Page 44 of Stolen Rival
“Astute, even with cancer ravaging his body.”
“It’s sad. It’s a horrible disease.”
I shrug. “We all have to go sometime.”
“Yes, but there’s a bad death and a good death. Cancer is definitely a bad death.”
“So’s taking a bullet to the stomach and bleeding out slowly.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Niamh.” I stare directly into her eyes. “My original choice for a wife.”
A fierce blush blooms in her cheeks. “I’m sorry you got landed with the booby prize. I’m sure she was far more beautiful than me. Probably thin, too. And I’m guessing blonde.”
The car hits a bump, and her tits bounce up and down. My eyes lock on her chest. She’s got a magnificent rack, and when the time is right, I’ll enjoy burying my face between them.
“You shouldn’t talk shit about yourself. Your brain doesn’t know the difference. Feed it lies and they become the truth.”
She looks away, returning her gaze to the view out of the window. “You’re not denying it though.”
I clasp her chin and force her to turn back around and face me. “You’re a beautiful woman. Curves are sexy. So is character. Remember that.”
Her eyes flare wide. “Did you just pay me a compliment?”
“Yes.” I draw my thumb briefly across her plump bottom lip, and fuck me, she parts her lips. I slip it inside. Her mouth closes around my thumb, and she sucks.
A hiss spills out of me at the flush of heat spreading through my midsection. The change in atmosphere came at me so fast, it made my head spin.
There’s a popping sound as I pull out my thumb. I almost move in to kiss her when the intercom buzzes, and the driver informs us we’ve arrived at Dylan’s place. I unfasten my seat belt and alight from the car. By the time I reach the other side, Sorcha is standing on the gravel driveway.
“Wow.” She glances around, taking in the impressive structure. It’s a modern building, all glass frontage to take in the views, and while it’s too contemporary for my tastes, I can appreciate the architecture.
“Different to Ireland, huh?”
“Very different.”
“Maybe pick your jaw up off the floor before meeting Dylan.”
A small smile lifts the corners of her mouth up. “Did you just make a joke?”
“No,” I lie, taking her hand and registering that there isn’t a moment of hesitation nor a trace of a tremble as I wrap my large calloused fingers around hers.
“I think you did. Wow. A joke, a compliment, and a deal all in one day. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
Her smile widens, and something shifts in my chest. Providing she plays her part well, and I make it back to Ireland alive and a whole lot richer, I might have to acknowledge that marrying Sorcha McCarthy may not be the disaster I feared it could be.
A uniformed staff member opens the door, and we’re ushered straight up a wide glass and oak staircase to the second floor. There’s a guard standing outside a room at the far end, which I guess is where Dylan is holed up while he waits for the grim reaper to arrive.
I look down at Sorcha. She’s gnawing on her bottom lip. Nerves, I guess. I tug her lip away from her teeth before she draws blood.
“Relax,” I murmur. “You’re going to do fine.” I squeeze her finger. “Ready to meet Dylan?”
Rubbing her lips together, she nods.
I motion to the guard. He opens the door, and we enter. Whatever Sorcha has said, and whatever fears she’s holding onto over her brother’s safety, I will watch her like a hawk. One wrong move, and she will live to regret it.
Chapter 23
