Page 35 of Bargain with the Irish Devil

“Yes, breast cancer she didn’t discover until it was too late. She admitted she found the lump months before. But she didn’t make a doctor’s appointment because they didn’t have the money. It was only a year after my dad opened his own garage.They were finding their footing on things being more expensive than planned, and for a while, there wasn’t enough money. By the time the cancer was diagnosed, all the money the shop was finally making went to pay bills because now they made too much to qualify for charity programs.” Her words are bitter.

I can’t say I blame her either. A man should be able to provide everything his woman needs, whether it’s a home to make hers, clothes to wear, or access to healthcare to keep her healthy. One by one, all the men in Miranda’s life let her down. She’s understandably fearful I’m one more man who will do the same.

A pang of guilt hits me as I remember Brenna and the phone call I need to return to her father. I barely recognize the feeling. Guilt isn’t something I allow myself.

Sliding the car in front of the valet, Miranda’s eyes go wide. “Here? I love this place. But I haven’t been in years.”

“Let me guess, since your divorce?”

The smile falls as she shrugs. “It feels like a waste of money. I can cook at home.”

One more thing to consider. She thinks she isn’t worth it. Was it the ex, her childhood, or a mix of the two?

The valet is at her door before me, smiling down at her. I give him the keys with a glare.

CHAPTER 11

Declan

The hostess is smiling wide. “Mr. Kelly, we’re glad to see you again. I have the table you requested.”

Miranda is glaring at the woman. She doesn’t like a woman smiling at me any more than I want a man smiling at her. Good.

When my hand goes down to the small of her back to guide her through therestaurant,my cock jumps at the electricity. She doesn’t, only leans into my body and fuck my cock is back to aching.

“Your usual whiskey tonight, sir?” The hostess is focused on me and misses the annoyance flickering on Miranda’s face.

“No, thank you. I’m driving tonight.” I look to Miranda. “I don’t want to take a chance with her safety. A club soda with lime, please.”

Her beautiful face lights up. “You’re so sweet.” The smiledisappears when she turns to the hostess. “Since I’m not driving, a French 75, please.”

This time, the hostess doesn’t miss a thing. Her lips purse. “The lucky girl of the month. I’ll put the order in for you.”

Miranda’s face falls. I don’t think twice before I’m up. Her hand is on my arm. “Don’t. Whatever you were going to do, it’s not worth it.”

Sliding my arm from under her hand, I capture it in mine. I press a kiss to the back of it, holding her tight when she tries to escape. “You are worth far more than you think you are. I won’t allow you or anyone else to believe differently. I’m not out with the women I fucked because I didn’t care about what they did outside my bed. She’s a bitter bitch. And she’s going to get what she put out, that’s all.”

Miranda

This man is dangerous. Not because of the whole gangster or mafia or whatever the hell it is. Because he’s so charming, he makes me forget all the other things.

He didn’t listen when I said I didn’t want an appetizer, ordering shrimp in garlic and butter sauce with crispy bread, and crab cakes for us to share. It felt oddly intimate the way he put a few of each on a plate and encouraged me to enjoy it before threatening to feed it to me.

With Michael, he watched everything I ate and commented if he thought it was fatty or asked if I was sure I wanted it. Declan only seems to care if I like it or if I have enough of something.

There’s no judgment when I order another French 75 or when the waiter recommends a glass of wine with the porterhouse I order. Although he does tell the waiter it will only be one glass.

I open my mouth to argue, hating the idea of being limited by anyone, even if I’m already feeling the effect of the second glass.

“When I take you to bed tonight, I don’t want your senses blunted in the slightest.” The calm assured way he said it, shuts me up. Even though I want to kick him under the table as the waiter tries not to smile.

I get the porterhouse, and he orders the lamb chops. I’ve never had lamb chops before. “Do you want to try it? It’s excellent.”

Curious, yet embarrassed, I shrug. “I?—”

Without another word, he slices a bite and offers it to me. I want to shake my head and make an excuse, but I’m trapped in sapphire waves beckoning me into the water. Unable to break the connection, I open my mouth. He slides it into my mouth with a flare of fire in his eyes.

“Do you like that?” The words are husky, low, only for my ears.

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