Still chuckling, he kisses me again. His mouth is possessive, his embrace is tight, and his eyes are living fire.
“Whatever my queen wants.”
Looking away from his triumphant face, I wonder how soon is too soon to start marriage counseling.
31
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Q
uinn takes me shopping at the most expensive stores in Manhattan, one by one. Not only at the couture clothing ateliers, but also for shoes, handbags, perfume, cosmetics, lingerie, and
luggage.
It takes the entire day.
He arranges for most things to be delivered to his home address, but what doesn’t get delivered, poor Kieran lugs to the car with the patience of a saint.
When I ask Quinn why he doesn’t help him, he grins.
“I’m on my honeymoon.”
And because the man has a highly developed sense of the absurd, our last stop is at the C
