Page 62 of Stolen Rival
Liam stares at the side of Patrick’s face, and when his older brother doesn’t say a word, he offers me a bone. “You need something, Sorcha?”
Darragh drums his fingers on the table next to his glass. I’ve been in here less than a minute, and it’s already driving me daft. How does he still have all his fingers? Patrick’s patience and tolerance for his brothers is higher than I had for mine.
“I was hoping to borrow my husband for a moment.”
Patrick eventually puts his cards face down on the table and gives me his attention. “What do you need?”
I rock back on my heels. He seems disinclined to move, toleave the room and give me a private audience, but little does he know, I’m a determined little thing—or so Granny Moore used to call me. It seems determination passed down the maternal line of the family, as Da used to say that Mammy was the exact same. “Here? Now?”
Patrick picks up his tumbler, swirling the iced water around in the glass. “It’s as good a time as any.”
Fine. We’re doing this. “I’d like for you to fulfill your part of our deal and let me go out.”
“And you need to talk to me about it right now?”
I shrug, ignoring the questioning stares of all three Mahoney brothers. I’m not backing down from this. I don’t care that they’re in the middle of a fucking card game. “I’d like to go tomorrow. I tried to wait for a break in play, but it’s getting late, and I want to sleep.” I fake a yawn and stretch my arms over my head to drive home my point.
Liam smirks. “Do you play poker, Sorcha?”
As a matter of fact, I do. Da sometimes let me play when the stakes were low, and my brothers used me to help them practice for the more important games where they won more than sweets. “Yes” almost slips out of my mouth, but Patrick’s glower makes me shake my head instead. “Not well.”
Patrick taps out a beat on his hand of cards, still lying on the table. “And where is it that you would like to go tomorrow,mo mhuirnín?”
The pet name makes Darragh’s brows jump. He has a terrible poker face.
I fold my arms, readying myself for a fight. “Out.”
A muscle in Patrick’s cheek twitches. “Out where?”
“Does everyone in the house have to log their whereabouts with you at every minute of every day?”
Liam hisses a breath out through his teeth.
“You said I could go out as long as I took a babysitter. So, I want to go out.” I’m being petty, and petulant, but I don’t care. He’s treating me like a stranger, and if this is the only way to get a reaction from him, then so be it.
Patrick takes a sip of water. “Not everyone, but I’d like to know where my wife is going to be.” His voice is level, almost indifferent, like he doesn’t give a flying fuck where I’ll be.
“I want to get my nails done. They’re starting to grow out after the wedding.”
Silence.
“And I’m overdue a sports massage.” Understatement of the century considering the rocks that now live in my muscles. I roll my neck from side to side.
He fixes me with a hard glare, and I open my mouth to call him all the lying fuckers of the day. “But you said?—”
“Okay.”
My words die on a squeak. “What?”
“As agreed, you’ll have a bodyguard, but Garrett’s wife, Rosanna, will go with you as well.”
Another condition tacked on without warning. I grit my teeth. “Who are Garrett and Rosanna?”
Liam’s got a grin on his face that tells me he wishes he’d brought popcorn to our exchange.
“Garrett is one of my senior captains.”
When I open my mouth to say I’ll have my bodyguard with me, he holds up his hand. “You will like Rosanna. She’s a lot like you.”
