Twenty minutes later,I’m pacing the basement while Connor is sprawled lazily on the leather couch, so content, he’s like the cat that got the canary.
Or, in this case, the Owed who is convinced he has his Offering.
I’m still wearing the ring. Once I got over the shock of realizing he slipped it on my finger while I was slipping, my instinctive reaction was to take it off and throw it as far away from me as possible.
In response, Connor caught up calmly from the bed. He retrieved the ring, stalking back over to me as I sat up, pressing my back against the headboard. Next thing I know, he’d caged me in, and before I could panic at how close he was, he was kissing me.
Not on the hair. Not on the cheek. He was kissing me on the mouth, taking it deep, basically fucking me with his tongue—and I let him. Worse, I encouraged him. I dug my fingers into hischest, clutching him closer to me, and when he finally broke the kiss, I was wearing his ring on my finger again.
I took it off. Pissed I let him manipulate me so easily, I slammed it into his chest.
He fisted my hair, kissing me a second time. Once again, I was helpless to resist him. The ring made its way to my fingeragain, and the smirk on his face when he pressed his forehead against mine told me that he could play this game with me all day.
So I left the ring on. Pushing his shoulder, I shoved him away from me so that I could put some space between us. Eventually, I grabbed a notebook, and now I’m trying to explain to Connor that just putting a ring on me while I was knocked-out does NOT make us married.
He agrees so readily, that I’m suspicious. You’d think by now that I would know better than to underestimate Connor Heyward.
Because, when he says, “I wanted to see it the ring fit, but don’t worry, Mrs. Heyward, by the end of this afternoon, we’ll be legally wed,” I think he’s well and truly lost it.
And that’s when he adds, “Father Francis is making a housecall, specifically so he can marry us. That’s good enough for the Order, babe. And don’t worry. I made a big enough donation to the church that he’ll conveniently forget he saw you until after we’re ready to make our big reveal as a happily married couple.”
Insane. He’s fuckinginsane.
He can’t do that. He can’t bribe a Catholic priest to perform a marriage ceremony and think that means we’re married. I mean, the entire diocese in Harmony Heights is crooked as fuck—we all know that—since they basically serve the King before God, but he can’t do that… can he?
Seems like he thinks he can, and since there’s no convincing him otherwise, I go with a different tactic.
What about your parents? Are they coming?
Can I beg Mr. and Mrs. Heyward to help me out of this madness.
Connor shrugs. “They’re busy.”
They don’t want to see you married?
“They just want me to be happy, sweetheart. And once we’re married, I’ll be very happy.”
Nuts, nut, nuts, nuts,nuts.
I scribble on a fresh page.
Afraid they’ll cut you off if they find out you stashed an Offering in your basement and are forcing her to marry you?
Connor looks at what I wrote. He snorts under his breath and, before I can tighten my grip on my pen, he eases it out of my grip.
He crosses outforcing.
I roll my eyes. He has to know that, if he pulls this off, he’s forcing me. He didn’t propose. He didn’t ask. He just put that ring on my finger as though it was a done deal.
Because he’scrazy.
Connor hands the pen back to me. “Do you know Paul Rutger?”
Weird change of subject, but I do and I nod.
“Right. So you know he’s the chief of police in town. Let me tell you something, sweetheart. Did you know that my dad is currently spending most nights being fucked in the ass by his wife while Paul double-teams Mom with Judge Mullins?”
Uh. No. I didn’t know that.