Maeve was an archeologist who, most days, wore glasses and saidawesomea lot. She’d led a sheltered life after being adopted by Patrick Doyle, the head of the Irish Mob in New York. Her soul was pure, and the thought of her going to an outlaw MC’s clubhouse was a surprise to say the least.
“Jesus,” I murmured. “I can’t believe sweet, shy Maeve Monroe is going to biker parties. Patrick will have a conniption if he finds out.”
My gaze fell on Pagan’s stomach muscles rippling under his tight, white tee, and I had to hold back my sigh. Confidence oozed from him, and he high-fived a couple of Speed Demons as he sauntered past them, his white teeth flashing in the muted, golden light of the bar. His shaven head should have put me off, but if anything, it gave him an even more menacing air, which only piqued my interest further.
My belly clenched as I leaned closer. “Who’s the one with the shaved head who looks like he’d slit your throat in your sleep? And why do I find him so hot?”
“Oh, that’s Pagan,” she explained casually, as if they were besties. “He’s their prez and very much a ladies’ man. Be careful he doesn’t break your heart.”
The proverbial red flags began to wave so intensely that I could almost feel them whipping at my face. I ignored the heated crimson blooming across my cheeks and told her, “It’s not my heart I want him to break; it’s my vagina.” I craned my neck to watch Pagan strut closer, full of bravado and bad attitude, andobserved, “He’s got that Jason Statham thing going on, except he’s tougher-looking and way sexier.”
“It’s definitely a vibe,” she agreed. “But I prefer a nice shirt, good hair, and Irish charm.”
“I don’t want to wed him,” I protested softly.
“Good,” Maeve said decisively. “He’s a criminal.”
“So’s your da,” I returned.
Maeve shrugged. “True that.”
Our eyes met, and we started to laugh just as a deep, husky voice said, “Nothing makes a beautiful woman even more gorgeous than seeing her laugh.”
The sound of his voice made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I twisted around to see Pagan and his MC brother right there.
Hey!” Maeve exclaimed, giving him a hug. “How was your journey?”
He released her from their embrace and touched her face with his palms. “Cold.”
Something twisted deep inside my belly at the sight of them, so friendly. I was sure Maeve didn’t mean to flirt with him; she probably wouldn’t know how, but I could tell by the gleam in Pagan’s eyes that he was enjoying every second.
My mouth went dry.
“Hey!” a familiar, deep voice bellowed.
I turned to see my brother, Callum, charging through the crowd toward us. He grabbed Maeve’s hand and pulled her into him possessively.
Maeve’s hand rested on his stomach, and she rubbed soothingly. “Baby. It’s okay.”
He glared at Pagan and bit out, “It’s not. Nobody touches Maeve but me.”
Maeve let out a weird little squeak.
Pagan threw his head back and hooted out a laugh.
My cheeks burned.
What the fuck was Callum doing?
“Oh my God,” I admonished, slapping my brother’s arm. “What the hell’s going on with you? Why are you acting like the maggot?”
“Don’t like people touching her,” Callum retorted like a spoiled, sullen schoolboy.
“Fucking eejit,” I muttered, turning to Pagan and rolling my eyes. “Excuse my brother. He’s gone loo-lah over his wife.”
Pagan glanced at the way Callum held Maeve close before turning back to me and shooting me a white, dazzling smile. He thrust a hand out, his gaze traveling from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. “I’m Pagan.”
I felt my face flush and took his fingers in mine. “Aislynn.”
