ALEX WAS RESTLESS and exhausted. Not a good combination.
What a fucking day. So much had happened. Too much.
They’d dragged themselves home after dropping Lacey off with Tori and Drae. She shouldn’t be alone right now, and since the boys were already used to sharing sleeping quarters, it seemed best that the two families support each other.
It was hard to ignore the tense vibe between Drae and his wife. In fact, it seemed a bit on the intense side, but their problems had to wait. Figuring out Cam’s status and ending this disturbing situation came first.
He caught the distinctive sound the enormous wood front door made when it opened and closed followed immediately by a tremor of awareness. Meghan. She was home after wandering down to the casita to check in with Finn.
Catching her halfway across the large foyer as she headed straight for the wide staircase, he knew right away that something was up. Avoiding him and scurrying upstairs wasn’t a good sign.
“Baby?” he called out.
Her head shook a strong ‘no,’ and she waved him off—all without looking his way. Alex swallowed hard. Uh-oh. He watched in silence as she ascended the grand stairway. Restraining the surge of primal satisfaction watching her ass unleashed inside him was useless, so he pushed away the anxiety and enjoyed the view.
His sexy-as-fuck Irish goddess was a full-fledged, card-carrying cowgirl now. In a pair of everyday western boots and a short white cotton dress, she topped off the look with a denim jacket. With her gorgeous red hair curling down her back in a red ponytail, she got his dick twitching just by swinging her curvacious hips as she climbed the stairs.
His manhood was awake and insistent, but her rigid back and the way she ran for cover told him his wife was not herself, which meant he had work to do.
Meghan huffed out a low growl and went to stand by the doors to their private balcony patio. Ordinarily, even though it was insanely hot, she would open them and let the hot, dry air envelop her. As it was, she barely had the will to keep standing.
Finn’s angry words and the way he cut her down to size—little, tiny dismissible pieces—wounded her deeply. She felt as though he’d ripped out and crushed a part of her. Was she really a snobby overachiever? What about all her happy family memories? Were they false? Was her husband an arrogant shit-fuck? And what about Justice? Finn made it sound like they were all a bunch of rich, do-gooding assholes.
Oh, my god.
She was shocked to discover her little brother wasn’t much of a fan. And the way he spoke about Alex. Ugh. She shuddered remembering the venom in his voice.
Alex. She sighed. The Major. Her beloved. Fuck. She blew past him like he was a valet waiting for the keys. Meghan hung her head when emotion made her nose tingle and tears pooled in her eyes.
Dammit. Too much noise was in her head, and it only kept getting louder. Her brother’s alternate view of their happy family life was messing with her Chi in a big way. She was coming apart from the deluge of overwhelming feelings he’d set loose. Unable to get control and with her breathing spiraling out of control, she covered her ears, her hands squeezing against her skull—frantically trying to shut it all out.
Meghan picked up her mate’s scent the second he came into the room.
Hot leather after it’d been in the sun.
Swisher Sweet.
Control—the scent of.
The sexy cologne he liked with hints of spice and pepper.
Oh, thank god. Alex was here. He’d make it better. Help get her shit together so she could think clearly.
Lowering her hands, she willed the tightly clenched fists to release and took several deep breaths. When she was ready, her eyes swung toward him.
She stopped breathing. His expression was intense. Everything about Alex that drew her in from the moment they met was on display. Authority and a powerful virility surrounded him like a suit of armor. His watchful eyes—eyes that saw into the darkest corner of her soul—watched her with fierce concern. He seemed angry. Not at her but still, it was there.
“Alex.” Her broken, husky croak sounded more like a plea than anything else.
The space between them evaporated, and she felt his untamed dominance drawing her in. Her husband had a natural grace about him when he was in beast mode. Some unnamed part deep inside exploded with relief. Alex would take care of her.
Bending close, he said, “Shh. Be still.”
When he stepped behind her and she felt his fingers take the collar of the jacket before carefully peeling it down her arms, her composure started to return.
The jacket was tossed aside. She saw it hit a table before falling into a pile on the floor. Alex stood behind her and ran his hands down her bare arms. Goose bumps prickled across her skin. She melted like an ice cube on the summer pavement when he moved in closer and crowded her with his body.
She jumped when he bit her earlobe. “You know what to do, Meghan.”
He didn’t need to say another word. She’d already forgotten whatever had her so agitated and unglued ten minutes ago. Her husband—the man she trusted with the tiniest fiber of her being—was in control. She was in his hands. Completely. A welcome calm swept through her.
He waited a few seconds before releasing her. Then without missing a beat, he knelt at her feet and went about removing her boots. She loved when he did this. Alex never seemed more manly or dominant than when he was taking care of her. Being handled so gently and being taken care of with such tenderness silenced every sound in her head.
All right. Well, fuck. When Alex came into their bedroom and found his wife clutching her head while her body language screamed defeat, it was not what he expected. At all.
A raging bonfire worthy of Burning Man fired off inside him as seething anger grabbed hold. He was going to fucking kill whoever or whatever caused his wife’s upset—even if it was her brother.
Though he probably learned something new every day—women were funny like that—he was pretty damn sure he knew Meghan’s entire emotional range. She held nothing back from him. Ever.
But the condition he found her in was like nothing he’d seen before. Something was very, very wrong. Alex knew asking would get him nothing. She’d tell him when she was ready. It was a trait of his wife’s that he’d accepted. And admired. She didn’t suffer wimps or fools lightly—herself included. When something bothered her, she dealt with it internally and privately. Once it made sense or she’d reached a decision, then and only then would she share.
Her vibe, though, was more than a little unsettling. This, whatever this was, wasn’t an ordinary upset. Some serious shit had to have gone down for her to be so raw.
Alex knew what he had to do.
With her boots removed, he stood and inhaled her response. Desire so strong he tasted it rolled off her skin. Alex sighed. He knew what she wanted. Knew perfectly well that she expected him to take her. But every instinct he had was shouting away the impulse. What she wanted wasn’t necessarily what she needed.
He reached for her hand, kissed it, and then walked her to the center of the room. “Kneel.”
That was all he said.
Her eyes darted to his. He met her gaze with a heavy look. “Kneel.”
He stood still and waited. He’d given a command and was more than a bit surprised she hadn’t automatically complied. Alex saw her swallow and bite her lip. The noise in her head wasn’t close to being quieted. They had some work to do.
His wife made a beautiful picture in her plain white dress with her sun-kissed golden skin and gorgeous red hair as she lowered like the majestic goddess he knew her to be, elegantly kneeling and resting on her feet. She looked up at him expectantly.
“Eyes down. Hands in your lap.”
His lips quirked at the corner with a smile when she submitted. This was a new power play. One he used carefully. It was quite effective when employed at the right time, and since everyone insisted he was a master tactician, he figured this was what they meant.
Leaving her in position, Alex stayed in her immediate vicinity—moving about the room to set things up. He drew back the soft quilt on the bed, arranged all the pillows, and turned on both nightstand lights, dimming them to low.
Standing directly in front of her, he made sure to give her a glimpse of his pirate stance—she loved that shit. Taking his good sweet time, Alex unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt and then separated each button down the front. Peeling off the plain cotton button-down, he dropped it to the floor. For shits and grins, he smacked his hand flat on his abdomen and rubbed. Little reminder for her to swoon over. His body was another thing she loved the shit out of.
Over the next ten minutes, he sat and took off his boots. Stretched. He unbuckled his belt, pulling it through the loops on his pants, and dropped it with a thud to the floor. Though she couldn’t look directly at him, he made sure she heard his entire strip tease.
Her breathing steadied, and her shoulders dropped. Alex studied her from behind. She was beginning to find her way. Good. He nodded.
In their bathroom, he readied the tub. He lit candles in deep hurricanes and made sure a huge stack of towels was handy. As he passed through their shared dressing room on his way back to the bedroom, he spied a silken robe—turquoise colored—and picked it up along with a brush off her vanity. He also wisely chucked his trousers and pulled on a pair of sweatpants.
When he returned, he found her kneeling calmly, her breathing slow and steady.
Dropping the brush on the table between their two easy chairs, he took the robe to their bed and laid it down. Watching her intently, Alex breathed deeply and prepared himself. The dominant and submissive roles that came so naturally to both of them were a serious responsibility for him. Though they laughed at the tired clichés surrounding the language, he was, in fact, her master.
The acknowledgment brought on a powerful surge of protective energy. She was his wife. His mate. The other half people write about. As long as he lived, Alex would honor her trust and loving submission with all the love, respect, and commitment he had inside him.
His Irish goddess was more precious to him than life.
When he was ready, he took one final look and committed the vision she made to memory. His enchanting and self-possessed wife on her knees, an air of serenity surrounding her as she waited on the pleasure of her master.
He approached and gently laid his hand on her head, acknowledging her submission, and then moved to cup her chin. “Meghan.”
Her gaze slowly rose to his. Despite the outward calm, he saw the turmoil in her green eyes. And a plea. She was completely in his hands. The power Alex wielded was staggering.
Holding his hand out, she put hers into his firm grip and eased off her feet, allowing him to pull her off the floor slowly. Without saying a word, Alex kept hold of her hand and guided them to the side of the bed.
She walked calmly at his side with him acutely aware of her bare feet and brightly painted toes. As far as Irish Fuck Goddesses went, she was an original. With curves for miles, she was voluptuous and sexy as hell. It was astonishing that something as simple as bare feet only managed to up her desirability quotient.
Taking her over to their bed was a subtle head fuck. Meghan would expect him to make love to her, and normally, he would. But something was going on with her that demanded a different approach. Until he knew what was making her so unhappy or had a better feel for whatever the fuck was messing with her, he was going to stick with his gut.
Moving behind her, he gathered his wife’s incredibly long mane of soft curls and moved all of it over one shoulder. After gently kissing her exposed neck, he started to unzip the dress. As he bared each inch of skin to his gaze, he saw her skin prickling with goose bumps.
Awareness?
Excitement?
Probably both.
When the zipper was all the way down, he pushed the open sides off her shoulders and helped slide her arms through the white cotton until it hung on her hips. Seeing the way she shimmied her ass when he continued shoving the dress off her body did nothing to cool the firestorm raging in his dick.
Alex gathered the discarded dress and draped it over the foot of the bed. When he returned to her, he couldn’t help but admire the provocative lingerie she wore with such assurance.
White, like the dress, but in no way virginal or coy, the sheer lace on the bra was so delicate and transparent that her spectacular tits were on full display right down to the pink nipples he knew were tasty and highly responsive to his touch.
The matching white panties were just as sheer. The thatch of visible Irish auburn added even more fuel to his raging libido. So enthralled was he with eyeing up his wife’s lusty assets that Alex almost missed her chewing on a lip. Whatever had her in its grip was stronger and more powerful than he’d first thought.
He knew just what to do. She needed a disconnect cue. No fucking problem.
Subjecting her to a thorough and somewhat cocky once-over, Alex took his time with the visual inspection, moving slowly until he circled around behind her once again. His eyes drifted down until he saw it through the decadently sheer panties.
The Marquez crest tattooed on her magnificent ass.
Without hesitating, he crouched behind her and whisked the panties down her legs. That tattoo now bared to his inspection, he leaned in, breathed deeply, and then licked the griffin entwined in vines ~ the symbol of his ultimate possession.
“Mine,” he growled against her fleshy ass. A bold caress later, she shuddered from head to toe.
Disconnect in progress.