Page 17 of Bargain with the Irish Devil

As badly as I wanted to, I didn’t dare reach for her. The words she needed to hear, I couldn’t give her. While I might want her for more than the nights, in the end, she wanted nothing to do with my world. There’s also the no small matter of the discussion I’ve been having with Eoin Downy out of Dublin for his daughter’s hand over the last three weeks.

Despite the absolute shitshow that was my marriage to Orla, I was aware another marriage was in my future. My uncles have muttered louder and louder over the last few years it needed to happen. At first, I was resistant, especially with another woman out of Ireland. Orla’s only appeal was how badly she wanted to come to Chicago. Only for her to hate it within months.

However, Brenna Downy is already here in Chicago. She’s attending DuPaulnot far from me. Since she’s graduating with her degree in a few months, she needs to marry to stay in America—her hope was before I’ve met the girl twice. While I wasn’t excited by how young she is at only twenty-two, she has a good head on her shoulders and isn’t a brat. I was honest with her about how badly my marriage to Orla went.

She shrugged off my intent to not be faithful. As long as I didn’t strike her and didn’t flaunt my other woman, she was fine with it. She had yet to encounter a man who was faithful, including her da, uncles, and cousins. All she wanted wasa few kids and wouldn’t demand I be involved.

Her mention of children was the only reason I continued to consider the marriage. Until she did, I hadn’t thought of having children in years. They hadn’t appealed. Children required time and attention, things I wasn’t able togive in those early years.

Yet when Brenna talked about them, the idea appealed in a way it never had.

Now that I had things firmly in control, I had more than enough time. I didn’t want to be one of those fathers who had no idea what their children did during the day. To be a stranger to their child the way my da was to me. While I don’t resent the way my da raised me, it’s not how I want things to be with my children.

The idea of filling this large home with children was something my da longed for. He and my mother were deeply saddened that I didn’t come until six years into their marriage and that they never had another child before she died. Da joked he couldn’t wait to have grandkids so he could spoil them rotten, then send them back to me. He hoped I would have a son just like me.

It felt like he was cursing me.

I sigh at the idea of a little girl with green eyes grinning up at me. My cock gets so hard it aches. Too damn bad Miranda doesn’t want to stay in my world. We would have some gorgeous children. Boys who could argue with the best of them, little girls who would run a ring around me.

But she doesn’t. Brenna Downey does, and she fits my world better.

If I weren’t a bastard, I would let Miranda go for all those reasons and so many more.

But I’m not going to because Iama bastard.

CHAPTER 6

Miranda

I wake gradually, content and happy. I’m wondering why when last night comes rushing back in graphic detail. Air leaves me in a gasp, and I’m so wet my face flames. God, what is the matter with me?

Why did it have to be Declan Kelly? All these years, I was happy…okay, maybe not like exuberantly happy. Content is probably a better word. I liked—like my life. I do what I want when I want. There’s no need to answer to anyone. Yes, there were times when it felt kind of boring and small, but I didn’t mind at all. There’s no angst in my life, and that was more important to me than anything else.

It’s a good life. The life I wanted, there’s a lot of money in my accounts, my home is paid off, as is my car, and my clothes have no rips, and the only frays are the shirts I retire to sleep in. I run a finger over the strap of the nightgown. The clothes I have might not have rips or frays, but they aren’t anywhere near this lovely.

Staying safe meant being see-through. It meant dressing—even in the safety of my home—in plain, boring clothes. At home, I lived in oversized shirts and stretchy, comfy leggings. Outside of my home, I never wore anything that couldn’t be confused with work clothes. Leggings clinging to thunder thighs, and my fat ass meant attention. Even things I slept in were boring. Old shirts, too worn to wear out, were all I wore to bed.

WhatI want to know is how he or whoever the shopper was bought the kind of beautiful dresses I longed to wear but didn’t dare. These weren’t clothes I could hide in.

The sound of a door closing yanks me out of my thoughts. I look at the plain black alarm clock on the bedside table. It’s a little after nine in the morning. What the hell? I never sleep this late. I’m in bed by ten, read for an hour, and fall asleep before ten thirty. My alarm goes off at seven, and I’m at work by eight-thirty. Even on the weekends, I never manage to sleep past seven.

Shock gets me up and moving.

Another go around with the washcloth as a toothbrush. I brush out my hair andcan’t be bothered to put it up in its usual bun. My stomach is growling again while I’m in the closet, trying to decide between a dress or a skirt and a pretty top. I go with a sundress, this in a swirl of blues, from sky to deepest azure.

I sigh. All those clothes and no slippers anywhere. I ignore my flats and decide to go barefoot.

As Igo downthe stairs, I find the blond-haired man waiting beside the door. He nods at me without looking at me, his eyes down. Weird.

In thekitchen,I find Aoife cooking at the stove. Her head comes up.

“Good morning, dear. Declan is having eggs, bacon, and toast. What would you like? I can do oatmeal, omelet?—”

“WhatDeclanis having is good, thank you.”Not wanting to put her to any trouble.

Declan is at the table, sitting in the chair I was in last night. It is seriously unfair how gorgeous he is. He’s wearing a deep blue silk suit. The shirt beneath it is snow white, and without a tie, his top button is open at his throat—the contrast of the honey of his skin against his shirt is something I can’t take my eyes off.

Sitting down at the table with him feels too close. Except I don’t want him to think I’m going to back down from him.

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