Page 14 of Irish Brute
First and foremost: “Will you let me keep working?” My job is everything to me. Law school kept me focused after That Night. I’ve built my own life at the freeport. I’m excellent at my job, and I love it. I don’t know what I’d do if anyone took it away from me.
“Of course,” Braiden says.
“For how long?” I ask, fearing a trap.
“As long as you care to.” He sounds…amused.
“Where will I live?”
“In my house.”
“In Fishtown?” It’s a section of downtown Philadelphia.
“In Ardmore. North and west of Philly.”
“That’s too far from Dover.”
“You can work remotely. I’ll give you a home office. Whatever computer set-up you need.”
I shake my head. “There are times I have to be in the office in person. I handle important meetings. Confidential papers.”
His shrug is dismissive. “Then I’ll give you a driver. Protection.”
He means a bodyguard. If I do this, my life will change in ways I’m only beginning to consider. But if I don’t, I’ll be on my own. Facing Don Antonio without…protection.
“What about the next week? Before we actually get married?”
“You can stay here. I’ll put one man in the lobby. Another outside your door.”
Mrs. Samson and Caleb will love that.
Will love that.
I’ve already made up my mind. Anything else I say, any further questions I ask, they’re just for show.
But I have one more thing I have to make clear. “This…marriage. We’ll live like husband and wife?” That sounds so Old Testament, so stilted, I have to add, “In one bedroom?” But that’s still not my true concern. “You expect sex?”
Braiden’s eyes glint, like someone has told him a punchline and he’s trying not to laugh out loud. “I’ve never forced a woman into my bed, Samantha Mott. And fetching as you are, I’m not starting now.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You’ll have your own room. For as long as you want it.”
My stomach does that flipping thing again, the way it did in the elevator. This is madness, all of it. I’ve never evenkissedthe man, and now I’m talking about becoming his wife.
He holds my gaze steadily. “I’ve given you a ring,” he says. “I’ve offered an office. A car. A driver. A bedroom. What else do you need, counselor?”
It’s the “counselor” that does it. He respects me as a lawyer. He’s treating me as a fellow negotiator, an equal.
I reach for the bottle of Jameson. I pour us both fresh shots. I raise my glass and wait for Braiden to lift his.
“To Himself,” I say, making sure I don’t look away from his devastating gaze as I adopt the Irish phrase. “The only man I’ll marry.”
His grin is like a wolf’s. “To Herself,” he answers. “My bride.”
6
BRAIDEN
