Page 123 of Mob Saint

“Fecking hell, Tiera. I’m going to embarrass myself again, and this time my brother and cousins are going to know about it. Stop being sexy as sin.”

She giggles, and I love hearing it. She says she hasn’t laughed as much as she has in the past seven months since she can’t remember when. She still thinks I’m joking and shakes her head.

“Haven’t you realized yet, cailín, I’m not prone to exaggeration?”

She snorts her laughter. She trails a hand from my neck down my chest, along my belly to my board shorts’ waistband. She tugs at the drawstring. She pulls the front away from me and peers down my shorts and licks her lips. Does she even realize she did that? I truly don’t think she does.

“We can both see I’m not exaggerating when I say you’re a colossus.” Her other hand glides down my back.

“You touching me isn’t helping.”

She lets go, and the elastic snaps against my skin. She draws her hands in and tucks them under her chin playfully. She tries for an innocent expression, but it’s pure seductress instead.

I stand and slide my arms underneath her. I carry her back to our bedroom and set her down gently.

“Put a shirt on and pair of shorts. We’re going for a walk before I maul you.”

“I don’t mind if you maul me. I rather like it.”

“Clothes, Tiera.”

When she turns to the closet to grab something to wear, I marvel at how lucky I am. I’ve found someone who understands me on an intuitive level. She knows what I need and when I need it. She knows when I need a partner, an equal I can talk to about things going on. She knows when I’m struggling to feel like I have any control in this fucked-up world we exist in. She submits and lets me feel like life isn’t spinning me in a dryer. She makes me laugh with a silly side I never suspected—a side she thought died three years ago.

“Okay. I’m ready for a walk.” She doesn’t sound ready. She sounds annoyed.

“Come here, mo stóinín.”

I hold out my hand, and we go back out through the French doors in our bedroom. We head to the beach, and I guide us in a direction we haven’t been before. We chat about the new job she’s starting in two weeks when we get home. She’s going to be a reliability engineer for the NYFD. It’s a dip in salary, but it’ll allow her to continue to use her education in applied mathematics and her knowledge of fire sciences.

She knows no one in my family will ever ask her to get involved in our off the books businesses. She offered because she couldn’t imagine not after all the years the O’Briens took advantage of her. She cried with relief when I practically yelled at her to never suggest she get involved in anything that could get her arrested or hurt.

“Do you want to stop up ahead? I think the view’ll be nice.” I point to a spot about a hundred yards from us. The view—the landscape not Tiera—is nice everywhere on these islands.

“What’s that in the sand?” She squints as we approach. “Is that a mini soccer pitch? Did someone draw goal boxes?”

She glances up at me and is about to look back when she halts. She tilts her head to look at me. She studies my expression before she keeps walking. There’s a soccer ball waiting in the center. She walks to it, but I let go of her hand and jog to the far goal.

“Seamus?”

“Let’s see how you do with me as keeper.” I stand in the goal box I scrambled to draw when she was in the shower this morning. I told her I needed to check with the guys about our dinner reservation. I did, but I also dragged Cormac here to help me get this ready.

She shakes her head and shrugs. She slips her foot under the ball and kicks it up to bump it higher with her knee. She uses her chest to push it forward before dribbling it toward me. She takes ten steps before she stops. She picks up the ball and turns it over until she can read the writing.

For the longest time, my only goal was to survive. Now my goal is to make you happy until my last breath. An bpósfaidh tú mé?

She walks toward me, carrying the ball. She’s staring at it, clearly trying to sound out the part she doesn’t understand. She stops when she nearly bumps into me. My hands go around the back of her thighs as the ball drops from her hands.

“Seamus?”

“Is breá liom tú, cailín. An bpósfaidh tú mé?”

I open the ring box in my hand, but she appears too surprised seeing me down on one knee. I watch her swallow.

“I only understood one word. What does the rest mean?”

“I love you, little girl. Will you marry me?”

She nods vigorously.

“I need to hear it, T.”

“Yes! Yes! All the yeses!” She sinks to her knees and nearly knocks me over with her enthusiastic hug. “Daddy, I love you.”

Her kiss makes life worth living. Knowing I’ll come home to that for the rest of my life is like a prayer come true. Knowing we’ll have a family together one day is what hope is made of. Knowing she’s said yes makes me feel like more of a man than any fight I’ve won, any punishment I’ve doled out.

I gave up thinking redemption is possible for a man like me. I sin without repentance because there is no choice besides life or death. Mine, my family’s, and now Tiera’s. But Tiera’s granted me three miracles—she’s shown me I can be loved, I can love, and I can be more than a mobster. Surely, that makes her a saint.

When Shane responds to a security alarm about a trespasser on his construction site, he never imagines he’ll find a woman ready to go toe-to-toe with him on everything. He soon discovers she’s one secret layered upon another. They’re more alike than either wants to admit. Discover Shane and Carrie’s story in Mob Bride.

---