The small, greedy sounds she was making were sealing her fate, his fingers tightening instinctively on her hip, torturing himself as he rocked her against the erection straining the zipper of his jeans.
More, love. Give me more.
He forgot everything but the need to claim his wife. His scattered thoughts raced desperately, seeking a solution as she slid her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer, one leg lifting to wrap around his thigh.
Jesus, yes.
His apartment was only a few blocks away, but he knew there were rooms above the pub for family. If none of the Collins clan were home, he and Bronte could finally start that honeymoon he’d been dying for. He palmed her ass and lifted her onto her toes, ready to carry her if he had to.
A horn honked loudly, causing them to break apart, eyes wide with lust and confusion.
Honk!
William slowly turned his head to see a white-haired man leaning out the window of his cab and eyeing them curiously. “Pick up?”
Hell.
William was reluctant to let Bronte out of his arms, but his sense of responsibility had him stepping away and gesturing toward the blonde. “Yes, um, that is… This young lady needs a ride home.”
He’d forgotten all about her, and her tense expression told him she knew it. At his glance, she slid her hair behind her ears, wiping off some of the mascara that streaked her cheeks as she forced a smile.
“Such a gentleman,” she said before frowning over at Bronte. “Are you really married? To her? How did that even happen?”
He guided her away from the bristling Bronte and into the back of the cab. “That’s a story worth telling, but you haven’t got time to hear it.” He winked at the driver. “Begging was involved, but as you can see, eventually I wore the stubborn beauty down.”
William stood, closing the door and nodding to the now smiling man. “Take her wherever she wants to go.”
As long as it’s not here. He let that go unspoken, but he could see the message had been received.
When the cab pulled away he took a fortifying breath and turned toward his other half. Her arms were crossed and her expression told him their moment for slipping upstairs and finally slaking their mutual lust had passed. For now.
“So Willy.” Her full lips pursed and he tried not to imagine biting them so he could focus. “Does that happen a lot? Grateful women in need of rescuing from drunks at the bar throwing themselves at your feet?”
He sliced his hand through the air in denial and shook his head. “God no. Believe it or not, that was a first.”
Her expression was clearly skeptical.
“Truly. This respectable establishment is tame compared to Finn’s, and I thought a pub couldn’t get more low key than my cousin’s.”
“Please.”
“Would I lie?” He ignored her eye roll. “You’d think it was a church serving pints instead of sacramental wine, unless you count big talk about the Ravens and their wife-snogging tendencies as sins.”
He saw her lips twitch and sent her a wicked grin. “Once or twice they’ve gone absolutely wild and pulled out the karaoke machine. But I think I’m to blame for that. I may have reminisced about how you serenaded me on our wedding night. Did you make it my special ringtone? The way you threatened to a few weeks ago?”
He was tempted to slip his phone out of his pocket and call her to find out, but her glare warned him not to try.
“You’ve told me most of this before today, remember? Why the hard sell now?”
“I’m trying to reassure you the situation was a one-off, and that you’ve no cause to worry about my virtue. You’ve never seen a more wholesome group of regulars sidle up to a pub in all your life.”
“Your virtue?” Bronte’s mouth twitched again. “Poor William. They really did consign you to purgatory, didn’t they? A wholesome bar. The horror.”
He moved closer, drawn to her the way he’d been from the start. A moth to a flame. “Nah, the Collins are good eggs. Old Pat’s a crack, as I’ve told you, but a soft touch when it comes to his grandkids. And there’s enough of them that wholesome might not be the right word at all, but only one of Pat’s sons has a husband as well as a wife. Not that it’s a competition or anything.”
She snorted. “So no kinky orgies or bisexual stripper bachelor parties then? Just beer, sports and, um, snogging?”
“Now I never said they weren’t kinky. But if they’ve had any orgies, I haven’t been invited. Come inside and I’ll introduce you.”
She tipped her head as if considering the invitation and he tried not to stare like a smitten dope. She was a stunner, his Bronte. Part sprite, part siren with curves that went on for days.