Passionate Obsession by D.M. Mortier

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Katia

Five days later, I was still lost for words and unsure on how to move forward. Mac didn’t come near me, except to have meals when the boys were present. I was still smarting from his anger. My gentle giant had again shown me a side of him that I had never seen. Again, he had gotten angry with me and stunned me rigid. Mac. Gentle, giving, mild-mannered Mac had lost his temper with such splendid passion. I had honestly been hoping that he would come to bed with some of that.

I was so damn disappointed that my bed remained lonely.

Four days ago had been the boys’ sixth birthday and the castle’s lawn had looked like a child’s fantasy. It seemed as if Mac had brought both Disney and Universal theme parks to Ireland for their day. I didn’t even want to think of the cost. For an entire day and late into the night, Splash Mountain, Space Mountain, Pirates of the Caribbean, Harry Potter, and Shrek were only some of the rides on the acres of lawn. The boys had been out on the rides all day and night, whooping and hollering at the top of their lungs with about seventy other children from the nearby town, barely giving the Iron Man birthday cake, the various kinds of junk food, including fries, burgers, hot dogs, pizza, and nuggets, a passing glance.

Remembering their unholy exuberance, I shook my head in resignation. This man really had more money than God. How was I going to keep these boys from being spoiled little brats?

Today was the day that Mac had made me his wife and the boys his. In the past, we had also celebrated the event as a family, not like a wedding anniversary but more like a once-a-year family day that we spent exclusively with each other. So far today, Mac hadn’t even acknowledged it. The boys brought me breakfast in bed as though it was Mother’s Day, but no Mac. The connecting door between our bedrooms remained firmly closed since he arrived home.

He spent the day partially working with the estate managers, the afternoon with the boys, and treated me as though I wasn’t even there. I understood the need for his review of the estate because he hadn’t visited Ireland, according to the head housekeeper, in almost a year. She at least knew that, as his wife, I had no idea that he had visited Ireland at all.

In the afternoon, I had sat on the balcony and watched with helpless fascination as Mac, stripped down to his waist with only jogging pants on, had run through a few fighting techniques on the lawn with the boys.

If I hadn’t seen the theme park features and rides on the lawn days ago, I would have thought it never happened. The staff had restored the castle grounds completely by the next morning. Clearly, Mac didn’t employ over one hundred people to run the castle operations for nothing. With a fully functioning stud farm and a vineyard, the staff complement was essential. Castle Donegal was more than an estate. It was a community, with its own cafeteria, school/nursery for the children of the employees, laundromat, and small Catholic chapel. It was impressive what Mac had been able to achieve with so many other responsibilities. If nothing else, I had to admire him for that.

It was as if I was there on that balcony as two separate beings. On the one hand, as a proud mother, I watched my sons, clearly seeing that someday they would be as imposing and impressive as their father. They imitated Mac’s tactic and mannerisms so precisely it brought a huge smile to my face. However, the other part of me was still despairing of the situation between Mac and me. I kept playing and replaying our conversation from five days ago. He made it seem as though I was being unreasonable and had left me standing there speechless at his anger. Why the hell was he angry?

I have had to deal with one shock after another. I hadn’t even mentioned that he had dumped me here in Ireland, in a bloody castle no less, without any warning of what was expected of me. I found out from his staff that he was the Duke of Donegal, which made me the duchess. Me! A duchess. What the hell?

It was a role I was ill-equipped to handle and had caused me inordinate embarrassment over the past month. The staff’s behavior in England made so much sense now; even the opulence and existence of that house in England made sense now. Why didn’t he explain then?!

Mac’s butler was forever correcting me on proper protocol. What the hell did I know about running a household or estate of this magnitude or hosting a tea party, organizing charitable events, or visiting with dignitaries? Why didn’t he tell me about being a damn duke? See what I mean? He is always leaving something out and acting as if it’s for my own good. How is complete ignorance beneficial to me?

I was the one wronged, right? And the bastard had the nerve to tell me to deal with it! Argh! I am entitled to know the truth about the man I am married to. In this case, I had responsibilities coming out the wazoo!

I should have been told that, when I am sixty years old, with extra cellulite on my thighs and ass and my breasts touching my belly, that my husband is probably still going to look like he just stepped out of a man’s fitness magazine. Shouldn’t I know that, in twenty years from now, he will probably start looking for a newer model for his wife? And there it was. The reason I was really pissed at him. I mean, what am I supposed to do with this information? How am I supposed to “deal with it”?!

“Good evening, Your Grace.”

My maid, or should I say personal assistant, interrupted my unsettling musings. I gritted my teeth and turned valiantly, trying not to squirm. I learned very early that if my maid came looking for me, it didn’t bode well. She was always dressing me, trying to organize meet-and-greet events for me, putting together schedules of activities, and basically trying to get me to be the Duchess of Donegal. Poor woman, she had no idea that I was a lost cause.

“Your Grace, His Grace asked that dinner be served in the formal dining room at eight.”

“Deloris, Mac wants to have dinner in a formal dining room that serves over one hundred guests?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Deloris didn’t even bat an eyelash at my less than gracious question.

“Right. Is my husband expecting guests?” It is our anniversary, and he is forcing me to entertain a bunch of snooty people.

“I don’t know the details, Your Grace,” Deloris said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Your dress, shoes, and jewelry have been laid out in your dressing room.”

“I’m sure that they are.” I gave her a short disbelieving laugh. When I first arrived at the castle, it had stunned me to have top designers, jewelers, and even a stylist brought to the castle specifically for me. Initially I had balked at the fuss but quickly learned when I attended my first tea party how important being impeccably dressed was to one’s confidence. If it hadn’t been for Deloris’ guidance, I would have made my first faux pas in front of Mac’s exulted neighbors. Now, I knew to trust Deloris implicitly when it came to dressing appropriately. “Well, if you’re dressing me, that answers my question about guests,” I said drily.

Deloris didn’t respond. She disappeared into my bathroom.

I didn’t have to guess what she was doing. It seemed that ever since I got here I have suddenly become an inept adult. I couldn’t even run my own bath or dress myself. Some women may think that they would love being pampered like this but let them imagine a grown woman trying to insist on washing your private bits. Yeah, go ahead, imagine that shit. Deloris learned pretty damn fast to not go there with me. There were some things I refused to compromise on.

An hour and a half later, after being washed, exfoliated, buffed, and moisturized, my body was squeezed into, with the help of the sexiest black satin corset I’d ever seen, a spectacular glistening silver halter dress with matching strappy stilettoes. Looking at my image in the floor-length mirror, I didn’t even want to think what this custom-made designer dress cost. The fact that my bountiful bosom fit so perfectly into the lined cups made whatever price worth it. Not even a hint of spillage. The dress, although elegant with its crystal beaded train, made me look incredibly sexy and displayed my curves to the best advantage. The sparkling silver material made my chocolate skin glow and appear even more alluring. I grinned.

My skin looked buttery soft, and my makeup was flawlessly applied, making my almond-shaped eyes and thick sooty eyelashes appear more dramatically so, and the shimmering light pink lip-gloss made my lips look plump and lush. My hair was styled in a soft braided bun at the top with most of the dark silky curtain to fall down my back. It surprised me when Deloris insisted on placing a platinum diamond tiara to encase the bun. Not only did it look as though it cost a fortune, but it also made me feel every inch the duchess.

“Is Queen Elizabeth one of the guests tonight?” I turned a teasing smile on Deloris, who looked back at me indulgently but had yet to crack a smile since I arrived in Ireland. I was making it my life’s mission to make this woman smile. At least once!

“You are my fairy godmother, Deloris. Thank you.” That woman had some kind of magic touch, I was convinced. I had never gotten my hair to look so dark and appear so thick and glossy. “You’ve managed to make me look beautiful and svelte. Me. Svelte.” I couldn’t stop smiling because I knew I never looked better.

Deloris’ only response was a mild humph before she brushed and fussed around me until 7:50 p.m. and then hustled me out of the room.

I was buoyed by that fairy-tale confidence until I started down the flight of stairs to the dining room. I heard the soft music filtering through from the dining room. To any other human ear, the person probably wouldn’t have heard it, but I heard the smooth mellow sounds of Marvin Gaye. Soft mellow love songs. Songs from the heart and meant to evoke strong emotions. I stilled, overwhelmed with emotion and sudden insight. My heartbeat sped up, and I struggled to breathe as the love song reminded me of the night of passion with Mac. He had made love to me as though he loved me more than life itself, as though I were his air to breathe, his heartbeat, the other half of him. He hadn’t said it with words, obviously, but it was in every touch, every kiss, and in every smoldering gaze of his blue eyes.

I hadn’t needed my heightened senses to tell me what was so reverently given to me. I had felt and known his passionate possession and had reveled in it. Welcomed it.

I had let all the minute details of our journey here distract me from that most important fact. Mac loved me, and I loved him. This was what we were all about. This is what our family, Mac, me, and the boys, was about. We were about love. Always have been, always will be. How could I have forgotten that? We have always supported each other, protected each other, and most importantly, we loved each other.

I started down the flight of stairs, heart filled with the absolute assurance of my place in this family. It didn’t matter if I had twenty years with Mac or twenty minutes. I wanted to love him for as long as God allowed me to and feel blessed for every moment I was gifted with him.

Steps lighter now, I floated down the remaining steps and turned into the hallway leading to the dining room. Standing before the double doors, Mac stood tall, imposing. My gladiator. My husband. He was so beautiful in his black tux that molded his body to perfection. He was the embodiment of male elegance and suave with a pristine white silk shirt and a perfectly set black bowtie.

My heart galloped crazily as our gazes met and fused.

“Very beautiful, mo grá.” He took my hand in his, making me feel so very feminine and sensual as his much larger hand engulfed mine and his warm lips settled on my palm.

I knew what those words meant now. I had been determined to learn Irish Gaelic, if only to understand what Mac was whispering to me in bed. Mo grá meant my love. I smiled at him brilliantly. I was loved. And I loved him.

“What’s going on, Mac?” I could still hear soft love tunes in the background and noted the two footmen who were smartly dressed in their uniforms standing outside the dining room’s closed double doors. There weren’t that many heartbeats behind the doors, so I knew that our guests hadn’t arrived yet or there were very few guests.

“I’ve always thought that I was a patient man. A reasonable man.” His voice was velvety soft. “However, I find that, when it comes to you and to wanting your unconditional commitment, I am not patient or reasonable, mo chroí.” He wrapped an arm around my waist and held me.

My heart he called me. God, he smelled so damn good. I snuggled in closer but was careful of my makeup and hair. “I don’t understand what’s going on.” I didn’t really care. I just hoped that our dinner, whoever we were having it with tonight, would be over soon. I wanted to me alone with my man. “Who is coming to dinner tonight? Is it local dignitaries?”

He shook his head impatiently. “That’s not important. What’s important is whether you will accept me. Will you be my wife, Katia?”

I felt as though I was watching a movie that had started in the middle, with no plot lines, no intro. “But I am already your wife.” Did I miss something in his explanation five days ago? My heart started beating painfully in my chest.

“Yes, but now you know who I am. You know all about me. Would you have chosen me if given a choice? Would you have chosen this life? Or would you go to the saint?”

I frowned up at him, because he really wasn’t making any sense. “What? What saint?”

“Willard,” he muttered impatiently.

I rolled my eyes. What sane woman would not choose him? Was he crazy? Or was I crazy? Lord, this man was making me batty.

“Once you walk through the door, I won’t let you leave. I will take it that you choose us.” He dropped his arms from me and stepped back.

“Wait, where are you going?” I was so confused.

“The boys will escort you in.” He smiled wryly as the boys came as if on cue to stand on either side of me.

“You’re beautiful, Mama,” Colin whispered.

I smiled at how handsome the boys looked in their identical tuxedos to Mac’s. I was really confused now. I looked up to question Mac, but he had already left.

The boys took my hands and started dragging me along the hallway until we arrived at a door leading to the outside.

“Where are we going?” I laughed uncertainly. The boys seemed so intent on their task. I tugged their hands, forcing them to stop and look at me impatiently.

“Come, Mama. Hurry, or we’re going to be late,” Liam whispered anxiously.

“Late for what? The dining room is back there.”

Just then I heard the opening bars of “A Thousand Years” by Christina Perri in the distance, sounding from somewhere outside. The boys pulled me along and quickened their steps. Although the path was well lined with large flat limestone stones, it was still a harrowing journey on six-inch stilettos with two little boys who seemed to want to race. When we came to a stop to the entrance of the chapel, I was even more puzzled, as I heard many heartbeats then. The chapel that sat about fifty people comfortably was packed.

“We’re walking through the door, Mama,” Colin told me gravely.

I didn’t have time to process his cryptic announcement.

There was a footman at the ancient oak door. He smiled at the sight of the three of us and opened the door to the chapel.

I gasped at the tropical wonderland the chapel had been converted into. The vivid colors of Birds of Paradise, hibiscus, orchids, lignum vitae, and so many other green and flowering plants decorated the small chapel. And as my senses had told me, all of the pews were crammed full with our employees, some even standing along the sidelines. I still didn’t understand what the hell was happening.

“Come, lass.” Mac’s deep voice reached me from his position at the front of the altar. It was then that I realized that the chapel’s priest waited there beside him, along with our friends, Colt, Imani, Justin, and Nakia.

Everyone seemed to be smiling at my confusion as the boys dragged me down the aisle to their father.

Smiling gently, Mac met us halfway, took my hands, and thanked the boys. “I’ve got it from here, lads.” They laughed and ran off to find their seats.

“What’s going on, Mac?”

He looked at me nervously. It was not a look I associated with Mac at all. He was always so confident and assured of everything and everyone around him. This obvious uncertainty spiked my anxiety. I struggled to get my breathing under control, and my hands trembled in his.

He squeezed my hands gently, and his blue gaze seemed to devour me, compelling me.

It seemed as though we were the only two people in the world, even though we were surrounded by people. People who were staring at us with smiles of support.

“I’ve got you, and I’m never letting you go.” His voice was husky with emotion.

Hope and love seemed to overwhelm me, uncurling in my chest, quickening my heart, and constricting the air to my lungs. My vision blurred with unshed tears.

His fingers tightened around mine, pulling me close to him. His lips were close to my ears. “You walked through the door, lass,” he whispered achingly as though he were reminding me of his warning. “Don’t cry, mo grá. I can’t give you up. Don’t ask it of me.”

“I don’t want you to give me up.” My throat was clogged with emotion, and my prickling tears so close to the surface.

“Good, because tonight I am asking you for a thousand years. And when you walk through that door a thousand years from now, I will ask you again for another thousand years.” He turned without waiting for a response and walked me slowly down the aisle, his arm wrapped along my lower back supporting me and almost carrying me along.

I smiled in response to the smiles directed at us, but truly I felt as though I was having an out-of-body experience. Mac did all of this. He’d prepared this beautiful chapel and invited our friends and these lovely people, to exchange vows with me, in a Catholic service no doubt. Seeming to want to ensure that there is no chance of a divorce or remarriage for either of us.

Although we had still so much to resolve between us, we renewed our vows in front of our sons, our friends, our staff, and this time before God. Our initial marriage had been in a registered office, so this ceremony was more than appreciated. To my embarrassment, my eyes were wet with tears the entire ceremony. When the priest married us as Padma Katia Gupta and Ronin McKenna, my heart felt as though it would burst from my chest, overflowing with love, with joy, and with such peace. The waterworks were unrestrained when Mac worked the plain white-gold wedding band from my finger and slid on a platinum eternity ring with over thirty baguette-cut diamonds. It was the most beautiful ring I’d ever seen.

He whispered, “Coimeádaí síoraí mo chroí.” He covered my lips in a kiss filled with reverence, tenderness and adoration.

Eternal keeper of my heart, I translated. Thank God my mascara was waterproof, because I couldn’t stop crying. The emotions he evoked overwhelmed me. Filled with such euphoric happiness, they could not be contained.

“You’re killing me with the tears, mo grá.” He smiled down at me with tender indulgence.

“These are happy tears, baby. Very happy tears.”

We returned to the castle with our guests in a very festive mood. And everyone seemed to love the tropical theme with Jamaican-inspired dishes being served, spicy jerked chicken, grilled lobster and shrimp, fried plantains, even a Jamaican mango cheesecake. Bob Marley and Shabba Ranks music added to the island feel. Many of the guests commented that they had never attended a lavish ball quite like it. And what shocked me most was how many people sang along with almost every Bob Marley song being played. I was floored by how much trouble Mac had gone to in trying to make the ceremony special from start to finish.

I loved the setting of the dining room. The usual formal 150-seat table had been changed to round tables, which each seated ten people, allowing for a more intimate and fun environment. The kids had an entire room for themselves in a smaller dining room. I could hear from the whoops and hollering from that room that they were having a blast. Our friends sat at the table with us, which allowed for Imani and Nakia to examine my tiara and ring more closely. The exquisite jewelry had both woman exclaiming and demanding similar symbols of devotion from their husbands.

“I don’t know, ladies,” Justin drawled. “It seems to me that Mac had to do a lot of begging to get the mother of his children down the aisle.”

Mac took Justin’s ribbing with mild amusement, not at all embarrassed our friends thought he had had to beg me to go along with the ceremony. “I figured she liked me enough not to embarrass me in front of so many people,” he said with a lopsided grin. “That and the fact that she admitted to loving me but then called me an idiot in the same sentence.”

Colt chuckled. “Yeah, a sure sign that a woman loves you. Good call, Mac.”

“Come, lass.” Mac took my hand and pulled me to my feet. “We will leave our guests to enjoy our hospitality. I have a more private party planned for us.”

Before I could say a word, he addressed the room, thanking them for being here for us and asked them to stay and enjoy the food, drinks, and music.

As soon as we walked out of the dining room, Mac swept me up in his arms and started toward the back lawn.

“Where are we going?” Although I was giggling, I was surprised that we weren’t headed toward our bedroom.

Mac smiled down at me as we stepped out onto the lawn and a waiting helicopter loomed before us.

“Why are we leaving the castle?”

“Don’t you think it is time we spent some time alone? Some time with just us?”

I frowned, realizing suddenly that Mac and I have never been anywhere alone together. We had never even been on a date, and here we are, married and with two six-year-old boys. He is right. It’s past time that we had some alone time.

He pressed my face against his throat to protect me from the harsh wind of the helicopter propeller.

“Where are we going?” I asked again as soon as we were airborne.

“It’s a surprise.” He pulled me into his lap and held me close for the ten-minute ride to the airport.

“I don’t even have a change of clothes.”

“Deloris packed a bag for you.” He lifted me and boarded the jet.

I wasn’t surprised by that. Deloris could run a small country single-handedly. “Are you going to carry me around this entire trip?”

He kissed my forehead gently. “I will carry you for the rest of our lives.”

“It’s a good thing that you have superpowers then,” I teased.

“Are you okay with that?”

I realized that the teasing of a moment before was long gone. He was deadly serious. This was definitely not a conversation I wanted to have on the steps of a jet.

“I’m not gonna lie. Some parts are easier than others, but I think my vows today should have taken care of your doubts.” Did he think that I took my vows lightly? My Catholic vows?!

“You seemed uncertain before,” he persisted, obviously wanting a direct acknowledgement of the conversation that had resulted in an argument days ago.

“Your Graces, on behalf of the flight crew, we offer our congratulations on your marriage.” The pilot, with three members of the flight crew behind him, greeted us as we boarded the flight.

“Thank you, Howard,” Mac told him solemnly.

Mac held me in his lap for the takeoff, and I felt inexplicably tired and fell asleep within five minutes on the flight. I woke hours later, wrapped in Mac’s arms, in the bedroom of the jet.

“I’m so sorry. I never meant to fall asleep on our wedding night,” I murmured. My brain was still foggy with sleep, but I couldn’t help but love the feel of the naked, very male body at my back. I deliberately snuggled in closer.

Mac laughed and hugged me tighter against him, one hand palming the slight curve of my stomach and another cupping my breast. “After the excitement of the day, it’s not surprising that you were tired.” He rubbed his whisker-covered face against my cheek.

He knew damn well that rubbing those rough stubbled hairs on my face always turned me on. I loved the feel of him in the morning, the rough hair, the very male unique smell of him, his massive, lazy panther frame. Everything about him in the morning always seemed more male, more virile, and I loved it. I was already damp between my thighs as desire uncurled low in my belly.

“How long have I been asleep?” God, was that my voice sounding so breathless and needy? “How much longer before we land?” I deliberately asked the inane questions to try to hide how much my senses were being overwhelmed by him. I couldn’t help wiggling my ass against his lengthening club, making my body quiver helplessly with need.

His fingers tightened on my breast, and he pulled me harder against him, grinding his cock into the cushion of my ass. “You’ve been asleep for a few hours. We will land in about thirty minutes.”

“So, we don’t have much time then.” Yeah, I know. I sounded whinny with disappointment. I hadn’t made love with him in over a month. I was horny as hell.

He slid a broad finger between my moist folds. “We have all the time in the world,” he husked out, his lips pressed to my ear.

Can someone die from sensory overload? I swear my heart stopped when he drilled up in me. No warning. No foreplay. I was still ready for him though. Ready for this less-than-gentle giant. And it was a rough ride that resulted in an explosive release after a monsoon of pure unadulterated love.

Hours later, sitting on the terrace of our island villa, overlooking a white sandy beach that leaked into the turquoise waters of the Caribbean Sea, I was still smarting from our arrival here.

The flight had landed on time. However, we emerged from our bedroom almost an hour after it did, much to my embarrassment. Needless to say, we were the last to disembark, and our staff, ever dutiful, waited along the jet bridge with stoic expressions, in a stance of military precision for the leave-taking of the Duke and Duchess of Donegal.

Seated for a late lunch, we were both dressed in white lightweight cotton, Mac in a white shirt and pants and me in a spaghetti-strapped halter dress that flowed flatteringly over my body to end at my ankles. I dug into the fresh mouthwatering crevice of raw conch, island-grown tomatoes, onions, and peppers seasoned with limes and island goat pepper. The warm crusty homemade bread with butter was to die for.

“You own this island, don’t you?” I watched the local islanders as they moved around us. Their easy smiles and carefree attitude were infectious. I couldn’t help smiling along with them.

“I like my privacy.” Mac smirked. “I’ve always wanted to bring you here.”

We talked about the boys and how they would love the island while we ate with relish the grilled fresh red snappers, island peas and rice with limey coleslaw. Dinner was relaxing, and by unspoken consensus, we avoided all controversial topics. I was stuffed when the staff brought out the coconut cream pie, but I devoured it anyway.

We were walking along the beach, me with a wide-brim straw hat and Mac with a white cap for protection from the sun, when I finally broached the topic we had both been avoiding. “You surprised me today, or should I say yesterday?” I laughed, but I knew he could hear the uncertainty in it. I sighed. “I thought you were angry with me.”

“I was angry.” He held my gaze unflinchingly. “I was angry more with myself than with you. I should have told you sooner, but I was terrified that I would lose you. Terrified that you would be repulsed by me.”

I twisted my lips into a reluctant smile, because I knew he was right to be hesitant to tell me. “I never knew that I was so superficial,” I told him honestly. “I never cared about the gifts or the superpowers, but the thought of you seeing me with sagging breasts and drooping ass, while you look like Captain America, just makes me want to weep. Shallow, I know, but that’s where I was five days ago.”

“And now? Where are you now?”

“I married you for the second time a few hours ago. Where do you think I am?” I grinned. “I’m thinking that you have more money than God and I can have plastic surgery until my ticker gives out.”

He laughed as I intended. Holding both of my hands, he stopped walking and pulled me into him. The warmth in his eyes had me drowning in their depths. I swayed into him, loving the feel of his hard bulk against my softness. Our lovemaking on the jet seemed like an appetizer now. My senses were suddenly reeling. “No more secrets between us,” he mumbled soberly.

“No more secrets, half-truths, or omissions because you’re trying to protect me,” I clarified.

He laughed and nodded his solemn agreement before sealing it with a tender kiss.

“I’ve tried showing you and telling you in so many ways.” Mac’s voice was groggy with emotion. “But there never seemed to be the right words to tell you how much you mean to me.”

“You’ve never said any words in English. It took my learning Irish Gaelic to realize what you’ve been saying to me, whispering to me. I love your accent and the Gaelic is beautiful, but I would love for you to say it in English.” I was mortified that I ended those few words with a sob. Why the hell was I suddenly so emotional?

“Don’t cry, lass.” He used the rough pad of his thumb to wipe the tears from my eyes. “I didn’t say the words because ‘I love you’ in English seemed like weak words in the face of what I feel. I have been obsessed, passionately obsessed, with you from the start, mo grá.”

The tears were coming harder now.

“My sweet lass. Don’t you know that you’re the only woman in over one hundred years that I have ever wanted with such desperation? You changed my life. All the years before you were dormant, mo grá. Now I am alive, finally alive. I can’t bear to be without you, and just the thought of losing you, of you possibly being repulsed by me, has kept me quiet for years. I never dreamed you’d want or love a white man, much less one who was over one hundred years old. I don’t know what those scientists turned me into.” He laughed softly, mockingly. “I never let myself hope that you could possibly love me. I love you so much,coimeádaí mo chroí.”

“I have always loved you.” I smiled through the water drenching my eyes and face.

“I wish I had known. I would have told you that you’re the only woman that I want to spend eternity with.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me against his broad chest. “I adore you. Is breá liom tú,” he said in a raspy whisper.

If he had been hoping to stop my tears, he failed miserably. I was now leaking like a damn faucet. I didn’t cry pretty, and I just knew I was about to ruin his shirt.

“I didn’t say that to make you cry, lass.” He kissed my lips softly.

“I know,” I choked out. “I never realized how much I needed to hear you say it.”

He laughed. “Of course, I love you, you little idiot.”

I laughed and punched him in the chest before reaching up and kissing him with all the love and passion I never dreamed could have grown so much, so fast.