do Paddy, anyway. None of the faces are familiar to me. He returns the greeting before that strong, firm hand is back on me.

  “There’s a couple of stools by the bar. Unless you’d rather sit at a table,” he says.

  Sitting at a table requires us to cross the entire front dining room. Which means people will be staring at me. That’s why I’m always hiding or, at least, trying to hide at family functions. I don’t like all those eyes on me.

  “The bar is good.”

  He guides me over to it, and once I’m settled on the stool, he slides onto his. A silver-haired woman in perhaps her late-sixties wanders over with a welcoming smile. “It’s about time you brought this lovely colleen in to see me. Welcome to Donnelly’s. I’m Sadie. And if you ever need any incriminating stories about this young man,”—she winks—“you come to me.”

  “Hey, now,” Paddy scolds. “No telling Anya any embarrassing tales. I have a reputation to uphold.”

  “I’m sure your wife knows all about your reputation.”

  I press my lips together to smother my grin. “Don’t worry, Caitlín has filled me in on a lot more than you’d probably wish.”

  He groans. “Of course, she has. Don’t believe a word she says. It’s all lies.”

  Sadie coughs. My laughter sputters. I actually begin to relax. I still haven’t figured out if this is a date or not, but I’m not going to worry about it. Instead, I’m going to have fun and enjoy myself. It’s been far too long since I’ve done either.

  Chapter 29

  Paddy

  * * *

  “Then he proceeds to strip off his nappy and run around the pub naked with poor Moira chasing after him.” Sadie cackles and slaps her palm on the gleaming wooden bar top.

  Beside me, Anya laughs until tears of humor slide down her cheeks. Feck, she’s stunning. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her relaxed. I don’t even care that it’s at my expense. I could listen to her laughter all night. Her face is rosy, and she hasn’t stopped smiling. There’s a sparkle in her blue eyes that brightens everything about her. I can’t tear my gaze away.

  “Are you done torturing me for the evening, yet, Sadie-love?” I ask in good humor.

  She twists her lips side to side and studies me closely, debating on the answer. “Fine. I suppose you’ve been a good enough sport this long that I’ll let you off the hook.”

  My hand goes to my chest, and I give her a brief, courtly nod. “Thank you. My ego has taken enough hits.”

  Still laughing, Sadie wanders off, leaving me alone with Anya, who’s swiping at her wet cheeks. The crowd has thinned, and it’s getting later. I take the last swig of my beer and set the glass on the coaster. “I hope you’ve had a good time.”

  Anya nods emphatically. “Oh, yes. This has been one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time. Thank you for bringing me out.”

  “You’re more than welcome.” I turn in my stool toward her. “I guess we should probably head home. Unless you’d like another drink?”

  “No, thank you. One is more than enough.”

  I offer my hand to help Anya off the stool. She glances between me and it before placing her palm in mine. Even once she’s standing, I can’t seem to let go. Our eyes meet and hold. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. My gaze drops to them. A rush of arousal rises up. This is my wife. The woman I’m not supposed to want. Yet, I can’t help wondering what she tastes like.

  Clanging glasses break the spell. Anya quickly darts her gaze from mine and attempts to pull her hand from my grasp. I tighten my hold. Not forcefully but enough. “Ready?” The question comes out huskily.

  “Ready,” she replies in a mere whisper.

  Hand-in-hand, we walk to the car. With each step we take, Anya grows more relaxed. The way she’d been before that moment of sharp awareness back there. Because no matter how much we want to deny it, there’s a spark between us. It was there on our wedding day. It was there the night after the raid. And it seems to only be growing brighter. I’m not sure either of us is ready for what happens when the explosion occurs. Because instinct tells me it’s coming.

  The ride home has been quiet. Anya hasn’t glanced my way once, but emotions pour off her. I park in the driveway. She’s out of the car before I am. I trail behind her until we get inside.

  She heads for the stairs, but before she takes the first step, she pauses and turns to face me. “Thank you for a lovely dinner. I had a wonderful time.”

  I slowly close the distance between us without a word and don’t stop until only mere inches separate us. Anya’s eyes widen, her breath coming faster. My gaze takes her in. I wait for any panic or fear to enter her expression, but there’s nothing except surprise and, if I’m reading her correctly, arousal.

  “You’re welcome,” I say softly and carefully reach up to palm her cheek. Nothing more than that single touch. Her skin is as soft as I’ve imagined it to be.

  Anya’s eyes flutter shut, and she inhales a sharp breath. Then they open again. Her pupils have darkened. “What are you doing?”

  I smile. Not in mockery, but at how sweet and innocent she is. No matter what had been done to her, there’s this air of uncertainty to her. Instead of answering her with words, I lower my head but stop just before my lips meet hers. I breathe in her scent. Savor it. Yet, I remain perfectly still.

  Waiting.

  This is Anya’s choice. I don’t want to take that from her. The wait isn’t long before, at last, she decides. She closes the minuscule distance I’d left between us and brushes her mouth over mine in the gentlest of caresses. It’s merely a ghost of a touch, yet more powerful than any other kiss I’ve ever experienced.

  I let her lead. She doesn’t deepen the connection. Instead, she tentatively explores. The kiss is juvenile, unskilled. Almost like it’s been a long time since her last one. Still, it affects me more than any practiced kiss before it. My cock is hard, pressing against my zipper uncomfortably. Anya takes her time as though she’s memorizing the feel of me.

  Far too soon, she pulls back. Her cheeks are flushed, and her chest rises and falls rapidly. Blue eyes have darkened. She blinks, and in that brief second, they shift, and the tiniest hint of fear enters. I take a small step away. Not enough that I can’t reach out and touch her, but enough to make her feel as though she has some breathing room. That flicker of fear dies out, but in its place is wariness.

  “Good night,” I murmur softly and turn toward the family room.

  The heat of Anya’s gaze sears into the back of my neck and stays there until I disappear into the room and out of her sight. I make my way to the bar and pour myself a small glass of whiskey. I’m reluctant to drink it because, for a bit longer, I want the taste of her to remain on my lips. The sweet flavor that is only Anya.

  I swipe my tongue out to draw in the last of her and then sip my whiskey. It’s even more bitter after the sweetness of my wife. Taking the glass, I collapse into the wingback chair in front of the unlit fireplace. This is a dangerous game of seduction between us. Because that kiss we just shared changes the rules.

  At least some of them. It’s like I’m walking in a minefield. Every step needs to be taken cautiously. I don’t want Anya to think there’s more to this marriage than mutually satisfying pleasure. I have no intention of falling in love with her. But, there’s nothing that says we can’t find enjoyment with the other. We are married after all.

  I could show her what satisfaction feels like. Maybe ease the fear she felt from a simple kiss. Teach her how to make love and enjoy sex. It certainly wouldn’t be a hardship. Anya is beautiful. The attraction between us is white-hot. Already, I’m imagining all that blonde hair spread out over my pillow. Her blue eyes staring up at me, then fluttering closed as I kiss my way down her luscious body.

  My palms tingle with the thought of filling them with her breasts. Are her nipples pale pink or reddish? Maybe peach-colored? Her sharp gasps echo around us as I pluck the turgid tips. I shift in my chair and adjust myself. My fingers clench the glass so tight I’m afraid I could break it. I loosen the grip and go back to picturing Anya lying beneath me, cradling me between her thighs as I rock back and forth.

  I capture her choked cry with my lips as the friction against her clit becomes too much. She cries out my name, and I swallow it down.

  Feck.

  Tossing back the last of my drink, I return the glass to the bar and head upstairs. Once in my room, I rid myself of my clothes, step into the shower, and stand under the pounding water. It takes only a second to recall images of Anya. I fist my cock, stroking it. All while picturing that it’s my wife’s delicate hand gripping me. The one getting me off with each up and down gliding motion.

  I brace myself with a forearm against the wall, pulling harder at my cock, coaxing forward my release. Anything to relieve the pressure building at the base of it. I keep stroking, the tension growing tighter until a growl erupts from my throat, and seed spews in ropey threads to mix with the cascading water. My breathing is ragged as it gets washed down the drain.

  It takes a moment to recover. Quickly, I wash, dry off, and then crawl naked into bed. I lie there, hands beneath my head, staring at the ceiling, planning all the ways I intend to seduce my wife.

  Chapter 30

  Anya

  * * *

  I kissed Paddy.

  I actually kissed Paddy.

  This is so, so bad. Because all I want to do is kiss him again. The thought terrifies me. Kissing leads to more than kissing. It’s the more that’s causing me to shake and sweat. It’s the more that makes my stomach toss and turn. It not only scares me to death, it makes me angry. Angry like I used to be before. Angry that I’m letting Gornak win all these years later.

  Despite my promise, I grab my phone from my bedside table. “Please don’t kill me for calling so early, but I need you,” I tell Caitlín before she can get a word out.

  “What’s wrong?” she snaps, completely alert.

  “I kissed Paddy. And I want to do it again. But also…I don’t. God, I’m so confused.” My emotions are out of control with indecision. Fear. Want. Hope. Unease. They’re all tangled up inside, fighting against the other, each one desperate to win.

  “Shit, this is big,” Caitlín proclaims.

  “I know. What do I do?” I beg for an answer.

  “Have you talked to Theresa?”

  I shake my head although she can’t see me. “You’re the first person I called. Besides, you know how much anxiety it gives me talking to her. It’s supposed to make me feel better. But it never does.”

  It’s part of the reason I did what I did. Talking to Theresa only brings back all the memories of what happened. Duh, that’s what therapy is supposed to do. Talk about the thing, confront it, and deal with it. Sometimes, though, I just can’t.

  “Anya,” Caitlín scolds lightly.

  “I’d rather talk to you. I always feel better when I do.” Guilt floods me that I’m using my friend as a fill-in therapist. If it were about anything else besides kissing Paddy, I’d talk to Pierce. He’s the one who’s always been the best at helping me.

  She sighs. “Fine. But only because I love you. I swear, though, I’m going to start charging you.”

  I collapse on my bed in relief. I don’t know what I would have done if she’d said no. “You’re worth every penny I’d have to pay.”

  “Damn right, I am,” she says matter-of-factly. “So, when did this kiss occur? And it was definitely you who kissed him and not the other way around?”

  “He took me out to dinner at your family’s pub last night. It was really nice. We had a great time,” I tell her. “It happened after we got home. He started it, but I finished it. So, yes, I did the kissing.”

  “You know this is a testament to how deep our friendship is that I’m sitting here listening to you talk about kissing my brother.” She makes a gagging noise. I almost smile, imagining the expression on her face and how she, most likely, shuddered. “So, tell me if I have it right. You kissed him. You liked it. You want to do it again.”

  “I mean, yes, that’s the most simplistic version.”

  “Okay, so kiss him again, then.”

  “That’s it? That’s your advice? Just ‘kiss him again’?” I gape. Caitlín makes it sound so easy.

  “Here’s the thing you have to remember, which is what I’m here to do—remind you. Kissing is just kissing. Nothing more. Nothing less. If you liked it, then why not try again? You’re in charge,” she says firmly. “No matter what I think of my brother, the one thing I know without a single doubt is that if you tell him to stop, he will.”

  I swallow because that’s the thing that has me the most scared. Beneath the loveliness that was Paddy’s kiss is the underlying terror that he won’t stop with just that. That he won’t be satisfied until he gets more. Until he takes from me everything Gornak took. Except, a part of me says that I’ll never recover if he does.

  “I want to make myself believe that more than anything else, but it’s hard. You’re right, though. A kiss is just a kiss. Thank you for that reminder.”

  “Any time,” Caitlín says. “Don’t forget. You are in charge. No matter what.”

  I’m in charge. I’ll keep telling myself that until it sinks in. “I love you. Thank you for being my friend.”

  “Back at ya, babe.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Later.” She disconnects the call.

  I lie there for a minute longer until I can’t ignore the fact it’s time to face the day. And Paddy. I freshen up a little in the bathroom and throw my robe on before heading downstairs. Like usual, he’s already in the kitchen. Except…is he cooking? And why is he half-naked?

  He glances up. “Good morning. I thought I’d make us breakfast. Oh, and I boiled some water for your tea. It’s in the pot over there.”

  Breakfast? Tea? Is this some alternate universe? Am I still sleeping, and this is just a dream? I discreetly pinch my hip. No, I’m definitely awake. Crossing the room, I pull a box of teabags from the cabinet. My gaze keeps darting to Paddy who’s far too casually standing at the stove in only his boxers and making…“Are those blinis?”

  He glances over at me and then down at the skillet where what looks like blini batter is bubbling. “Well, I hope they are since that’s what the recipe said.” His smile is wide.

  I blink. Paddy is making me blinis.

  “You might need to heat up your water again. It’s probably cooled off a little more than you’d like.”

  My gaze keeps drifting to him as I test the temperature of the water in the pot. I pour it into my teacup and stick it in the microwave. Then I go back to watching him as he flips one of the pancakes over to cook the other side. Then a second one. He does it a bit hesitantly as though he’s not used to the task. Which makes it that much sweeter. I still can’t believe he’s making me breakfast.