Irish Devil: Brooklyn Kings, Book 4, page 20
My mother also keeps glancing in my direction with a calculating gleam in her eye. It’s one I’ve noticed far too often lately; ever since Jack said he was buying Rory a ring. The expression on her face tells me that she’s about to turn her attention to me and my bachelor status. She’s hinted at it more than once over the last six months.
“Mother is watching you with that look on her face, again,” Nathan stage whispers in my ear from our end of the pew.
“She can give me that look all she wants. I’ll continue ignoring it, just like I have for the last year.”
“You know she’s already picking out all the nice girls you could choose from to settle down with,” he snarks with a mischievous grin.
I send him a rude gesture. Our mother clears her throat. Loudly.
“Wait until she turns her attention to you and tries to convince you you need leg-shackling,” I say in a low tone.
“I’m not opposed to marriage.” Nathan shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not in any hurry—I am only twenty-three, and there are plenty of women I haven’t managed to charm into my bed, yet—but finding that one woman to fall in love with? Doesn’t seem so terrible. Look at how happy Brenna and Jack are. Even Pierce seems to be enjoying wedded bliss. And I didn’t think that fucker enjoyed anything.”
Nathan gestures shallowly with his chin at the man in question. I glance in that direction. As though he knows he’s being talked about, Pierce raises his head and stares at us.
“Shit,” Nathan curses under his breath behind me.
I grin broadly and salute the Italian with two fingers. His eyes narrow, and he glares a few seconds longer before turning his gaze back to the sleeping baby in his arms. It’s so fecking weird that the most feared man on the entire East Coast is a father. I feel sorry for the future young man who dares to show up at Pierce and Mila’s door to pick up Milana.
At last, the priest rises from his seat on the pulpit, people take their seats, including Caitlín and Cristiano, who fidgets, and the ceremony begins.
I sip my whiskey slowly, savoring the oaky flavor of it. My gaze travels around the large room filled with tables, chairs, and a mix of Italians and Irish. Jack and Rory stand on the far right side talking to Giovanni and Francesca. Caitlín and Cristiano are once again running around. Only this time, Saoirse has joined them. The three of them are laughing and giggling. I’m glad Emilio doesn’t stifle his children’s play. A long-forgotten memory surfaces.
“Padraig.”
I come to an immediate halt at my grand-da’s growl. Slowly, I turn to face the hateful bastard, who stands in the doorway of his office. I make sure to keep my expression carefree and unconcerned. He hates when people don’t fear him.
“Colm,” I reply back. My tone is barely on this side of respectful, but veers entirely into disrespectful with the use of grand-da’s first name. Yet one more thing in the long list of everything he hates. It’s why I do it.
His jaw tightens, and his fists clench. I tip my chin up in a mild gesture of defiance. There hasn’t been a single smile or kind word from him my entire life. I never met my Mhamó. She died long before my birth. It was probably the only way she could get away from her husband.
He doesn’t say anything. Merely steps back into his office, leaving the door open. It’s an indicator I’m supposed to follow. I make my body go as loose as possible before casually strolling inside as though I don’t have a single care. I refuse to be afraid.
“Close the door,” he commands before I’m barely over the threshold.
I do as he says and then turn toward him. There’s a flash of movement, and my head whips to the side from the back of his hand striking me. A blinding pain flares across my cheek. The copper flavor of blood fills my mouth. I meet his gaze, hatred pouring from mine, while I wipe it off my lips.
I’m tempted to spit it on the floor, or, better yet, right in his face, but I’ve riled his temper enough. I swallow it down, instead. Then, I straighten my shoulders…and smile.
A peal of child’s laughter comes from nearby, and I blink away the memory. I glance down at the drink in my hand and drain the remainder in a single swallow. Then I set it on the hors d’oeuvres table in the far back corner of the room I refuse to admit I’ve been hiding near.
Tendrils of emotions from that fecking day continue to linger in my head. I just want to get out of here. Head to Emilio’s club Divine and find a woman ready for a night of hot, dirty sex. I glance around the room in search of Nathan. Maybe he’ll want to go with and find his own chick.
“There you are.”
Son of a bitch. I paste on a smile and turn to face the one person I’ve been avoiding all evening. “Mother. You’re looking lovely as always.”
She sends me a look that says my smooth compliments won’t turn her head. “I know you’re trying to hide from me.”
I gasp in mock horror. “I would never.”
Her lips twitch, but she smooths them out. “Uh huh.”
“What can I do for my esteemed mother today?”
Her eyes narrow, but she carries on. “I met this lovely young woman earlier. She’s the daughter of one of Emilio’s captains. She was sitting at a table by herself, and I thought it would be nice if you went over and talked to her.”
“You know I love you, right?” I don’t wait for an answer. “But I have zero interest in making small talk with some woman I don’t know and—no offense to her—don’t want to know. I wish you would stop trying to pawn off every woman you meet. Unless you want them to spend the night in my bed—a single night only—then you’re only wasting your time.”
My mother steps up to me and palms my cheek. “I only want you to be happy. Behind that fun-loving, devil-may-care attitude, and carefree façade you present to everyone, I know there’s a part of you that is truly unhappy. It breaks my heart, Padraig.”
She stares at me for another beat, drops her hand, and walks away. I stare after her with what feels like a boulder sitting on my chest. I take a deep breath trying to ease the weight of it.
“Don’t you love well-intentioned family members?”
I whip my head toward the feminine voice coming from near the giant fake palm tree positioned by the window. To my surprise, Mila’s sister, Anya, steps out from behind it. Her expression is abashed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation.”
I glance from her to the tree and to her again. “Were you hiding back there?”
She shrugs nonchalantly, but her cheeks redden. “I don’t really like being around people.”
That doesn’t come as a shock. Not considering what happened to her. I study her. Anya’s pretty enough with her long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and that knockout figure with perky breasts, narrow waist, and perfectly curved hips. If she were any other woman, I’d have seduced her already.
She takes a small step away, and I raise my gaze to hers. There’s a wary expression on her face and she won’t meet my eyes. Maybe my perusal hadn’t been quite as innocent as I think. I clear my throat. “Have a good evening.” I nod in farewell and turn away, ready to get the hell out of here.
“Wait,” Anya calls out a bit loudly.
I pause and glance over my shoulder at her with my brow raised in question. She fidgets and wrings her hands in front of her. I turn back around. Her gaze darts around the room before she finally looks at me.
“I have a proposition for you,” she says.
For the second time, I’m surprised. “I’m listening.”
Anya shakes her head. “Not here. Follow me.”
She moves away, walking along the outer wall of the crowded room. She doesn’t rush, as though not wanting to draw too much attention to herself. Her gaze travels around like she’s making sure no one is taking notice. My eyes follow her path and soon, she disappears out the exit without anyone stopping her.
Curiosity piqued, I do as she says. No one bothers me. They’re all involved in their own conversations. I step out to the entryway on the other side of the door and glance around. A sharp “psssst” comes from near the twin winding staircases. Anya stands on the other side of them. My shoes make a slapping sound on the marble floor as I make my way over to her.
“This way,” she says and takes off again.
This feels like a game of cat-and-mouse. Yet, I trail behind her until she leads me to a closed door. Anya opens it and walks through. I enter behind her and she pushes it shut, but not enough that it latches. I glance around. Despite having attended two weddings and three christening receptions at this manor house, including this one, I’ve never been in this room.
It’s artfully decorated with several hanging oil paintings of stiff-looking old men I don’t recognize. There’s a large, unlit wood-burning fireplace built into one of the walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows take up the entirety of the neighboring one. I don’t really care about any of that, though. I’m far more interested in why Anya brought me in here.
“What’s this proposition you have for me?” Might as well get it out in the open.
“You know what happened to me.” It’s not a question. Which is good, because she doesn’t wait for an answer. “My sister is like your mother, although maybe not quite as direct. She’s casually introduced me to several men. All of them try to act as though they haven’t been either bribed or strongly coerced by Pierce to make polite conversation with me. Mila has never come out and said it, but I know she’s hoping that one of them sparks my interest. That, maybe, one day I’ll fall in love.”
She paces. I don’t interrupt, because I’m completely lost in regards to where this conversation is heading.
“What she doesn’t understand is, I don’t want to meet these men. I’m never going to magically fall in love,” Anya says firmly.
Finally, she stops moving and turns to me. Her chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “My proposition is this; I think we should get married.”
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Doms of Club Eden
Forever
Submission
Desire
Redemption
Protect
Betrayal
My Christmas Dom
Absolution
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Love Undercover
In Too Deep
Striking Distance
Atonement
Bullet Proof
For Always
Point Blank
Saving Evie: A Love Undercover Novella
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Brooklyn Kings
The Devil I Don’t Know
The Enemy in My Bed
The Beast I Can’t Tame
Irish Devil
Irish Rogue
Irish Charmer
Irish Rebel
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About the Author
LK Shaw is the best selling author of sexy, sinful suspense. She resides in South Carolina with her high maintenance beagle mix dog, Miss P. An avid reader since childhood, she became hooked on historical romance novels in high school. She now reads, and loves, all romance sub-genres, with dark romance and romantic suspense being her favorite. LK enjoys traveling and chocolate. Her books feature hot alpha heroes and the strong women they love.
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L.K. Shaw, Irish Devil: Brooklyn Kings, Book 4
