Page 78 of Bad Bishop
“Rape and sex are not the same thing, Lila. Sex can be great.”
“How do you know? You’ve never had that kind of sex.”
“I have my sources.”
I was starting to suspect he was telling the truth, but since he didn’t offer to have sex with me, I did not volunteer myself. I did file it in the back of my head that Mama was wrong about sharing a bed with a man. She said Papa stank of sweat and his slutty mistresses, and that he snored. But Tiernan only smelled of Tiernan—leather, musk, danger, dark woods—and even if he snored, I couldn’t hear it.
“What’s the nickname you call me?”
“Gealach.”
“Yes. What language is it in?”
“Irish Gaelic.”
“What does it mean?”
“Wiseass.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“I’m not very nice,Gealach.”
“What if the Bratva kill you?” I readjusted on the bed, not-so-accidentally brushing my arm against his warm skin. “Who will protect me then?”
“My brother, sister, and the Camorra.” He reached to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, staring at the golden strand with a faraway look on his face. “You’ll never be without protection. Your father won’t send all three of your brothers with me because he still needs a new don. And.” He grabbed another tendril, this time rubbing it between his fingers. “If I die, you’ll be a widower. Your pregnancy will still be legitimate. You’ll give birth, and down the line, can marry someone else without any stigma or prejudice.”
Though this scenario should appeal to me, I found myself sick with the prospect. I didn’t want anyone else. I wanted him to want me. Even if I wasn’t sure if I was ready for what it meant.
“This conversation is silly, because you won’t die.”
His gaze rode up to meet mine, and instead of his usual shark-like, dead stare, there was a boyish expression, almost…hopeful.
“Why? Would that sadden you?”
“Why wouldn’t it sadden me? You are a person. A life lost is always a tragedy.”
Whatever flicker of hope shone in his eyes died a quick and violent death.
“That’s a very nice thought to have about a man who contemplated raping you on your wedding night.”
He pulled back from me. Mockery dripped from his expression. I didn’t believe him. But it still stung. I turnedaround sharply, fluffed my pillows, and slammed my head against them.
I felt his bare, muscular chest rumble against my back as he scooped me from behind, his body engulfing mine to keep me anchored and stop me from tossing about.
He waited for my muscles to unclench, for my body to relax against his and accept his touch. His breath skittered over the back of my neck. A heady mix of mint and whiskey. It was the latter that made me wonder if surrendering to affection, to the basic need to be held by another human, was not only difficult to stomach for me.
It took twenty minutes before I was able to regulate my breath and stop feeling like I wanted to jump out of my skin. By then, I thought he was asleep again.
“Lila.” His lips shaped my name over my ear, slowly, sensually. “Lee-lah.” My stomach bottomed out, heat spreading inside it, traveling to my groin. “I’m an excellent marksman and a terrible enemy. Go to sleep, sweetheart. Nothing can hurt you now that I’ve laid claim on you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TIERNAN
What I needed to do right now was read the file Sam Brennan sent me on Lyosha’s adventures in Moscow, then try to gauge his next move.
What I did in practice, however, was streamline the entire night of Luca’s wedding to figure out which guest had followed her—Angelo or Tate.
