Page 2 of Wicked Ruin

“Yeah. And you are?”

“The man sent to fetch you.” He reaches for me, and I back up.

“Who sent you?”

“Erin’s fiancé, Cavin.” He reaches for me again. “Come with me.”

I slap his hand away before he can make contact. His eyes narrow.

“I'm going to give you a choice, Bridget.” The same low, even tone. “You walk with me quietly, just a short walk, and you stay out of trouble until Mr. McCarthy's ready for you. Or,” he adds, the corner of his mouth pulling, “you make me choose for you. I wouldn't recommend it.”

I try to look lofty. I think I fail. “Why does Mr. McCarthy have anything to do with me?”

“He owns this establishment. He's also about to be your brother-in-law, which makes you his concern.” A pause. “And therefore mine.”

“That's not how family works.”

“It is in this family.”

“Excuse me?”

I toss my hair. Even for a sick girl, I have exceptional hair. Erin says I look like Ariel from The Little Mermaid, which I choose to take as the highest of compliments.

He blinks. Then something shifts in his expression, really shifts, and he smiles at me.

And I know right then that this is a man who gets whatever he wants.

I swallow hard and stand up straighter, which does absolutely nothing. I'm still a full head shorter than him, and the hair toss has only made his eyes drag slowly down and back up in a way that feels distinctly like a caress.

“You’ve no right to tell me what to do,” I say, because someone has to say something, and apparently it's going to be me. “I'm not yours. You have no claim over me.”

I'm not entirely sure whether I'm pushing back out of genuine principle or because I am so exhausted—bone-deep and years-long exhausted. Tired of being told what to do, where to go, and what my body is and isn't capable of.

He leans in.

His mouth is very close to my ear. The warmth of him makes me shiver in a way I am absolutely not going to examine.

“You're right,” he says, very deliberate. “You're not mine.” He pulls back just slightly to look at me. “And it's very lucky for you that you're not.” He pauses. “Because if you were mine, Bridget, I'd have dragged you by that gorgeous hair into a back room already, bent you over a spanking bench, and shown you exactly how it's used.” Another pause. “And that would only be the beginning of your punishment for coming in here tonight, unaccompanied and unwelcome.”

I cannot speak.

I finally get my breath back. “But you… you can’t do that, and you’re not available,” I blurt out. “The gold band…” I try to toss my head again to distract him from my flaming cheeks.

He smirks. God above, he has a dimple.

“The gold has nothing to do with my relationship status, but my rank here.”

Behind him, someone calls his name, and he turns around. Thank god because I don’t realize until it’s far too late that my mouth is hanging wide open.

I am suddenly very aware that the people around us have given us an extremely wide berth, and I'm not sure I like what that means.

What’s his rank?

“Declan.”

“I’m busy.”

No, no, no.