Page 79 of Hostile Bond
“I can’t think about food.” She clings to me as I lift her out of the tub and carry her into the bedroom. “It makes me feel sick.”
“I know just the thing to order.”
“Don’t say waffles…”
“You’ll see.” I wink at her over my shoulder and return to the bathroom.
Fuck.
I’m going to be a father.
A shiver of apprehension catches me off guard.
Sinéad was pregnant the whole time she was with Uncle Sean––and he’d shot her. He could have killed my wife and my unborn child.
A foreboding heaviness sinks in my stomach. Anger sparks through my blood like the eternal flames of my personal hell. It feeds my heart and soul with perpetual darkness.
While hot water pours into the tub, I pace the tiled floor, doing my best to keep my shit together. My chest is heaving, an uncontrollable current of madness racing through my body. Every step is heavy with rage as I prowl like a tiger in captivity. For a moment, I catch sight of my busted face in the mirror. Without thought, I fist the reflection, shattering it immediately like bolts of lightning zigzagging out from the point of impact.
Motherfucker!
“Dré…” I uncurl my bloodied hand and turn to find her, paused in the doorway, covered in a luxuriously thick terry-cloth robe. If she didn’t look so fragile and sickly, I’d fuck her over the vanity. “You’re really okay about this… aren’t you?”
I open my mouth to speak, but end up stalking over to her instead. My arms are wrapped around her shoulders, our bodies pinned together, giving her no way to escape me.
Somehow, if at all possible, knowing my baby is growing inside her belly makes me even hornier. I can’t help the sudden thick arousal of my boner nudging her core. I swear it's not intentional, but it’s there.
All the pent-up tension within me fades, swapped by an animalistic desire to rut into my woman. Despite my urges, she’s exhausted, nauseous, and grieving. And I might be viewed as a monster by some, but for her, I’m whatever she needs me to be.
“What happened in the North… I should have taken care of it the second I arrived.”
“André… don’t… we’re a team… aren't we?”
I squeeze her even tighter. “I’ll always stand beside you… waiting to finish the next motherfucker who gets too close.”
She sighs, her body melting into my muscles, eager for the simple connection.
“When can we go home?” she mumbles, her cheek pressed to my chest. “I don’t want to stay here.”
“We’re stuck in this house until after the ceremony. If we leave now, it would look even more suspicious.”
“I hate it here…”
30
SINÉAD
We’ve stayed in the farthest room of Hennessy house together, within the same four walls, for a couple of days since our arrival.
I’d asked André to get word to my pilot in the North and let him know the flight to Sicily would be delayed. I also made him promise to put the guy up in the best hotel while he waits, and to personally thank him for flying me to Ireland safely.
As expected, he’d ended the telephone conversation by warning the pilot that he’d cut his head off if he ever took me away again without André knowing about it first. It wasn’t the best closing statement, but it’s better than sending a hitman after the guy.
I’ve survived debilitating morning, afternoon, and evening sickness on banana sandwiches and cups of sugary ginger and lemon tea. The constant state of nausea has been grueling. Thankfully, the Hennessy men have kept their distance. I’m not thrilled about staying here for Sean’s private memorial service in a couple of days, but I’m playing my part.
It hasn’t been easy for either of us. However, we’re together and that’s what matters the most.
During our stay, somehow André managed to tame his sexual impulses without a single verbal complaint. His giveaway grunts and silent observation tell me he’s a simmering volcano ready to erupt. I feel bad about it given his high sex drive, but the wait will only make him want me more.
