Page 11 of Vengeful Vows

She stalks up the stairs, right behind me, as I walk up them.

There’s a chorus of jeers and cheers from the peanut gallery, and I look back with a grin, but Bree looks straight ahead, her face pinched and drawn.

I get it. If she is anything like me right now, she hates this. She hates me, and the feeling is mutual.

I walk into the bedroom, and she blinks at me, staring at the bed as I close the door.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she hisses. “You don’t really think I’m going to sleep with you, do you?”

I shrug. “Stranger things have happened.”

If looks could kill, I’d have my head exploded by now.

She brings her fists up in a fighting stance, spreading her legs apart. “If you’re going to do this, you’re in for a fight.”

I laugh, holding up my hands. “I don’t force myself on women. Not even dirty little Murphys.”

“Then why are we here? Why are you going along with this?”

I stalk toward her. “You think I want this any more than you do? You think I want to be in here with you?”

“I don’t know,” she shoots back. “I have no idea who you are or what you want. I didn’t even recognize you until we got here.”

I scoff. “You didn’t recognize the Irish scourge?”

She snorts. “You think so fucking highly of yourself.”

“Damn right I do,” I admit. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am.”

Bree barks out a laugh. “You’ve worked so hard, just dribbling out of your father into your mother.”

“Isn’t that how you got here?” I sneer.

I keep stepping closer to her, but she doesn’t back up, having whirled around to face me.

“You’re no better than me,” she accuses. “Just a spoiled little prince.”

“You’d know, being the most spoiled little princess in the city,” I drawl.

“You couldn’t even find your own wife,” she spit out. “You had to have daddy find you one.”

“I told you,” I say through gritted teeth. “I didn’t want this, either.”

“Then why are you doing it?” Her hands hang on her considerable hips. She’s built like a brick shit house, and if this were solely about looks, I’d be all over her.

But it’s not. She’s a snake. A Murphy.

“What? Are you scared of daddy?” she goes on. “Are you afraid that he’ll put you out, kick you out of the lifestyle he affords you?”

“He would never,” I hiss. “But maybe that’s what you’re scared of. Maybe your daddy will drop you like a hot potato as soon as he hears that you’re married to a Burke.”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

I give her a twisted grin. “Not at all, sweetheart. I want us to live happily ever after because that would chap your daddy’s ass.”

“He’ll never allow this. It’ll get annulled so fast it’ll make your head spin,” she insists, but then I really notice her, and I smirk.

“Then why are you shaking?” I ask her. “You afraid I’ll seduce you, princess?”

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