He's a mobster. No doubt a dangerous psychopath.
I cannot, and will not, let myself forget that.
Chapter 4
Lorcan
My new bride marches down the church steps ahead of me like she's fleeing a burning building.
I take my time, studying her.
She's pretty. Prettier than I expected. Big brown eyes, a few freckles dotting her cheeks, a stubborn little chin. But there's a tightness to her, a weariness. Dark smudges under her eyes.
She looks like she hasn't slept in a year, and there’s a pinch between her brows that hasn't let up once since she walked into the church.
"So," I call, falling into step beside her. "Mrs. O'Rourke."
She flinches at the name, then stops at the bottom of the steps and turns to face me, arms crossed.
"Let's get one thing straight."
"By all means."
"This,” she gestures between us, the gold band catching the light on her finger, "is a business arrangement. I'm not going to pretend it's anything else."
"Wouldn't dream of asking you to."
Her eyes narrow like she was expecting a fight and doesn't know what to do without one.
I can't help it. I reach out and, with one finger, tap the little crease between her brows. "You know, if you're not careful, this is going to set permanently.”
She jerks back like I've burned her. "Excuse me?"
"The frown line." I wink and flash a cavalier grin. "I bet I could smooth that right out for you.”
Her mouth drops open. Then it snaps shut, and her whole face goes hard.
“I just married a complete stranger. Traded like a used car." Her voice climbs. "And you expect me tosmile?"
"Fair point." I hold up my hands. “But there’s a bright side.”
"Is there? Is there a bright side?” She's really going now, color rising in her cheeks, and God help me, she's adorable when she's furious. “Pray tell, what’s the bright side to being traded to a mobster like a bargaining chip?"
I consider that. “Is it really so bad? Being married to me?"
I'm not fishing for compliments. Women have never been a problem for me—I've never spent a minute of my adult life chasing them down. I’ve never needed to.
I ask because I’m genuinely wondering what's so terrible here. I've got money. A name that makes people tremble. I'm told I’m not hard on the eyes, and I have an excellent sense of humor.
“I fail to see what’s so dismal about being my wife.”
"You're serious," she says.
"Dead serious."
Something flashes across her face—not anger this time. Something closer to despair, that she quickly swallows. She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter.”
Deciding it’s best to let it go for now, I change the subject. “So, I figure we can pick up your stuff and head to my place.”
