Page 14 of Dublin Devil

I swallow and stare at the carpet runner on the floor. Damn. He sees too much and when I look into his emerald eyes, I say too much. “No. Da didn’t beat me.”

But he might as well have.

“Was it one of your brothers?”

I meet his gaze. “They would never. My brothers might be rough around the edges, but they love me. They’d never hurt me.”

“Yet you didn’t say the same to defend your father. Why? What did he do, Piper?”

I push past him and shuffle down the hallway. “Nothing. My father loves me. I’m barely awake. I didn’t mean to imply differently.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Sean

She’s lying to me again. Not a good start to the day, but I’m getting closer to the truth. She’s afraid to go home and Mattie McGuire has something to do with her ending up beaten and fleeing his territory last night.

It’s obvious, if I push too much, she’ll bolt.

I catch her elbow at the top of the staircase. She’s favoring her right leg and shuffling along like she’s ninety. The stairs are going to be hell for her in this condition.

“All right. I’ll stop asking questions for now if you let me make you something to eat. It’ll give you a chance to wake up and I’ll know you aren’t going to keel over at any moment.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know that, but I also know that if you hustle out of here in this condition, you’re asking for trouble. Let me take care of you for a bit and then you can come up with a plan after a cup of coffee. Do you drink coffee?”

“Got any vanilla hazelnut?”

I make a face. “Do I strike you as a vanilla hazelnut type of man?”

That, at least, gets a giggle out of her. “Whatever you have will be fine. Thank you.”

When she attempts the first step and winces, I slide around her side. “I’ve got you. Between the leg and those ribs, you really need to take it easy for a few days.”

She reaches behind my neck and lets me pick her up without argument and that’s either a good sign that she’s beginning to trust me or a bad sign and she’s hurting worse than she’s willing to admit.

Still, I’ll take it as a win.

I try not to overthink how good it feels to hold her in my arms or how naturally her soft and tender bits melt against my hard, chiseled ones.

At the bottom of the stairs, I consider putting her down, but I don’t. I’m not ready to let her go and use the excuse that she’s injured to take her all the way to the kitchen. Once she’s settled in one of the four little chairs, I turn my attention to feeding her.

“We’ve got nothing in the fridge. There are some frozen juice containers in the freezer. Several boxes of cereal, but no milk. Oh, and a couple of boxes of berry Pop-Tarts.”

“Pop-Tarts and juice for the win,” she says. “Assuming you have a toaster.”

“Ah, good point.” I open a few of the cupboard doors and pull one out. “We do. Pop-Tarts it is.”

Honestly, it’s lucky I don’t have to cook because breakfast in the clubhouse consists of steak and beer, and breakfast at home is prepared by Cora.

I’m a lot of things—culinary isn’t one of them.

The two of us talk about nothing important as I start a pot of dark roast, make the juice in a glass jug, and start popping down our breakfast.

“I heard your brother has a new, American girlfriend. That must be exciting. What’s her name?”

“Madelaine, but she goes by Laine.”

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