Page 16 of Bargain with the Irish Devil

Long after he’s climbed the stairs after me and turned off the light in the hallway, I can’t stop thinking about him. I tell myself it’s wrong, to hold fast against him. He will give up. I don’t believe he’ll take me by force. It’s the right thing to do, not getting involved with Declan Kelly.

If it’s the right thing, why do I crawl under the covers and do just what he accused me of? Touchingmyselfto a small, sweet orgasm to the memory of that kiss. Why do I wish the damn cat never appeared? Because the cat saved me from making a huge mistake—didn’t it?

Declan

I watch Miranda nearly run from the room as if the devil were chasing her.

She’s not wrong.

Nothing happened the way I planned when I followed her downstairs. It started with the gut punch that had me leaving my room without thinking, certain she was taking a chance and running from me. I couldn’t allow it. Whatever it took, I would chase her down. Only to find her in the kitchen in a white nightgown so pretty it could double as a wedding dress. She appeared virginal, pure, and everything I wanted and didn’t deserve.

My cock ached at the way the nightgown caressed her curves. And my hands went into fists to keep from reaching out to study those curves in detail. Her long hair was down, floating in waves around her beautiful face. No wonder she hid behind those awful clothes. Any man seeing her would do evil things to have her.

I felt her eyes on me. They were just as greedy as mine on hers. Brilliant green glowed as they ran over me.

If I’d been one step closer to her, I would have picked her up and taken her over the island exactly the way I warned her. It would be what she was asking for with those hungry eyes. Only I didn’t want her that way.

After it was over, she would go right back to fighting me.

I don’t want to fight her. I don’t want to tie her down. I want her willing and begging, and nothing less will do. Because it won’t be just once or even one night. There’s no way this hunger could be satisfied so quickly.

Even if it was a lie, I needed to show her that she could trust me.Not only to give her all the pleasure she deserved, but I also wouldn’t hurt her. She didn’t need to protect herself from me.

I’m a bastard. If I wasn’t, I would let her go—leave her alone. Only I can’t. It was too late the moment I saw her. I don’t want to hurt her, but I will. She doesn’t want to be in my world and I won’t leave it for her.

But while she’s here, I will take care of her in every way. Which surprised the hell out of me, the same way my need to do it earlier today did. When I told her that since she was in my home, I was going to take care of her—I wondered where the hell the words came from. They weren’t something I’ve ever said in my life to a woman.

While in bed, I prided myself on giving a woman as much pleasure as she gave me. Outside of it, I couldn’t care less about their wants or needs because it was only about sex. Even with Orla—it’s probably why we crashed and burned so badly.

I wanted to give Miranda anything she needed, anything she wanted to make her happy. It wasn’t because I wanted to fuck her, either. There was simply something that happened to my chest every time she smiled at me when she was happy. It was an eerie sensation, all hot and melting and like I was being filled with something I didn’t realize I was missing. Ineededmore of it.

She seemed so small in the large kitchen. The idea of her fumbling around in it didn’t sit well with me. I fixed her the late-night snack I often had when I came home and was hungry. Her eyes followed me around the room, clinging to every move I made.

The little liar said she didn’t want me while her eyes ate me up. She couldn’t really think she would keep getting away with telling me no when her eyes said yes.

Her surprise and happiness when I set the plate of food down in front of her gave me that sensation in my chestall overagain.

Then she was snapping at me, hereyes filled with hurt. I kissed her to take the pain away. That’sall it was supposed to be. Except for the first time…ever, I lost control of the kiss—of myself. She was right there with me, as desperate for meas I was for her.

Hell, I was going to be lucky if I could make it to the island. Only for Banshee to arrive and ruin everything.

The cat was jealous of Miranda. Recognizing the way I only just had that she was different. I’ve never offered to remove Banshee from the house for a woman. A few times, a woman came over andfound Banshee and complained that they didn’t like cats or were allergic. I shrugged and told them they could leave if they wanted because Banshee wasn’t going anywhere.

If I’d known Bansheewas going to scratch Miranda, I would never have allowed her close. Seeing the blood on her smooth, soft skin turned me savage. The cat was lucky I didn’t throw her from the house. It took everything in me not to—fighting to remember she was a cat. Merely a predator sighting competition for resources. To hurt her would do no good, and I needed to focus on soothing Miranda’s hurt.

But I made it worse. It wasn’t the first time I told a woman all I wanted was her in my bed. There would be nothing outside of it. I never started anything with a woman without ensuring she understood. To not say it would be wrong—make me more of a bastard than I already was.

Yet, as I said it, the words felt wrong. I wanted Miranda every moment of the day. I wanted all her smiles and laughter. The nights wouldn’t be enough. Is that why I told her the truth about Orla? Orla, a wife I haven’t thought of in years—it didn’t matter that her picture was on the bedside table. To me, her picture was no different than the tree in my front yard, a part of the scenery.

When I got the call she died, all I did was let out a sigh of relief. I didn’t go to her funeral. While her mother was angry, her da understood.

In the years since I left the picture out, I never looked at it. Or if I did, I didn’tseeit. I don’t recognize the man in the picture. As for Orla, I have no memory of what Orla looked like without the picture. Whenever I thought of her, all I felt was relief she was gone.

Yet, I also played the grieving widower when I needed it.No, darlin’, I can’t marry you. I buried my heart with my wife, and there’s no digging it up again.

I didn’t want to do that with Miranda. I needed her to know the truth about the picture she might come across. That the woman in it meant nothing to me. The sadness in her eyes hit me hard when I told her about Orla.

I’ve been shot, knifed, and broken bones, but knowing I was the cause of any pain to her was more than I could bear. All I wanted to do was hold her, soothe her—to see those hazel eyes go green again for me.

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