Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

M iranda

Jerking away from his touch, not able to process what's happening to my entire body, I open my mouth to argue. Only for my stupid stomach to betray me by growling so loudly there's no way he didn't hear it.

All he does is lift that evil eyebrow.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Fine." Pushing up from the desk with annoyance, at least, I hope it looks like an annoyance. When really, I'm still a little stunned at the command not to call myself fat.

Taking the opportunity to put space between us, I move quickly out of the room. Except, damn it, he's too close before I can blink. A hand comes down to the base of my spine.

I jump away from him. I don't give a fuck if he knows why. "Don't touch me." I fight not to shout the words as I eye the front door with longing .

"Interesting. Your mouth says one thing, and your body says another. Come along like a good girl. Or I'll get the restraints and hand feed you." He chuckles darkly.

Why the fuck do the words good girl send me after him with my stomach twisting, not with fear but with desire? He enters a room without a door to the hall. It's a large dining room with a table able to fit twelve. Two places are set across from each other. The head of the table area holds an array of serving dishes.

Two plates are already filled with what I can see is a simple dinner of a porterhouse steak, mashed potatoes, and French green beans.

"I wasn't sure if you had any allergies." Declan is holding a chair out for me.

"It looks good." I'm too close to him. I can smell his cologne. It's an expensive scent of the forest after it's rained, leather, some sort of musk, and beneath it all, something pure Declan. And I want to lick his skin to taste him on my tongue.

Knock it off, damn it. In an attempt to shut him out, I focus on my food. Cutting into the steak, I find it a perfect pink. The mashed potatoes have cheese and green onions in them. "This is delicious."

"Aoife is a fine cook. I stole her from the kitchen of one of my pubs. She fleeced me paying for her recipes." He takes the bottle of red wine on the table and fills my glass, then his.

"I don't drink." I shake my head. Actually, I do. Just not with him. There is no doubt in my mind that he would get me drunk enough to say yes to all the promises in those blue eyes and his touch.

"Will sparkling water do?" I swear he knows I'm lying.

I nod. "Yes, please."

"I'll be right back. "

It isn't easy keeping my eyes off him as he walks away. He isn't gone long when he returns with a long glass of ice water and a bottle with the remaining water. Huh, Ballygowan. I've never seen this in the grocery store. Importing sparkling water from Ireland, talk about pride. He places both beside my plate.

The weight of his eyes on me is far too heavy. Yet the silence stretches until I wonder if my nerves will snap. I give in and flick my eyes to him. Glacier blue is on me. "What?"

Declan exhales what might be a laugh. "What was your marriage like?"

Of everything I thought he would say, that isn't it. "Why do you care?"

"I'm curious. I've never encountered a woman of your age so lacking in awareness of herself."

I'm so fucking confused. "My age? I'm twenty-seven, not that old and not that young. I don't understand anything you just said."

His head tilts to the side as he studies me. "Was he impotent or something for you to not comprehend you are a beautiful, sexy woman? A beautiful woman who incites lust in any man not made of stone."

The question throws me so much the truth comes out of me without thinking. "Michael wasn't interested in sex, at least not with me. He wanted a wife who would make him look good. Someone who could do the dinner parties and talk business. I was young and dumb. A blond with big breasts that he was certain would look better once I finally lost weight. If we had sex more than once amonth…"

"So he's the reason why you said that stupid shit about your weight? "

"He's not the only reason. My father told me no man would marry a fat woman. Last Christmas, I was shopping for a gift for my boss. It was one of those beef jerky sampler things. The salesman said it was good for me to lose weight and encouraged me to start as soon as possible—not wait for a New Year's resolution. I could list five different times in the last few years someone that I've never met before felt the need to comment on my body." My stomach twists, and I put down my fork.

It felt like because I was fat, people had the right to tell me what they thought about me and my body. I've been told about more diets than I can name. It shouldn't matter what a person who doesn't know me thinks of me, but when it's the same cruel thing over and over, it hurts.

"Hey, look at me." It's a soft command I don't dare refuse. "You are a beautiful woman. No one has the right to say anything about your body. Your ex-husband was a fool for letting you go. Although I must say I'm glad he did. I couldn't imagine thinking you were moldable. You must have been very young when you met. Let me guess, he was older and rich."

Nodding, I sip on the water. "It was weeks after I turned twenty and in my last year of college. He was thirty-eight and had his own investment firm. One of my professors was a friend of his and invited him to speak to our class. When we first got together, I had to prove I wasn't with him for his money by paying half of our bills even though he made four times what I made. He constantly pushed me to go after promotions for work. Often, it felt like he was more of a mentor than a husband. Then, my work became a point ofcontention. I wasn't being the supportive wife enough, and he wanted me to quit. When I refused, he started looking for my replacement."

"Idiot." The word is soft, almost like he's saying it to himself .

Embarrassed, I shrug. "In the end, I'm grateful it ended. Once he moved on, he was generous. The settlement was far more than I would have expected from him. He really just wanted me to sign the papers and go away quietly, which I was more than content to do. He found another younger, dumber woman to attempt to mold into what he wanted. We both wanted something the other wasn't."

"What did you want?"

"Security. I'll admit that now. It wasn't like I went after him or anything. Hepursued me. I was flattered. He was a lot older, successful, charming, and living a life I wanted to live. I grew up in a home where love was supposed to be enough, except it isn't. My mother died because we couldn't afford regular doctor visits. If she had, her cancer might have been found sooner, and she would still be here. It's why I picked accounting because of the job opportunities, potential salary, and stability it would give."

"I'm sorry about your mother." His blue eyes are soft.

The sincerity surprises me. "It was a long time ago."

That eyebrow goes up again. "I lost my mother when I was ten. There are still days when I feel her loss deeply."

"Peter was ten when our mother died, too." I can't help murmuring. "Is your father still alive?"

A shake of his head. "No, it's almost twelve years now. I loved the man, but he made me crazy the way he didn't take care of himself. Once he died, my uncle admitted my da long thought he had heart issues. Yet he didn't see a doctor. His heart attack was a surprise to only me."

The sadness in his eyes is a stark and palpable thing before he covers it with a smile. "I'm sorry. "

"It was a long time ago." He turns my words around on me. "And your da?"

"He died when I was twenty-one. And he was the reason I married Michael. I'm not saying I would never have. But we were only dating for a little less than a year. He was going downhill fast from his lung cancer. My father didn't imply he wanted me married—he said it bluntly to Michael. That he would die easier knowing I was being taken care of. We were married in the chapel hospital. Dad died three weeks later. When he died, he was happy. And no matter how badly it turned out, I'm glad I was able to give him that."

The blond man is back. "Declan, there's?—"

"I told you no fucking interruptions," Declan growls at the man.

Cowed, the man lowers his head. "It's Dominic Sabatini." His head jerks to me.

Clearly annoyed, Declan throws his napkin beside his plate. "Excuse me, business."

Sabatini? My father's words of the capo he trusted, a man named Tony Sabatini comes back to me. It isn't a common name. I've never heard the name since my father mentioned the man. Could it be Tony's brother or son? Declan might say he's not mafia, but if he's talking to someone about business and his last name is Sabatini—he's mafia. I'm not sure what the hell I'm feeling. It's relief. It has to be. I should be grateful for the reminder of what he is.

Except as I finish eating, then go back into the office, I don't feel grateful.

Any moment, I expect him to come back, but one hour stretches into two. I refuse to wonder where he is or what he's doing.

Declan

I'm holding onto my temper by my short and curlies. The only thing keeping me from unleashing on the man is that if I do, he'll clam up, and we won't get the information needed from him.

"Seamus, I believe you want to do the right thing here. I'm not mad at you, and neither is Dominic Sabatini. You didn't know the man was going to blow up the spot. We believe you. But you're the only one who can identify the man. Everything leads back to your building. You rented to him without knowing he was going to cause problems, yet he has. And now I need you to tell me what you know." I catch Dominic's hands curling into fists.

Dominic's eyes meet mine. He nods, getting the message. "I need to call in."

The minute the door is closed behind him, Seamus reaches for my arm. "Please, I didn't know. I swear it. Yeah, he was Serbian, but he had a good job reference and…"

"What aren't you telling me, Seamus?" I look down at his hand gripping my arm tight.

"I didn't know. But Coleen did. She disappeared after he did." Shaking his head sadly, his eyes fall from mine. "She's a good girl, Declan, I swear it. It's since her mam died…"

I work to take a deep breath. Coleen was a good girl. But since her mother died almost two years ago, she's run wild without Seamus able to control her. She came to me a year ago asking to become a working girl in my stable of women. I refused because she was high and hooked on coke. The women who worked for me weren't allowed to use. Some pot or ecstasy was fine, but anything harder was a no.

"Her cell phone number, Seamus. Give it to me."

"You'll watch out for her. You won't let the Italians hurt her." He's pleading.

Sighing, I meet his eyes and lie to him the way he needs me to. "All they want is the guy who blew up Outfit business, that's all. Coleen will be fine. She'll come home with her tail between her legs, and hopefully, this will straighten her out."

"Here's her number. And she mentioned a place outside of the city, St. Charles." Seamus exhales, his whole body deflating.

I take the information. "Jamie, see Seamus home."

"It's all right, Declan. No need."

"Ah, now, Seamus. You've had a hard time of it. Let him see you home."

Nodding, Seamus gives me a weak smile. "Thank you, Declan. I'm sorry, I just…"

"No problem at all, my friend."

As Jamie follows him out of the room, his eyes meet mine in question. I nod.

Sighing heavily, he follows Seamus out of the room.

The door doesn't close behind them before Sabatini is back.

An eyebrow is up in question.

I relay what Seamus told me and hand over the girl's cell phone number. Somehow, they'll be able to ping the girl's cell phone and find her with it.

"Thank you. Do you want me to handle Seamus?" He offers.

"No need. Jamie's not happy about it, but it will be taken care of. If you can notify the crematorium, he'll be on his way before long."

He sighs. "I know he was a long time?—"

Cutting him off, I shake my head. " Was is the operative word. He knew better than to rent to a Serbian or an MC. It's been a commandment for decades. Seamus has grown weaker than his daughter. I don't buy he didn't know something was up with the man. Do with her what you want. She knew the man was trouble."

"You're sure?"

I've long appreciated my pubs and the building for the working women were in territory controlled by Dominic Sabatini and his father, Tony. There were a few others in the Outfit who weren't bad. But there were far more who were complete fuckers.

Us Irish lost control of our territory before I was born. We became limited to doing our gambling and loan shark business in our pubs, with a percentage paid to Tony and Dominic for operating in their territory.

While things could have been contentious and business only, Tony and Dominic made things more than civil. Hell, most days, I'd refer to them as friends more than associates—depending on who I was speaking with.

I nod. The Sabatini's have no taste for killing women, the same as me and my crew. Murder isn't as common a solution in our business as the movies tell. It's a fine line of keeping people in check. Too much death might scare them into behaving, or it can cause resentment and fear to the point people attempt to rise up against it .

"With Seamus dead, there's only her older sister who is trying to do right, working as a nurse. If the girl is hauled back to the city, her sister will be pulled under into her shit. Better the mess is cleaned up completely." I'm reminded of Miranda and her brother. Fuck me, just thinking about Miranda has my cock stirring.

"Thanks for helping me with Seamus."

"Whatever it takes to get these fucking Serbians out of the city. How is your father?" I'd heard the man lost his woman. She did a runner on him. Rumor has it he's not taken it well, and no one's seen him for days.

His head goes down. "He's been better." Shaking his head, "I don't know. I want to find her and kill her with my bare hands. Women…"

The thought of Tony Sabatini, a man who's taken more lives than a grim reaper on his knees for a woman. Fuck. That could never be me.

The moment he's gone, I give in and call Colm. "Did you get everything?"

"Yes, I'm on my way back to the house now. Ryan said to move it since it looks like she's winding down. Another ten minutes or so, and I'll be home."

"Good, I'm leaving the pub now. You'll beat me home."

I'm up and walking through the pub as I speak. Men call out to me in greeting. I only raise a hand and keep walking. Any other day of the week and my night would just be starting. Tonight, Miranda is in my home and I'm not going to miss a second of time with her.

Colm laughs. "That shopper went nuts with your credit card. Never thought you'd have someone shopping for a woman. I get it, though. Miranda Beckett is a looker, for sure. Would never guess she's that mangy mutt's sister?—"

"Stay the fuck away from her. She's untouchable by you or anyone." Comes out of me faster than a bullet. The thought of him looking at her, wanting her, touching her, even fucking thinking of her has me in a rage so fierce if he were in front of me, I'd break something.

Colm is as stunned as I am. "Yeah, of course, Declan. I was just sayin'—"

"Don't. Don't just say. Don't say a fucking thing about Miranda Beckett. You make sure all the men are aware that as far as she's concerned, she's the invisible woman."

"I will—I mean won't. Whatever you want, Declan. I'll do. I swear it."

I end the call before I lose my mind listening to him stutter. The cool air of the night soothes my heated skin. A man calls my name too fucking close for me to miss him. What the fuck? I was raised from a child to always be aware and careful of my surroundings. A nod is all I can give him before I get into my car and slam the door closed.

What the hell is it about Miranda Beckett? Why did my cock ache for her the moment I laid my eyes on her? It has to be that it's been a few months since I ended things with the last woman I had in my bed. That's it—that's all it is.

Home is only fifteen minutes away from my pub, but it feels twice that as my cock guides me back to the beautiful Miranda. Beautiful, yet didn't think it. Sexy, but didn't know it. She's twenty-seven and no virgin. Yet completely na?ve in a way I haven't seen a teenager be .

I give in and call Ryan, needing a connection to her. "Dec, are you fucking serious? You're keeping the woman here? You said she was only going to be working the audit this weekend and the evening."

His disbelief is at the same level as mine as to why I'm willing to catch a federal case for her. "I'm serious as a heart attack. Let me worry about the woman. She wants to be there—she just doesn't want to admit it."

"Christ, Dec, this isn't like you. Your dick doesn't get you into trouble. She's a pretty enough woman, but what if by the time she's done with the audit, she still wants to leave?"

"The audit will take a few weeks. It will be time enough for us both to work it out of our system. I'll let her go." The way she bristled and snapped, despite feeling the same attraction as me, had me itching to catch her and keep her. To turn her ridiculous no into a moaning yes . No woman has ever turned me down. Maybe that's it—no. I was fucked the second I met her hazel eyes.

"And for the record, it's the same as I told Colm: no one is to touch her. She's mine. You're there now because she fears your ugly mug and size. But no one is to touch her—or I'll kill them." I warn him.

"When this blows up in your face, I'm not going to say I told you so. But I reserve the right to tell the old men this is all your fault. That I tried to talk you out of it."

As a cousin of a cousin and my best friend, Ryan was more willing than most to tell me exactly what he thought. Right now, I don't welcome it. "Fuck you. I'm almost home."

Ending the call, I blink, and Miranda's beautiful face is instantly on the back of my eyelids. She's a cameo come to life with a long, elegant nose, high cheekbones, and sweet, wide lips. Yet it was her eyes that held me spellbound. The way they flared a brighter green when they met mine turned me desperate to see what they would be like the moment I felt her pussy throbbing around my cock as she came.

Her lack of awareness of her appeal didn't make sense to me. I thought it was a game she was playing to pull me in. Then she talked about her father, the world, and her ex-husband. I finally understood. The bastard ex-husband hit her confidence hard.

I'm torn between wanting to thank him and killing him. Thank him for letting her go and killing him for hurting her. Death appealed most to make him pay for the way he used her, had her doubting her worth, and forced her into hiding from the world and herself. Miranda Beckett had tried and failed in life. Because she failed, she escaped into her castle and pulled up the drawbridge—refusing to let anyone in or even herself out.

I was surprised over how little of a life she had outside of work when I read her file. Valdez wasn't happy about looking into her. He viewed innocent civilians as a protected class. Until I told him that her asshole brother was already looking to use her as collateral for other loan sharks. Since I only wanted her for the audit and wouldn't harm her—he figured it was safer for her to give me what I needed.

All I cared about was her skill as an accountant and if there was anyone close to her that she would tell my business. What I saw was perfect: there were no other brothers or sisters, no social media presence. Even her closest neighbors barely noticed her comings and goings. Yet now, all I can think is how very sad it is.

The woman is bound and determined to keep her life small and free of anyone who could hurt her. She felt the attraction. The little fool wanted me. Only I have a feeling her selfish ex never showed her all the pleasure to be found within her sexy as fuck body, so she was unwilling to give into it.

I'm aware I'm a complete bastard for refusing to accept her refusal to fuck me. Especially since all I want is her body. But I've never called myself a good man when it comes to getting what I want, and I'm not about to start now.

It won't leave me. I hit send on the number. Only one ring, and Valdez answers. "Mr. Kelly, how may I be of service?"

"I want everything on Michael Preston, down to the route he takes to work."

"Ah, Ms. Beckett's former husband. Why would that be?" Is it a taunt?

Chuckling at the fucker, I admit it. "I'm wondering if I will kill him or not. If I can do it myself, then I'm going to need to know how to do it without getting caught."

Silence.

"He hurt her. Not physically. But she didn't deserve what he put her through. I'm still deciding if he deserves to keep breathing."

"Well then, congratulations are in order. I'll see to it."

"Thanks," I mutter as I end the call, not liking the smug congratulations. A shiver slides down my spine at his implication. No. It's not that.

I open my front door to find Miranda surrounded by the bags of clothing Colm retrieved for her. She's lost the jacket to her suit. The plain white blouse she's wearing is a silky material that clings to her. Fucking hell, my cock jumps at the sight. I knew she was hiding beneath the awful suit, and I wasn't wrong .

Her curves shred the veneer of a civilized man I pride myself on being, turning me into pure primal instinct. I don't want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her to bed—my cock couldn't wait that long. All I want to do is drag her down to the floor where she stood and get lost in those delicious curves.

"You bought all this for me? Is that where you were, shopping?" Those green eyes are wide.

I take a bullet to the chest over the way she goes from beautiful to stunning. She's in one of the bags. Joy is clear on her face as she opens a box and finds a long sundress in a mix of purple and pink. It flatters her simply holding it against her.

Dear Lydia. She's a superb personal shopper who saved my ass a few years ago when a cousin of mine was visiting from Ireland, and the airline lost her bags. The woman was busy. When she shopped for my cousin, there were far fewer bags.

Lydia wasn't pleased with the evening call or the rush, but she came through in spades. I have no doubt the numerous bags were a hit to my bank balance in response to telling her cost wasn't an issue—Miranda's comfort was. Then I tossed in not only double her fee but a matching donation to a charity close to her heart. Annoyed at my offering of the donation she felt she couldn't refuse had her hanging up on me with a few choice words about my parentage. It was Lydia's fault for giving me a weakness I could exploit.

"No, darlin'. I was dealing with business. This was organized with a phone call to a personal shopper. I told her you needed clothes. Since I wasn't sure what you preferred when you weren't dressing like a prison warden, I told her to ensure you had plenty to choose from. "

I manage to get all the bags in two hands. "I apologize Colm didn't carry the bags upstairs for you. I'll show you to your room while you're here."

I'm almost at the top of the stairs before she follows me. I open the door to the guest room across from mine. Aoife aired it out as asked. "The sheets were changed by Aoife, and the towels are fresh, too."

I set the bags on the king-sized bed. There are four bedrooms on this floor. This room shares a bathroom with another smaller bedroom. My room has its own ensuite, stolen from the space of a bedroom when I took over the house.

She hesitates in the doorway before finally coming into the room with the dress still in her hands. Keeping a good distance between us, she tosses the dress on the bed before crossing to the windows. Smart girl, all I want to do is drag her round plump ass on the bed and get lost in her.

"No bars on the window, shocking." She murmurs as she looks down on the backyard.

This woman. I can't keep from laughing. "No bars. No restraints, but I can go get them if you want."

I wink at her, and she stiffens. Little liar, a flush sweeps over her beautiful face. She crosses her arms over her breasts. "You have to tie women up to keep them from leaving often?"

She truly isn't aware of the door she opens with that question. Jesus, even a virgin would know better.

"Only to keep them from disturbing me as I enjoy their body at my leisure." Her blush goes up all the way to her ears. Damn, even her ears are sexy. I can't keep away from her. Every step I take toward her sends her back until she goes into the wall .

I bring up my arms to trap her between me and the wall. Damn, she's small compared to me. I'm going to have to remember to be careful with her when I take her.

"Then there are some women who want to be tied up. They love the myth of not being responsible for all the dirty things I do to them. Of not being able to stop me doing dirty things."

She gasps deep, and her breasts brush against my chest. The electric shock of it zings through every cell in my body.

Another gasp from her tells me that she felt it too. The same way it did when I pressed a finger to her lips, my whole body goes hard with savage need. Fighting for control of my body takes a long fucking minute. This isn't going anywhere or abating—for either of us.

I lower my head to her ear. "I don't want to tie you down, darlin'. But it's what it's going to come to, isn't it? Your nipples are hard for me, and your pussy is wet–yet still, you want to lie with that sweet mouth of yours. Telling me no when all you want is to say yes ."

A little noise comes from her throat. If I weren't right up against her, she'd be arguing with me—I have no doubt.

"I understand. Your bastard of an ex-husband never made you wet. He never made you moan from anything but frustration. You've gone unaware of all the different orgasms that exist. Yes, there's the sleepy, nice one you give yourself under the covers with the lights off, done in less than five minutes. However, there are a wide array of others. Ones that have every bone in your body liquid. It's called the Little Death for a reason. Some will have you certain the explosion broke apart every cell in your body only to put you back together again. Others will turn the world black only to leave you bathed in a glow of light so pure and sweet you'll do anything to have it again. I will show you all of them." I promise her.

Air comes out of her in a shaky sigh. This is going to be a long, intensely pleasurable, and gratifying experience—for the both of us. Before I explode in my pants or take her against the wall without any preliminaries, I push away and leave her.

I don't bother closing the door behind me as I go. Not willing to stop for a second longer than I have to.

In my room, I'm undressing as I go. Heading straight for the shower. A flick of my wrist and I step under a steaming stream of water. Three fucking strokes are all it takes before I come so hard I see stars.