Page 80 of Stolen Rival
“I’ll have you know that I have an extensive selection of brightly colored shirts and several pairs of shorts. My favorite shirt is hot pink with little flamingos on it.”
I study his still-serious face for signs that he’s lying, but there are none to be found.
“Really?”
That makes him chuckle. “No,mo mhuirnín.This is why you can never play poker with us. We’ll eat you alive.” He brushes his knuckles against my cheeks. “So innocent. Well, in some ways. You weren’t very innocent last night while I fucked you on the kitchen worktop, were you?”
His words make my skin sizzle. I lean into his hand, my body humming at the memory of his dick buried deep inside me, of how hard he made me come, and how illicit and addictive it felt. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems you like it when I’m not so innocent.”
His lips twitch. “It seems I like every version of you.” His praise curls around me like a warm blanket, mimicking how he spent the night curved around my body, seemingly unwilling to let me go. Although when I woke this morning, he was already up. His day seems to start before dawn and finish long after the sun has set.
“What were you saying before I almost died from laughing at you?”
He wags his finger back and forth. “That’s what happens when you mock me.” Holding out his hand, he motions with his head. “Come on, we have work to do.”
I place my hands one on top of the other on the book on my knee. “Where are we going? And what kind of work? Wasn’t the deal when I got here that I get to be a ladyof leisure? And now you’re putting me to work? I’d like to speak to your manager.”
He flashes a rare smile, except, with me, they are starting to appear more often. “I have some bad news. The chain doesn’t go any higher. I spoke to my manager.” He points at himself. “And he says to get up off your arse because you need to learn some basic self-defense.”
I touch the back of my hand to his forehead. “Talking about yourself in the third person? Joking? Do I need to call your security lead? Did someone give you a personality transplant while I was sleeping?” I lower my voice. “Were you abducted by aliens and they decided to send you back with a new funny bone in place?” I glance at his crotch.
He hooks his arm around my elbow before hoisting me to my feet. “You need to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what? The day your heavies suddenly aren’t around to shoot anyone who comes within fifteen feet of me?”
His face darkens. “Could happen.”
I wave him off. “Really? Because they’re there when I’m awake, they’re there when I’m asleep. Fuck, Patrick, they’re even there when I use the bathroom.” I hold up my palm to stop whatever he’s about to say. “Granted, they stay on the other side of the door, but I know at any given moment if I call out for help, at least three people are within earshot. So tell me again why I have to learn to protect myself?” I flutter my eyelids at him. “Especially when all these burly, rugged men who never say a damn word to me are around to do it for me.”
He rolls his eyes. “This is serious, Sorcha.”
“And you decided this… when? This morning? That we need to start right this second?” I yawn, stretching my arms—and my book—overhead.
“It doesn’t matter when I decided, or why; what matters iswe’re starting. And I’d like to start now. Unless your side is still hurting.”
He hardly ever mentions the gunshot wound I got when he and his men killed my family. I wonder if it’s because it never crosses his mind, or whether he doesn’t like how it makes him feel to know I came so close to not being here. There’s no point in asking him. He won’t tell me.
“It’s fine. I hardly notice it anymore.”
“Good.” He slaps my arse like he expects it’ll spur me forward. “Then we can go.”
“No can do, I’m afraid, oh bossy one. In case you failed to notice, I am spending some one-on-one time with Jean Valjean.” I make a move to sit back down. Patrick swoops on me. He bends his knees, drops his shoulder until it is level with my stomach, and before I know it, I’m hanging upside down.
“Patrick! Put me down, you big oaf!” I flail my feet and wallop his arse, but that does nothing other than wind him up even more.
It shouldn’t be surprising when he gives a sharp slap to my bum, but the burst of hot sting makes me shriek all the same.
“Keep fighting, and I’ll keep slapping.”
I bite my lip. It’s tempting to keep pushing him. That slap didn’t feel too bad, and I hate him thinking that he’s won so quickly. When I wiggle in his grip again, he slaps both cheeks, and instead of a squeal, this time a moan falls out of my mouth as he walks.
He makes a satisfied noise. “Does my wife like a little impact play? Interesting.” He doesn’t slap me again or put me down until we make it into the gym. There are thick blue mats laid out in the middle of the floor where he drops me unceremoniously on my still-throbbing backside.
“You need to learn how to punchsomeone.”
“If you teach me how to punch, you know I’m going to practice on you.”
His lip curls. “If you can land a punch on me, you’ll have earned it.” He holds his hand out to help me to my feet. “Our Liam’s the only one who can really hand my arse to me. But since he’s a black belt in Muay Thai, he doesn’t count. Plant your feet shoulder width apart. You’re right-handed, correct?”
