CHAPTER 1
DONOVAN
Ihated weddings.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true. I didn’t hate weddings per se; it was more like I hated what they stood for, namely, loss of freedom, loss of choice, and loss of variety.
My big brother, Callum, didn’t quite agree with my sentiments, seeing as he’d just wed the woman of his dreams; though his wife, Maeve, was admittedly one of the very few women who was interesting enough to make me think twice about tying the knot.
Unfortunately, there weren’t many chicks like Maeve around. This I knew because at that precise moment in time, I was standing by the bar at my brother and Maeve’s second wedding, but first wedding reception (don’t ask), talking to her adoptive sister, Erin, and I was bored out of my goddamned skull.
“She looked me up and down like I was a pauper,” Erin droned on. “But she was the one wearing last year’s Prada.” Her eyes bugged out at me. “Yeah, you heard me right,last year’s Prada. So I said...”
Please, somebody kill me now,I thought to myself, trying to stop my eyes glazing over because after seven minutes ofconversing with Regina George’s biggest stan, I was literally losing the goddamned will to live.
Reaching toward the bar to grab my beer, I forced myself not to yawn as I glanced around the room. But I didn’t take in the sage green flowers, or the thousands of artfully draped tiny white lights and swathes of gauze tenting the ceiling of the massive barn where my brother and his wife were holding their wedding reception.
Instead, my gaze settled on her.
Correction: my gaze settled onherass.
Herfine, curvy, lusciousass.
My jaw dropped at the exact same time as my dick simultaneously popped his head up to take a peek.
Who the fuck is that?
A pang of recognition hit me deep, but I could only see her from behind. Though it was enough for me to know without a doubt that the woman was one hundred percent my type. And when I said woman, I meant exactly that.
Allfucking woman.
She was small, about five foot three, but appeared taller because of the sky-high, gold ‘fuck me’ sandals she traipsed around in as if she were born to it. Her long, black hair had been curled loosely at the ends and fell in waves down her olive-toned back until it hit the top of her ass crack, hinting at the promise of the lusciousness underneath. Her cock-stiffening dress was devil red and flowing down to the floor, but the entire top half appeared to be made of peekaboo lace that flashed glimpses of skin. Moreover, I could see by the way she walked—no—strutted, across the reception room, that it was split entirely up one leg from toe to damned hip.
Staring at her, my mouth salivated, and my dick leaked in my shorts.
Small, dark brunettes with entirely too much tits and ass for some men (but never me) were my catnip. I’d heard the term pocket rocket before, and now, lo and behold, here I was half-chubbing while I drooled over the embodiment of one.
Lord, have mercy.
I mumbled some inane excuse to Erin, not even waiting for her reply before I was on the move with my beer still in hand, being shamelessly led by the goddamned dick toward the sexy little temptress whose presence had struck me like a bolt of lightning.
A seduction plan began to form in my brain.
I’d give her a sexy smile, slash smirk, before introducing myself and immediately start to ask her questions and make her feel special. Throughout the night, I’d lean in to whisper something outrageously naughty and make her laugh while I flashed my baby blues, giving as much eye contact as possible without being a creeper. My witty repartee, longing smiles, and heated looks would seduce her, and then I’d finish the night by casually suggesting a nightcap back at the bar.
Job done.
It had been a while, but it was like riding a bicycle.
Plan decided, I watched her Jessica Rabbit-esque ass sway as she sashayed around the edge of the dance floor of the huge function room toward the cluster of tables at the front, where the close friends and family had all been placed for the sit-down meal that finished an hour before.
She turned her head to one side, and I got her profile, which included a glimpse of luscious, full lips, and something hit me hard in the solar plexus.
I knew her—very well in fact, as did my dick. It had been a while though, which was why I hadn’t immediately recognized her.
It was then that my eyes caught on Liam Doyle, a distant cousin and Erin’s brother, who was heir to the New York Irish Mob empire. He rose to his feet from the round table he was sitting at with his da, his eyes lifting to take in the room. His stare traveled through the woman and then he did a double take.
An animalistic grin curved his mouth, and he cocked his head as he took in every inch of her delectable little body.
