Page 3 of Bargain with the Irish Devil

The blond man nods.

“Fine, I can tell you right now, I have no intention of paying my brother’s debt. Now leave before I call the police.” I’m intent on ignoring them, refusing to send another glance at either man.

The three steps up onto the porch bring them within a few feet of me.I would have said before now the porch was large—they make it feel tiny.

They both take a step forward. “Mrs. Beckett, we are asking you to please come with us. Mr. Kelly would like to speak with you.” The blond is firm.

“I believe I just gave my answer to any discussion Mr. Kelly would want to have.” I pull my cell phone from my purse, intent on using it.

It’s just after eight, andtwilight has set. The street isn’t very well-lit, and it’s empty of anyone. There is little traffic, which is what attracted me to the house. If I screamed for help, would someone hear?

“Ms. Beckett, you have no cause for concern about your safety. Declan needs only a few minutes of your time, please. If you do not come to him, he will come to you, and he will not be as pleasant.” Thelargerman is a stone wall. If he wanted to take me somewhere, he could—even though I’m a fat ass at a size eighteen.

The threat works. I don’t want the man in my home. All I want is this over. “Fine, if he wants to be told to fuck off to his face, I’m willing to do that.”

Smiling widely, the blond man leads the way to a black Lincoln Navigator parked in front of my home. He opens the door to the back seat as if he were a chauffeur.

I get in with a blank face.I’m doing everything I can not to showhow scared I really am.My hands are slick with sweat, and I’m working to force deep breaths to keep calm. If I ever see Peter again,he’s going towalk with a limp—that I give him.

I’m being summoned by afreakingmobster because of Peter and his stupidity. Would he be a kindly-lookingold manor an overweight middle-aged man used to throwing his weight around and being a dick about it? A man who thought he was above showingup himself to my home for whatever he wanted sounds like an asshole. I check my purse to confirmthe mace I haveis in the inner pocket and open the zipper—just in case.

A glance up to ensure the men up front can’t see takes me out of my head enough to only now realize I have no idea where we are. Before I can get oriented, the car comes to a hard stop. The blond man opens the door for me.

I have no idea what neighborhood we’re in. It’s a very quiet street, with only five houses lining the block on one side and four on the other, yet it wasn’t far enough to be out of the city even though the lots were much larger than the ones on my block.

The home is a beautiful, red brick Prairie-style, with a large front porchthat helda porch swing and two gliders. The door is a large, thick oak door, and it swings open without a sound.

I’m ushered into a foyer of light, golden wood. It’s not only on the floor, it’s also around the doors. On one side of the foyer is a formal living room that looks like no one goes into it, andon the other side is a more casual living room with a large flat-screen television and softer furniture.

There are two other rooms on each side. Those doors are closed. The large man knocks on a closed door. A muffled confirmation to enter is given. He opens the door and motions for me to follow him.

Taking a deep breath, I enter.

CHAPTER 2

Miranda

The man is gorgeous—and he knows it. He’s behind a large, gleaming mahogany desk. A smile plays over his beautifully molded lips. Honey skin is taut over a stern, wide brow. His square jaw is like something out of a comic book and likely has a perpetual five o’clock shadow. Raven-wing black hair is thick, glossy, and falls perfectly. There is only one flaw: a long, strong nose that’s clearly been broken at least once. Except it somehow isn’t a flaw. It fits him perfectly.

Stunning glacier-blue eyes meet mine. I don’t understand why my body reacts as though I’ve been dropped from a distance too high. My stomach is rushing to reach the ground before the rest of me. I’m grateful he hasn’t said a word because I can’t hear a thing over the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.

I remember hearing a story about Lucky Luciano being named head of the Italian mafia. A kid was asked to deliver a message to the boss. The kid wasn’t given a name or told anything about themen. When he entered the room, the kid picked out Luciano from two men as the boss. At the time, I thought it was interesting but didn’t truly understand the big deal. Now I do.

An aura of lethal power surrounds him that no one would miss. A sleeping tiger is still a predator with power that could be unleashed at any moment.Declan Kelly is most definitely a predator any kid or adult would pick as a boss out of a room of a hundred men.

A dark eyebrow goes up. He stands, and holy shit. Taller than my own five foot seven inches by at least six inches is one thing, add in a broad, strong chest that reminds me of a brick wall, and I wonder what the fuck I was doing agreeing to come here alone.

The ice-blue silk shirt he’s wearing, open at the throat, matches his eyes perfectly. His sleeves are rolled back, and the black pants he’s wearing have a sheen to them that screams money. It’s obvious what he wore is tailored to him.

“Ms. Beckett, I would like to thank you for coming to see me. Please, have a seat.” He nods to the two straight-back leather chairs in front of his desk. Only a trace of an Irish accent clings to the deep, smoky words wrapping around me and pulling me to him.

A fire is burning in front of a long, dark brown leather couch across from two matching club chairs. Although one of those chairs could be more comfortable, I prefer this over the sitting area with the veneer of a casual meeting. I’m hoping like hell he can’t tell I’m anxious—or if he does, it’s not because of the way my body is reacting to him.

I sit up straight, pressing my legs together and crossing my ankles tight. “I hardly had a choice. Your men made that clear.”

Tearing my eyes from him isn’t easy, but I give the large man a hard glare.

Declan turns to the man with a raised eyebrow.

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