Keep Me (Sinful Manor, #1)

by Sara Cate

“What did he say?” I ask. “About me.” She stops and turns toward me with a crooked grin. “He said you were the rudest, meanest, most infuriating woman he’d ever met.” “And that made you think I’d be a good fit for this?” “No,” she replies with a shake of her head. “But he did.”

Without meaning to, I slip my tongue between her lips. She immediately stiffens, letting out the smallest whimper. Instead of pulling away or ending the kiss, I deepen it.

“You make me so angry,” he mutters. I manage one desperate gasp before his mouth crashes against mine. The kiss isn’t anything like our last two kisses. Those were performances. This is real.

“You’re all bark and no bite, my wee wife.” “Oh, I’ll bite,” I reply with fuming anger.

“I don’t know what’s going through your head, but you’re out of your mind if you think all of this has been pretending. Even when we’re alone. You are my wife, Sylvie. At the end of this year, you can try to leave, and if you piss me off enough, I might let you go. But I have a feeling you won’t. Because I don’t mean nothing to you, and you know it.”

“You can’t just fuck me into submission every time we fight.” I mumble in response. “Can’t I?”

“I need to be inside you, Sylvie. I need to make you my wife.” Goose bumps cascade across my skin as a wave of heat pummels me from the inside. Squirming in my seat, I turn toward him and find his mouth with my lips. The kiss is all the answer he needs. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Our eyes meet again, and he shoots me a soft smile. “Well, it’s official, darling,” he says softly. “You’re really my wife now.”

I never intended to fall in love with my wife. But Sylvie came to my home with a sense of loneliness that I related to. And even if she wants to deny it, somehow, we met in the middle.

He’s the last person on earth I want to love, but I can’t help it. I do.

That’s when Sylvie tightens her grip on my arm as if I’m being claimed. And I’m not going to lie, I sort of love it.

“Because I love her, you fucking twats. And I would never talk to her the way the pair of you do. And for your information,” I add, pulling open the front door to find a deluge coming down outside. I put my finger in Sylvie’s mother’s face this time as I lean in. “Your child is supposed to be the center of your universe, you ungrateful, selfish bitch.”

“Don’t you say that to me again, Sylvie Barclay. I don’t care about some stupid fucking contract. I love you. With my whole fucking chest, I love you. So don’t give me any of that shite about not being your real husband, because I’m right here. And I’ll never fucking leave you, not like they did.”

“So, no one else loves you. Big deal. But I’m here, mo ghràidh. And I am telling you that I will love you enough to make up for all of them. I will keep you, and you can trust me that no matter what you do, I won’t let you go. Because you’re mine, understand me?”

“We’re all a mess, but the trick is to find someone who thinks your mess is a masterpiece.

After a moment, she softly whispers, “I love you.” My heart starts to pound, and I have to force myself to breathe, but I try not to let it show. Instead, I stroke her back and let those three words wash over me. “I love you too, Sylvie.”

“Sylvie, you traveled across the world for me, and I kept you secluded in that house for nine long months. I knew that if I was going to make things right, then it was my turn to come to you. “And when you told me last month that you were waiting for me, I knew what I had to do.”

“I love you,” I whisper in return. “I mean it, Sylvie,” he says, lifting his eyes to my face. “I’m here, and I’m all yours. For as long or as much as you want me.” A smile stretches across my face as I pull his lips to mine. “I want you forever, Killian.” “Good,” he mumbles into the kiss.

“We will be fixing that as soon as I recover from this bloody jet lag.” “What?” I snap, staring at him in shock. “Getting married?” “Yes,” he mumbles. I let out a gasp as I try to move away. “You’re not even going to ask me first?” “I don’t need to ask you,” he complains. “Why not?” I shriek. “Because I know what you’ll say. What the fuck is the point of asking?” “To be romantic!”

“Fine. I’ll marry you again, but you have to stop calling me names like cow and wench,” I say with a moan as his growls turn into kisses. “No deal,” he replies curtly.