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“You ruined my life!” she cried after him. “And by God, I am going to ruin yours in return.”

He stopped in his tracks and turned toward her with a smirk on his lips. “That cretin Hawkridge was right, you are a tigress. Only there is nothing left to ruin, mo tíogar. And if you think that getting rid of spirits will make me sober, you better think again. Because I can drink elsewhere just as well.”

“Wouldn’t that be a blessing,” she countered. Then, her voice rising with every word, she cried, “At least, this way, this house will be clean from the smell of foul drunken men and your cheap harlots!”

Heat crept up her neck and settled at the crests of her cheeks. Tyrone narrowed his eyes, his gaze dropping to her lips, his voice silky. “Ah! Is that what this was all about? You got rid of all the alcohol in the house to get me into bed with you?”

“What?” Her voice was a breathy whisper.

“You said to not grace your bed while I am drunk, but now you practically ensured my sobriety.” He reached for his shirt buttons and started undoing them.

She took two steps back, her dark brown eyes frantic as he freed his shirt from his breeches and threw it over his head. He advanced toward his wife, like a panther stalking his prey.

“If that’s what you wanted, all you had to do was ask.”

“I think you should leave,” she breathed out.

She took another step and her back hit the wall. She was trapped between him and the wall, her chest rising and falling with frantic breaths. Tyrone slapped his hands on either side of her head, caging her with his body.

“No, mo tíogar,” he whispered in her ear as he leaned closer and had the satisfaction of seeing goosebumps run across her skin. “I think it is time we made it official. It is time I made you my wife.”

His face descended on hers and in a moment, he caught her lips between his. She stood, unmoving, as he kissed her with unreserved ardor.

He wanted to frighten her. He wanted to show her that he was the master in the house and she was a mere guest. A nobody. She was to obey him.

But the sweet taste of her lips quickly eclipsed all his other thoughts and feelings. He turned into a rabid animal with the only salvation the lips of the woman before him. He lowered his hands and snaked his arms around her waist, bringing her aflush with his body.

She gasped and Tyrone took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside her wet crevice. Tyrone teased her with his tongue, tickling her, playing with her, exploring the corners of her mouth, and tasting her lovely, sweet flavor. Instead of drawing away, her hands shyly touched his chest and traveled up, heightening the burning sensations inside him.

She didn’t even kiss him back. She just touched him lightly, let out a breathy moan, and that was enough for Tyrone to lose his head. His one hand traveled to her neck while the other still held her by the waist. His fingers tangled in her hair, removing the pins she’d meticulously placed just a moment ago, and tugged on her—short?—locks. She sighed, the sound reverberating through his entire body. Her head fell back and Tyrone released her lips, peppering kisses along her jaw, her neck, and lower still.

What am I doing?

Tyrone paused before his lips touched the soft mounds over her bodice, his warm breath hitting against her skin and chasing the gooseflesh along her chest. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to stop this madness, and stepped away.

She swayed and had to catch his arm to steady herself.

Her breathing was frantic, her eyes wild, her short hair mussed. She was gorgeous like that. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her cheeks red from passion, her eyes glowing. She licked her lips and his gaze followed the motion. He wanted to kiss her again.

What madness was that?

He looked into her brown eyes, brilliant with unshed tears, and saw the entire world reflected in them—the world that was full of color again, the way it was when he was drunk. And perhaps he was drunk, just not on alcohol, but on the woman standing before him.

He didn’t want her to know how off-balance he felt just then. And luckily, she seemed just as disoriented as he.

So, he took a deep breath and gave a sharp nod. “I hope you learned your lesson.”

Chapter Eleven

Emily sat at the dinner table later that evening, surrounded by the comforting chatter of her family, yet she struggled to focus on the conversation. Her mind kept drifting back to her husband and their morning encounter in his bedchamber.

She blinked, attempting to regain her focus, but it quickly drifted to the dreamland where her husband held her tightly to the hot and hard plains of his body as his tongue probed her mouth with a firm but tender insistence.

What was it about his kiss that made her a slave to these thoughts?

She’d been kissed before. Multiple times. And not a single kiss had felt like this animalistic ravagement. She wasn’t even sure she could call that onslaught of his lips, tongue, and teeth a kiss.

He’d wanted to humiliate her. To bend her into submission. And for one short moment, he’d succeeded.