Tully (Dangerous Doms 7)

She giggles and slumps over my lap. “Not surprising.”

I rub my palm over the curve of her arse and give her a little squeeze.

“That’s right,” I say, with mock sternness. “My men have been alerted. You’re not to leave here.”

“Ever?” she asks, a note of curiosity in her voice.

I roll her back over and nestle her on my lap. I trace a finger down her cheek and over her lips, memorizing the little dimple right there, the little pucker, the way her eyelashes flutter as she looks up at me.

“Alright, then,” she says, as if we were having a reasonable conversation. “I suppose I can manage.” Her voice pitches off into a moan as I lower my mouth to hers and kiss her until she’s panting. Within minutes, she’s beneath me, our clothes forgotten in a tumbled heap on the floor. I’m gliding into her and relishing every inch of skin against mine, in the dance of ultimate surrender.

She’s mine.

All fucking mine.

* * *

Chapter 21

McKenna

’Tis a cold, brisk morning on the cliffs of Ballyhock as the funeral procession makes its way to Holy Family. The fact that we have a visiting priest come to speak to the congregation and say the funeral services speak to the changes that lie on the horizon.

So many people come to pay their respects, it’s standing room only. The small church bursts forth with the citizens of Ballyhock, on the steps, in the garden, all the way to the cemetery. There isn’t a dry eye in the house as we watch the strong, strapping men of the Clan, Finn’s pallbearers, carry his casket into the church.

I walk with the women of the Clan. We hold our chins high, and don’t bother to try to stop the tears that flow. Maeve holds Caitlin’s hand, weeping openly, and Megan stands on the other side of her. This good, strong woman’s wept buckets since the night Finn died, and my heart aches for her.

Tully catches my eye as he enters the church. I’ve never seen the man in a suit, and I wonder if God will forgive me for thinking he looks damn hot. The flecks of gray in his hair and those deep, dark eyes look damn near regal in contrast to the sleek, charcoal-gray suit he wears.

They walk as one, the men of the Clan, and it’s a somber, but moving procession. As the men enter the church, a little girl waves to me from the masses of people who’ve come. I recognize her as the little blonde who spoke to Tully the night of the ambush. I give her a wink and wave back. She ducks her head shyly, stepping back with her mum.

The funeral is long and somehow, lovely. Finn’s priest friend came from England to perform the ceremony. His eyes shine with kindness at the men of the Clan who sit before him. Does he know who they are, then?

Aileen’s beautiful, haunting voice leads us in song. I’ve never heard anyone sing Amazing Grace, but after hearing her, I’ll never forget it.

Amazing Grace,

How sweet the sound,

That saved a wretch like me…

Tully squeezes my hand at that, and I can’t help but tease him.

“Saved a wretch, alright,” I mutter, and his lips twitch.

“Behave yourself,” he hisses. Then we quiet as Keenan stands in front of the congregation.

“Thank you, all, for coming here tonight, to pay your respects for my uncle, Finnegan McCarthy. To us, he was uncle, but to everyone else, he was father. There never was a more dedicated, loving, devoted father figure than Father Finn.”

A hush falls over the congregation as he speaks. He tells stories of being a young lad in Ballyhock, how he and his brothers caused trouble under the watchful eye of Father Finn. He regales us with tales of being sentenced to cleaning up the graveyard as punishment, and how he convinced his younger brothers it was haunted.

“Joke was on me, though,” Keenan says with a wistful smile. “When Father Finn hid among the shadows and caught me in my own game, I nearly wet my trousers.”

Maeve laughs, and Caitlin wipes away tears. It’s hard to imagine these strong, sturdy men of the Clan as young lads, but as Keenan’s stories continue, I can almost picture it. Young boys, eager to do the bidding of their Chief. Trained in academics, martial arts, and Clan law at St. Albert’s. Forged in training to be loyal to one another and the brotherhood.

The laughter dies down, and Keenan sobers.

“If there was anything Father Finn taught us, it was that family isn’t always related by blood.” He pauses, his gaze roaming to Tully and the other men of the Clan who are brothers by choice, not blood. He swallows, and he looks to Caitlin briefly. She gives him an almost imperceptible nod. He draws in a breath, squares his shoulders, and continues.