I smirk as I head back to the kitchen to dice some salad to go with the steaks sizzling in the pan. According to my men, Kavanagh is charging round the entire city like a fucking bull, ripping the place apart. And the fact that I have exactly what he’s looking for in my house makes me laugh out loud. Though knowing she’s upstairs naked in my bath is both a blessing and a curse.
Of all the women, why do I have to want her?
Utterly fucking inappropriate.
Because sex changes things.
Especially the way I like to fuck.
That’s why I only let loose in the privacy of Sean Beckett’s sex club, Reveal. The women who attend know what they’re signing up for. There are rules, safe words, non-disclosure agreements, and no expectations.
My new arrangement with Aoife is too valuable to risk by fucking her.
I watched her eyes drift over my body, drinking me in,wondering what it would be like to fuck a big bad man, but that doesn’t mean she’d let me.
It’s ironic really. Usually, women beg me to touch them. Delayed gratification, teasing, spanking and fucking is my forte. I wasn’t joking with Aoife this afternoon. I’m a dom, in both name—and in nature.
What would my bride think if she had any idea what she’s marrying?
She’d probably take her chances in the Wicklow Mountains.
The sound of footsteps approach. I spin to face my new fiancée. She looked stunning today in that cheap, tattered pathetic excuse for a wedding dress, but tonight, she looks utterly exquisite. Her hair is freshly washed, and it still curls around her face like she’s had a blowout. The curls must be natural. Her huge blue eyes are wide and naturally wary.
The dress she’s wearing hugs her figure and clings to her curves without revealing anything. It’s classy. And it suits her down to the ground. She steps closer cautiously until she’s beside me. I inhale the perfume I asked Sheila to pick up for her. She smells like sweet jasmine and sin.
‘You look… nice.’ It’s a pathetic compliment, but I’m not accustomed to flattering women. I’ve never had to.
She glances down at her outfit. ‘It’s too much. The shoes. The dresses.’ I note she doesn’t mention the lingerie. It wasn’t hard to work out her bra size when I could barely tear my eyes from her tits earlier. ‘There was no need, ’ she continues. ‘I can’t repay you.’ Her top teeth dig into her bottom lip.
‘I’m not Rory Kavanagh. There’s no debt owed.’ I shrug. ‘Besides, when we get married, it won’t matter. What’s mine will be yours.’
Shock flashes over her delicate features. ‘We’re not doing a prenup?’
‘No.’ I shake my head.
‘Why not?Heinsisted on one, and I’m pretty sure he’d have killed me before signing divorce papers.’
Tension creeps into my neck at the mere idea of what he would have done to her. Of how close to ruin she really was. ‘Do we need one?’ I hope to hell she says no because if I have to go to The Syndicate’s solicitor and ask him to draw something up, he’ll be on the phone to Frankie before I’ve left the building. Nothing screams doubt like a prenup.
She places the heel of her hand to her chest and rubs. ‘I would never…’ She trails off. ‘I mean you’re already hiding me. Clothing me. Giving me a place to stay.’
‘It’s not entirely for your benefit.’ I remind her.
‘But still.’ She stares at me for a long beat. ‘Thank you.’ She looks practically pained as she chokes the words out.
I turn my attention to the food again. ‘Cathal and Owen found your father.’
‘Is he okay?’ After what he tried to do to her, her concern for him is yet another testament to her character.
‘Yes. He’s in a safe house on the outskirts of the city.’ I turn to face her again. ‘I have a job lined up for him in one of my betting shops.’
Worry lines crease her forehead. ‘Won’t Rory come for him there?’
‘The shop is in Spain. I promised you I’ll take care of him, and I will. But I don’t like him, Aoife. I don’t like that he was one of Rory’s men. And I don’t like what he was prepared to do to you.’
Her eyes flare.
‘And I damn well don’t trust him. If he’s smart, he’ll take the fresh start. If not…’ I trail off.
