Brutal Vows (Queens & Monsters #4)(67)

Closing my eyes, I take a breath and pray for the Lord to help me.

Not that he’s listening. He was done listening to me a long time ago.

She whispers, “I love it that you’re this big tough guy who runs around shooting people like it’s just another day at the office, but inside, you’re all gooey. One little compliment and you melt.”

“That wasn’t one little compliment. It was a smile that could end wars and the only time you’ve ever said my first name and a metaphor about how you think of me that felt like a goddamn standing ovation.”

“It was pretty good, wasn’t it?”

When I turn my head and look at her, she’s grinning at me.

She pokes me in the ribs. “Now you do one.”

I cup her jaw in my hand and stroke my thumb over the lovely curve of her cheek. Gazing into her eyes, I murmur, “You’re a privilege I don’t deserve, but I’m going to spend the rest of both our lives trying to be worthy of you.”

She’s stunned for a moment, swallowing and blinking. Then she turns her face to my neck, closes her eyes, and says faintly, “If you make me cry again, the rest of your life will be very short.”

That makes me chuckle. “Now who’s the gooey one?”

Hiding her face, she shakes her head and says nothing.

Rolling onto my side, I gather her in my arms, bury my face in her hair, and inhale deeply. When she slides an arm around my waist and squeezes me, I feel as if someone just handed me a crown and ushered me into my new castle.

After a while, her voice muffled, she says, “I don’t know how to be a wife.”

“That’s okay. I don’t know how to be a husband.”

“No, I mean, I don’t know if I can be a wife. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a lot of baggage from the matrimony department.”

I stroke a hand over her shoulder and down her back, gently tracing the outlines of her scars. More than ever, I wish that worthless fuck of a dead husband of hers were alive.

Oh, what I would do to him. All the ugly and wonderful things.

“If it makes you feel better, I have zero expectations. If you’d let me look at you naked every once in a while, that would be grand, but other than that, you don’t have to do or be anything.”

Sounding confused, she says, “Are all Irishmen as easy to please as you are?”

“Are all Italian women as gorgeous as you are?”

“There are a million Italian women who look like me, Quinn. Tits, ass, lots of sass. It runs in the gene pool.”

“Hmm. Sounds like I need to book a trip to Italy.”

She slaps me on the back, making me chuckle.

“That was a joke.”

She mutters, “Better be.”

“I’m sorry, is this the same person who accused me of being jealous and possessive? Because hello, pot, meet the kettle.”

“I’ll put a bullet in that stupid kettle if you don’t shut up soon.”

My chest shaking with silent laughter, I roll on top of her, brushing her hair off her face.

She glares up at me with flashing eyes.

“My God,” I breathe, staring down at her lovely, livid face. “You’re a fine thing, Mrs. Quinn.”

“And you’re crushing me. How much do you weigh, anyway?”

“Dunno. Don’t bother with scales much.”

“Maybe you should buy one. You’re abnormally heavy.”

“It’s all the muscles.”

She sighs, closing her eyes.

“I have an idea.”

“The poor thing must be lonely inside that empty brain of yours.”

“Stop insulting me for a minute and listen. Let’s go shopping in the morning.”

She opens her eyes and quirks a brow.

“Do you not recall that the only item of clothing you currently have is a wedding dress?”

“Are you really suggesting I should go shopping for clothes wearing a wedding dress?”

“Hmm. That is a problem. I’ll have some things brought up from the boutique downstairs, then we’ll go shopping.”

“I have plenty of my own stuff to wear, Quinn. You don’t have to bother buying me anything.”

“Everything you own is black.”

“Oh. Right.” She pauses, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “And I threw out all my old clothes after I moved in with Gianni.”

“So we’ll go shopping. While we’re doing that, I’ll send some lads to your house to pack your things.”

I watch her expression carefully to see what she thinks of that idea.

After a moment of processing it, she says, “Because I’m moving in with you.”

I dip my head and press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Aye. If you want to.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Don’t be a bloody moron.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes.”

“I just wanted you to say it out loud.”

“I already told you before.”

Lowering her lashes, she whispers, “I know. But I like hearing it.”

It’s so bashful and so unlike her, it catches me completely off guard. It also charms the bejesus out of me.