Page 34 of Bargain with the Irish Devil

I decide I’m going to put my words into action and go into the office to finish working on the ledger. I could finish the first one tonight.

Downstairs, Colm is waiting by the front door. “Ma’am, Declan is busy in his office. He’ll be out in a few minutes.”

The door to Declan’s office opens, and suddenly, Declan is inches away. I back away fast.

“You said you’d let me go. I want to go.”

A stormy ocean runs over me making me so wet I hate him and myself. “Once you’re done with the audit. For now, you need to go upstairs and get dressed for dinner. Or we stay here, and I fuck you until you can’t move.”

Declan

Her beautiful green eyes flick sparks at me as they widen. She looks from me to Colm, who looks like he wishes he hadn’t heard it either. The brat has five seconds before I make the decision for her. Stomping her foot in temper. “I hate you. I want you to know that.”

“I can still taste how much you hate me on my tongue. You wish. Your decision, Miranda. Or I assume you want me?—”

She nearly runs up the stairs. Brat. That sweet round ass of hers is due for a spanking. The door to her room slams, yanking me out of the fantasy of her over my knee. Damn.

I’m up the stairs at a much slower pace, my cock pissed at once again not having what its howling for. She has to be listening at her door because the moment my foot hits the landing, she calls out. “Where are we going? How nice should I dress?”

“The green and blue maxi dress.” I dare to tell her what I’ve been looking forward to seeing her in.

“Fine.” She mumbles before slamming her door closed.

After a quick change myself, I’m back downstairs on the phone with Liam, going over what Tommy is up to when Miranda appears. Fucking hell. I really wish she fought me a little more.

I end the call without any idea of what I said. Her eyes run over me. The brat’s eyes are fixed on my chest as her tongue slides out to wet her lips.

“Why did you change too? Is this nice enough?” She’s worried.

“You’re gorgeous. Even in those awful clothes you wore. Now, you’re downright stunning.” I love the blush that sweeps across her cheeks. “I changed my shirt because I’m a messy eater. The scent of your juice on me was beginning to make me turn black from?—”

Her eyes go big. “Shut up, you’re disgusting.”

She’s too damn close, her eyes too big, and shooting green sparks at me. Catching her around the back of her neck, I bring her up against my aching cock. “There is nothing disgusting about what I want to do to you. It’s dirty, sweaty, and some things are downright filthy but disgusting, nom’fhiorghra.”

Jesus, she’s panting for it. Those sweet lips parted to accept my kiss allow our breath to meet and mingle. I breathe her in deep. I’m a bastard. I love seeing how desperate she is while she fights me. Wanting to punish her for the pain she’s putting us both through, I let her go without giving her what she wants.

“We’re going to be late.” I don’t miss the way she rocks on her feet or the hurt in her eyes when I let her go.

Turning away from her isn’t easy. But suffering alone isn’t either. This damn week has felt like a month. After talking with Aoife about my plans, as I needed her help feeding Miranda the pills and a prenatal vitamin, I decided to take her advice. Give Miranda the room she thought she wanted. Once a person feels the sun on their face after not feeling it for years, they miss it something awful when it’s gone.

Aoife hadn’t liked the idea of the pills—at first. She demanded I tell her why Miranda hadn’t yet come around. She couldn’t understand why I hadn’t been able to talk Miranda into my bed yet and wondered if maybe it wasn’t right for Miranda after all. Until I explained Miranda’s hesitation.

Thank god, she’d rolled her eyes. She wanted to go talk to Miranda about the fear. When I told her that wouldn’t be enough, Miranda had to live with me day in and out to see she had nothing to fear. Finally, she agreed.

I thought I could go through leaving Miranda alone this whole week, but I didn’t have the strength to do so. Instead, I sat across from her and talked to her about everything I would need to know later—squirreling the information away for later. It was better than nothing but not nearly enough.

In the car, she refuses to look my way. Although she makes a facewhen I turn on the music and leave on the Amy Winehouse mix playing.

“Not a fan?” I’m curious.

She shrugs. “I don’t dislike her music. I just think it’s sad and a waste. Her talent was enormous. Because of a piece of shit man, she got hooked on drugs—basically killing herself for someone who didn’t give a genuine fuck about her.”

“I don’t disagree.”

“What? No,while she was alive, she loved her life.Like my mother.” She narrows her eyes at me.

I sigh. “Your mother died from breast cancer, right?”

---