The moment we pull out of Caruso’s driveway, Kieran starts to laugh.
“What are you cackling about, you bloody gombeen?”
He snorts. “Only yerself, wearin’ a face that would drive rats from a barn when ye first met Mr. Goodfellas back there. I thought ye were gonna slap him silly!”
“Aye. Almost did. I’ve never met such a tool in my life.”
Kieran pounds a fist on the steering wheel in glee. “Ah, it was grand! Him almost soilin’ his knickers every time you took a breath, bowin’ and scrapin’ like he had an audience with the bloody Queen of England. Nearly had a nervous breakdown, he did. I can’t wait to tell Declan all about it. Pure craic.”
He sighs happily, shaking his head, then suddenly turns serious.
“Ach, but the sister was a fine thing, eh? A trifle scary, what with how much she wanted to outright slaughter ye, but fine nonetheless.” He whistles low. “Wouldn’t want to get on that woman’s bad side, but I’d pay a pretty penny to see her in her kex! Got chubbed up just lookin’ at her.”
You’re not the only one. My dick is still rock-hard.
“Put a sock in it, mate. I’ve got a brutal headache.”
He ignores me.
“I feel awful bad for the wee cailin, though. The poor sweet lass. Imagine havin’ the kind of father who’d trot out his own bairn to be sold like a prize pony!”
He makes a sound of disgust. “But I suppose it’s their way, isn’t it? Savages, the whole lot. Well, good riddance to those Italian buggers and that pile of shite they call home. Glad we’re seein’ the last of ’em.”
“We’re not seeing the last of them.”
Startled, Kieran looks over at me. “Whaddya mean?”
“I mean I signed the contract. Liliana and I will be married in thirty days.”
Kieran almost drives off the road. He shouts, “Are ye off your rocker?”
“Watch out for that light pole.”
He veers sharply back to the center of the lane, cursing under his breath, then starts in on me again.
“Ye can’t be serious, Spider! The idea of marryin’ into that family is entirely daft!”
“Why is it daft?”
“Did ye not just attend the same bloody meeting I did? Caruso’s a colossal lickarse! The sister wants to cut out yer tongue! They live in a place with scenes hand-painted on the walls of fairies and devils effin’ each other!”
He’s so worked up, I wouldn’t be surprised if his head exploded.
“None of that matters. Lili’s a sweet lass. She’ll make a fine wife. And the terms of the contract are excellent. I’m going ahead with it.”
I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of the seat so I don’t have to see Kieran gaping at me.
I can still hear him, however, sputtering in protest.
“But…did you even like the wee lass? I mean…were you attracted to her?”
No. Which is why it’s so perfect. The last thing I want is a wife I’m attracted to.
Like Reyna, for instance.
I’d never be able to focus on anything else if I were married to a woman like that. All I’d be able to think about would be that fine arse and those gorgeous tits and holding her down so I could shove my hard cock inside her beautiful wet cunt.
It’s already difficult not to think about it, and I only met her an hour ago.
“Unbelievable,” Kieran mutters.
“Don’t say it.”
“This is about Riley, isn’t it?”
“I said, don’t say it. Drop the bloody topic.”
He ignores that as well, as I knew he would.
“Yer a right prick to marry a lass to try to get over a different one!”
My sigh is heavy. I open my eyes and look at him. “I’m not trying to get over her, I’m already over her. But thank you for your unsolicited opinion. Now shut your gob. You’re making my headache worse.”
Kieran huffs. “Jesus, God, and all the saints. Ye stubborn barmy bastard.”
“If it makes you feel any better, arsehole, think of it this way: at least with me, the lass will have her own bloody life. If she married one of her own kind, she’d be chained to a stove in the kitchen. Or worse, chained to a bed and forced to be a baby-making machine.”
He eyes me. “Uh-huh. And what about the baby makin’ between the two of ye?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if yer not attracted to the lass, how’re ye gonna get yer flute to play a tune for her?”
Maybe I’ll think about her homicidal aunt.
I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of the seat again.
There’s a long, loaded pause. “Ye can’t be tellin’ me yer not gonna have sex with yer own wife.”
“She’s only eighteen fucking years old. I’d feel like a pedophile.”
“So what’s the plan? Ye’ll wait until she’s old enough to order a pint at a pub?”
When I remain silent, he heaves a sigh. “Yer the biggest eejit in all the land, and that’s a fact.”
“Listen, you tosser, it wouldn’t do you any harm to show me a little more respect. Technically, I’m your boss now.”
He cackles. “Oh ho! That’s a mighty high horse ye got there, lad! Do ye want a wee crown to go along with yer lofty new position, my liege lord?”
I picture myself in a Shakespearean period outfit with pouffy sleeves and a belted tunic, a bejeweled crown on my head as I haughtily survey the peasants toiling over my land, and can’t help but smile.
“Aye. Give me a bloody crown, would you? Even better, I’ll borrow the diamond tiara Sloane wore when she married Declan.”
“Why not go the full monty and borrow her red dress, too?”
“I do look smashing in red.”
“Always knew ye were a little light in the loafers, mate,” he says, still laughing.
“And what does it say about you that you’re my best friend?”
“That I’m the second biggest eejit in all the land, obviously.”
“For once, we agree. Now shut the fuck up, you gas bag. I want to catch a few winks before we get back on the plane.”
Try as I might, however. I can’t sleep.
All the way to the airport, memories of furious greenish-gray mermaid eyes keep me awake and churning.
“So you went ahead with it.”
“Aye.”
Declan grunts. I can’t tell what it means. I know he thinks I’m as daft as Kieran does to agree to an arranged marriage with a complete stranger, but I also know he’s pleased as punch with the deal itself.
Which means everything to me. Not only is Declan O’Donnell the head of the Irish Mob, he’s one of the finest men I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for him. My loyalty to him is unshakeable.
It’s a small price to pay to marry a lass I don’t love to prove it.
“And?”
“And what?”
“What’s she like?”
I think about it for a moment. “Bright.”
Declan makes a face. “Light bulbs are bright. What’s the lass bloody like, Spider?”
We’re sitting in his home office in Boston, drinking scotch. It’s late, past midnight, but Declan doesn’t ever seem to sleep much. When I texted him from Logan that we’d landed, he instructed me to come to his house after supper so we could talk.
Now here we are, talking, but I can’t come up with much to describe my future wife.
I barely know the lass, for fuck’s sake.
“What difference does it make?”
He snorts. “Only the difference between misery and happiness.”
“Not everyone can have what you have with Sloane.” I add drily, “Or would want it.”
His blue eyes twinkle at the mention of his wife. “Are you saying my dear bride is a handful?”
“Handful doesn’t even start to scratch the surface. Your woman’s a bloody force of nature. Had us all eating out of the palm of her hand within a day after you kidnapped her.”
His look sours. “I’ll have you know, I was in complete control the entire time.”
I chuckle. “Aye, it sure looked it as you were tearing out your hair and screaming.”
His wife, Sloane, could easily rule the world if she wanted to. They met under unusual circumstances—he abducted her with a mind toward interrogation after she caused a shootout between our men and the Bratva (long story)—and he instantly fell under her spell.
As everyone does, man or beast.
When I said she was a force of nature, it was accurate. She’s an erupting volcano, a category 5 hurricane, and a magnitude 10 earthquake, all wrapped up in a body made for sin.
Like someone else I recently met.
Who I am not fucking thinking about, goddammit.
Except I am, because Declan says, “Did you meet Caruso’s sister?”
I glance up to find him looking at me with expectation. “Aye. Why?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Only that I’ve always wondered what the notorious Black Widow is like. Does she have the arse on her they say she does?”
“Whoa, hold on a minute. Black Widow?”
“Aye. According to the rumors, she killed her husband in cold blood.” He takes a swallow of scotch. “Not that he didn’t deserve it. Word is he was violent with her. By all accounts, he was a gigantic prick.”
I think of Reyna’s face when I asked if she was Mrs. something, the way she grew so angry. I think of how she was so upset about her niece not having a choice about getting married. How she scoffed when I asked what made her think the lass wouldn’t have a life of her own after we were wed.
Then I wonder about that tattoo on her ring finger, the small black line of script in the place where a wedding band would be.
I feel a sudden powerful urge to know what that script says.
I say absently, “Aye, she’s got the arse. And a pair of tits that could give a man a heart attack. And eyes like thunderclouds over a stormy sea.”
After a moment lost in thought, I realize Declan hasn’t said anything. I glance over at him to find him staring back at me with his brows raised, an amused expression on his face.
“Made quite an impression on you, did she, boyo?”
I scowl. “No.”
“Really? You’re sitting there spouting poetry about her dreamy eyes, and she didn’t make an impression?”
I drag a hand through my hair and shoot the rest of my whiskey. Then I admit reluctantly, “Aye. But only because of how much she hated me.”
“Hated you?”
I nod. “Wanted to douse me in petrol and light a match. And would’ve danced a jig as she watched me burn.”
“Why? What did you do?”
“Excuse me, but I didn’t do a bloody thing!”
“So she’s just a bitch, then.”
“Aye, she’s a bitch!” I pause, thinking of our encounter. “Can’t really blame her, though. She seems awful fond of her niece. Protective of the lass, almost like a mother. Couldn’t have been easy for her to have some strange Irishman clomping about the place and grilling the lass like she was up for an important job interview.”
“Which, technically, she was.”
I exhale heavily, suddenly exhausted. “And she passed. Let’s talk about something else now.”
“Are you joking? I’m having far too grand a time watching you squirm. Tell me more about the Black Widow. What’s her real name?”
I look at the ceiling, biting my tongue and knowing there’s no way out of this but through. My voice comes out gruff. “Reyna.”
“Hmm. Suppose it fits, what with her reputation.”
“You lost me.”
“Reyna means queen.”
Queen. Why that should send such a jolt of lust through my veins, I have no idea.
I close my eyes and clench my teeth, trying to banish the thought of her.
My dick laughs at me and sends me a memory of her full, scarlet lips instead.
Suppressing a groan, I pour myself more scotch.
Watching me closely, Declan says, “You better not make that face outside this room, lad, or you’ll be begging your new wife not to cut your prick off.”
“I’m not making a face.”
“Your cock is.”
“Aye, well, he’s not the boss of me.”
“Let’s hope not. Stick him where he shouldn’t be, and you could start a war.”
I say through gritted teeth, “I’d never do anything to risk that. I know how important this deal is to you. To us. I won’t fuck it up over a piece of arse. Besides, like I said, she hates me.”
Declan lowers his voice. “Funny thing about women, though, Spider, is that it’s never as simple as it first seems.”
“Don’t I fucking know it,” I mutter, then take another big swallow of scotch.
I have a feeling I’ll be finishing the bottle.
