by Henry, Jane
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I encourage. “Just like that, sweetness.”
I rock my hips and she rocks hers, moaning and panting as she chases her own pleasure.
“I love how easily you respond,” I tell her.
“Hard”—pant—“not”—gasp—"to.”
I slap her ass in approval, pull out, then thrust back in to the hilt. She keens with pleasure and rocks her hips with me.
I unleash myself on her, thrusting in and out without pausing, no words needed. I know she’s on the verge of coming when she throws her head back and pants my name. “Keenan oooohhhh.”
“Come, sweet girl,” I order, my own release ripping through me. We ride the spasms of pleasure until we’re spent, panting and sated. Her head falls to the headboard and I drop my forehead to her shoulder.
“I love you, sweet fae,” I whisper. “And I love that you’re mine.”
“And I love you, Keenan.”
We clean up in silence and I lead her to bed. It’s my favorite part of the night, when she snuggles up onto my chest and rests on me, her body folded up to mine as if she’s meant to be right here, just like that.
I brush my fingers through her hair and hold her, rocking her tonight, though I think it’s more for me than her.
“Do you really think we’ll have a baby soon?” I ask her.
“I do,” she says. “And I hope we do. It’ll please your mother so.”
It pleases me that she cares about this at all.
“We should take a honeymoon first,” I say to her. “Don’t you think?”
“Paris!”
I pause. “Have you rehearsed this?” I ask warningly.
She giggles and hides her head beneath my chin. “Mayyybe.”
“With whom?”
“Megan may have suggested it.”
I love how easily she’s become one of them. One of us.
“Paris is doable,” I say. “In fact, I’d love that. I’ve got business to tend to there. We need to see Nolan home as well, and there’s other Clan business, but once we’re settled we can do it.
“And to think…” her voice trails off.
“Aye? Go on.”
“A few months ago, I sat alone in the tower. Overlooking the sea, but I didn’t even know who you are. And now… and now I’m part of the family.”
I kiss her forehead and hold her to me. “One of the family,” I tell her. “And a gift of my heart.”
She reaches for my hand and entwines her fingers with mine.
“Tá mo chroí istigh ionat, Keenan,” she says. “My heart is in you. My everything is in you.”
I hold her to my heart and squeeze. “And I in you, sweet lass. Thank you. I love you, Caitlin McCarthy.”
She closes her eyes and smiles. How a woman like her can be pleased with a man like me, I may never know. But as the sun sets on today and rises on another, I give thanks for this woman. My beautiful, sweet wife.
My heart.
Epilogue
Caitlin
Six months later
A brisk wind stirs my hair as I walk to the top of the cliff, the very edge that overlooks the Irish Sea. Keenan’s had the lighthouse taken down, and in its place, there’s now a garden.
“New life will bloom here,” he said. It made me smile, how my stern, fearless leader of criminals has a romantic edge. The earth where the lighthouse once stood is surrounded by dark, rich soil, the seeds of the future garden planted only last week. But new life will bloom. Of that I’m certain.
Keenan sits on the cliff’s edge, looking out at the sea. He does this early in the morning, and it’s become our tradition. Many mornings, fog rises, or a fine mist. It’s often windy and a bit chilly, but it doesn’t deter him. A part of me wonders if he likes when the weather’s inclement. He’s certain to be alone then. While he overlooks the ocean, I bring him morning tea.
He doesn’t look up when I approach, but when I sit, he smiles at me.
“Good morning,” I say simply. My heart flutters when his green eyes meet mine, and his deep, husky voice greets me.
“Morning, lass.”
I sit beside him, with my own steaming mug of tea.
“I sat right here,” he said. “The morning of the day I found you.”
“Did you?”
“Aye. I knew something was brewing but didn’t know what.”
“I was starving to death and friendless,” I say. I don’t need to tell him how drastically that’s changed. I now have a family, friends who love me, and my needs are met in spades. I shiver when a brisk wind picks up, tinged with the salt of the sea. I breathe it in. My chest expands when my lungs fill. Keenan reaches his arm out and stretches it across my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I put my head on his shoulder, shielded from the cold.
We stop talking for a few minutes. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’m marveling at the changes we’ve seen in such a short time. Nolan, bless him, my new-found brother and secretly my favorite of the lot, has been released from rehab. He hasn’t touched a drink and swears he won’t again. There’s a crease on Keenan’s forehead I swear Nolan put there, but Keenan’s been patient with him. We all have. Nolan’s family. As of yesterday, though, Keenan’s put him to work. I’m intentionally kept out of the inner dealings of The Clan, but I know that Nolan’s latest personal mission has been keeping the nosy reporter who will keep trailing The Clan in check.
My husband leads his fierce group of soldiers with fearlessness, bravery, and honesty. Though I know they skirt the law, and that old Father Finn shakes his head at what they do, I love this brotherhood of men. They live by a code unique to them, symbolized by the Celtic knot tattooed on their bodies. Keenan’s too humble to talk of it, but Maeve explained the knot they wear.
“’Tis the Dara. It symbolizes wisdom, strength, leadership, and power,” she said. “A reminder that they’re bound by blood, honor, and loyalty.”
And they are. They fight like brothers do. They tease, they drive each other crazy. But they’d lay down their lives for each other.
We visit the school sometimes, and Keenan’s allowed me to befriend the women who teach there. His cousin Megan’s taken a liking to me. She’s bold and fearless, and in many ways my opposite. But she’s got a good heart and a ready laugh. Keenan’s possessive of my time, though.
Keenan squeezes my shoulder.
“A question, Caitlin.”
“Yes?”
His eyes still watch the endless waves as he clears his throat. “Are you happy, lass?”
My only hesitation comes from the lump that’s suddenly formed in my throat. I swallow hard a few times before answering.
“Keenan, I’m happier than I ever thought possible.”
His lips tip up in a rare grin, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes. “That pleases me, sweetheart.”
“Keenan?”
“Mmm?”
“Are you?”
He thinks for long minutes before he speaks, and I wonder if he’s going to answer at all. Finally, he nods. “Aye. I carry responsibility, and you know that. For my men. My brothers. My mother. For you, and the little one you carry.” He places his hand thoughtfully on my swollen belly. “But every night, I come home to you. You’re a precious gift to me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, but I will spend the rest of my days honoring that privilege.” He cups my jaw and kisses my cheek.
He’s introduced me to so much. The world outside my door, from the highest mountain peaks of Dublin to the lowliest pub in the valleys. He’s shown me sunsets from the peak of Cold Stone Castle, and held my hand when I dipped my toes in the Irish Sea. He gave me my first kiss. My first taste of what it means to make love. My first earth-shattering orgasm. He even took me to a club his brothers frequent, and shown me just how much pain can heighten pleasure.
“I’ve got something for you,” he says, and he dips his head almost shyly as he reaches into his pocket.
“Do you?”
He gives me a boyish smile. “Aye.”
His hands shake a little when he draws a slim, narrow box from his pocket.
“Keenan… what is it?”
“Open it, then.” He hands me the box. “Our wedding wasn’t a memory I want you to keep,” he says, his brows furrowed. “It was pragmatic and had a violent end. I want to give you something more. Something to remind you that you belong to me.”
I open the lid with trembling fingers. I’m not sure why this makes me nervous. Keenan isn’t a sentimental man, so gestures like this bear greater weight. In the box is a slim golden necklace, and at the very center, the Dara knot.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, drawing the slender, delicate piece of jewelry out of the box.
He takes the necklace from my palm and unfastens the clasp. “It locks, lass. Won’t come off unless I remove it myself.”
“A collar, then?”
His brows rise in surprise. “You know?”
I nod. “You collared me once with a thicker, clumsier sort of thing. But Megan told me about them.”
He snorts. “Of course she did.” Then he sobers, and his face once more takes on a bit of a boyish look. “Will you wear it, Caitlin?”
He botched the proposal and the Martins botched our wedding. This feels like a chance at redemption, a chance to make our union right.
I lift my chin and look him straight in the eyes. “Absolutely. Put it on.”
His booming laugh startles me, echoing off the cliffs that overlook the sea.
“I love you,” he says softly when he’s finished laughing. He yanks me to his chest so hard I can hardly breathe. “I love you.”
“And I love you. Now please stop squashing me to death,” I say, my grinning face smashed up against his hard chest.
He lets me go, but not before he kisses my forehead. “Let’s go,” he says, getting to his feet and taking my hand. I rise with him, and he gives me a playful smack on the butt.
“So how will you take this off if necessary?” I ask him.
“I’ve got the key.”
I smile to myself. He does. He owns the key to my collar and the key to my heart.
We walk hand in hand back to the house, the sea at our backs, and a lifetime before us.
From the author: I hope you’ve enjoyed reading Keenan: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance.
I am so grateful for your support! Please read on for previews of my other books you may enjoy.
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I scowl at the computer screen in front of me. As pakhan, the weight of everything falls onto my shoulders, and today is one day when I wish I could shrug it off.
A knock comes at my office door.
“Who is it?” I snap. I don’t want to see or hear anything right now. I’m pissed off, and I haven’t had time to compose myself. As the leader of the Boston Bratva, it’s imperative that I maintain composure.
“Nicolai.”
“Come in.”
Nicolai can withstand my anger and rage. Over the past few months, he’s become my most trusted advisor. My friend.
The door swings open and Nicolai enters, bowing his head politely to greet me.
“Brother.”
I nod. “Welcome. Have a seat.”
When I first met Nicolai, he wore the face of a much older man. Troubled and anguished, he was in the throes of fighting for his woman. The woman who now bears his name and his baby. But I’ve watched the worry lines around his eyes diminish, his smile become more ready. While every bit as fierce and determined to dutifully fill his role as ever, he’s grown softer because of Marissa, more devoted to her.
“You look thrilled,” he says, quirking a brow at me. Unlike my other men, who often quake in my presence, having been taught by my father before me that men in authority are to be feared and obeyed, Nicolai is more relaxed. He’s earned the title of brother more readily than even my most trusted allies.
“Fucking pissed,” I tell him, pushing up from my desk and heading to the sideboard. I pour myself a shot of vodka. It’s eleven o’clock in the fucking morning, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve been up all night. “Drink?”
He nods silently and takes the proffered shot glass. We raise our drinks and toss them back together. I take in a deep breath and place the glass back on the sideboard before I go back to my desk.
“Want to tell Uncle Nicolai your troubles?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.
I roll my eyes at him.
I made an unconventional decision when I inducted Nicolai into our brotherhood. The son of another pakhan, Nicolai came here under an alias, but I knew he had the integrity of a brother I wanted in my order. I offered him dual enrollment in both groups, under both the authority of his father and me, and he readily agreed. We’ve come to be good friends, and I would trust the man with my life.
“Uncle Nicolai,” I snort, shaking my head. None of my other brothers take liberties like Nicolai does, but none are as trustworthy and loyal as him, so he gets away with giving me shit unlike anyone else. “It’s fucking Aren Koslov.”
Nicolai grimaces. “Fucking Aren Koslov,” he mutters in commiseration. “What’d the bastard do now?” He shakes his head. “Give me one good reason to beat his ass and I’ll take the next red-eye to San Diego.”
He would, too. Nicolai inspires fear in our enemies and respect in our contemporaries. Aren falls into both categories.
“Owed me a fucking mint a month ago, and hasn’t paid up,” I tell him. I spin my monitor around to show him the number in red. “And you don’t need me to tell you we need that money.” As my most trusted advisor, Nicolai knows we’re right on the cusp of securing the next alliance with the Spanish drug cartel. Our location in Boston, near the wharf and airport, puts us in the perfect position to manage imports, but the buy-in is fucking huge. We have the upfront money, but the payout from San Diego would put us in a moderately better financial position.
Nicolai leans back in his chair, rubbing his hand across his jawline.
“And you have meeting after meeting coming up with politicians, leaders, and the like.”
I eye him warily. Where’s he going with this?
“It’s easy to say you need money. But that isn’t what you need, brother.”
I roll my eyes. “I suppose you’re going to tell me what I need.”
“Of course.”
“Go on.”
“You know what you need more than the money?” he asks. I’m growing impatient. He needs to come out with it already.
I give him a look that says spill.
“You need a wife,” he says.
A wife?
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Sometimes I think your father dropped you on your head as a child,” I tell him. What bullshit. I look back at the computer screen, but Nicolai presses on.
“Tomas, listen to me,” he says, insistent. “Money comes and goes, and you know that. Tomorrow you could seal a deal with the arms trade you’ve been working, and you know our investments have been paying off in spades. But a good wife is beyond measure, and Aren has a sister.”
“You’ve been married, for what, two fucking days and you’re giving me this shit?” I reply, but my mind is already spinning with what he’s saying. I never dismiss Nicolai’s suggestions without really weighing my options. Aren is one of the youngest brigadiers in America and has a reputation that precedes him everywhere he goes. He commands men under him, and I’m grateful he hasn’t risen higher in power.
He grunts at me and narrows his eyes. “I’ve loved Marissa for a lot longer than we’ve had rings on our fingers.”
“I know it, brother,” I tell him. “Just giving you shit. Go on.”
“Aren’s sister is single, lives with him on their compound. Young. I don’t know much about her, and haven’t seen a recent picture, but I met her years ago when I first came to America. And she was a beauty then. I imagine
she’s only grown more beautiful.”
Seconds ago, this idea seemed preposterous, but now that I’m beginning to think about it, I’m warming to the idea.
“You think he’d let her go to pay off his debt?”
“With enough persuasion? Hell yeah. And a good leader needs a wife. You’ve seen it yourself. There’s something to be said for having a woman to come home to. The most powerful men in the brotherhood are all married.”
He’s right. Just last week, I met with Demyan from Moscow and his wife Larissa. He brings her everywhere with him. The two are inseparable. And he’s risen to be one of the most powerful men the Bratva has ever known.
“And face it, Tomas. You’re not exactly in the position to meet a pretty girl at church.”
I huff out a laugh. The men of the Bratva rarely obtain women by traditional means.
I lift my phone and dial Lev.
“Boss?”
“Get me a picture of Aren Kosolov’s sister,” I tell him. Our resident hacker and computer genius, Lev works quickly and efficiently.
“Give me five minutes,” he says.
“Done.”
I hang up the phone and turn to Nicolai. “I want to see her first,” I tell him.
“Of course.”
“How’s Marissa?”
He fills me in about home, his voice growing softer as he talks about Marissa, but I’m only half-listening to him. I’m thinking about the way a woman changes a man, and how he’s changed because of her.
Do I need a wife?
The better question is, do I want Aren Kosolov’s sister to be the one?
My phone buzzes, and Nicolai gestures for me to answer it. A text from Lev with a grainy picture pops up on the screen, followed by a text.
There are no recent pictures. This was from a few years ago, but it should give you a good idea.
Still, it’s a full profile picture. I murmur appreciatively. Wavy, unruly chestnut hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, with fetching tendrils curling around her forehead. Haunting hazel colored eyes below dark brows. High cheekbones, her skin flushed pink, and full, pink lips. She’s thin and graceful, though if I’m honest, a little too thin for me. The women I bed tend to be sturdier and curvy, able to withstand the way I like to fuck.
