Page 147 of Merciless Desires

Sophie sits on Darragh’s lap in a kitchen chair, playing a game on her iPad. The sight crushes me. How can a man who said he’d murder his own brother turn off that kind of evil to be so damn gentle and warm with his daughter?

He lights up around her. The only time a smile remotely forms on his beautiful face is with Sophie. Then again, he smiled when kissing me, too.

Growing up, Papa never turned off his hate. But despite speaking harshly all the time, I knew he loved me. He would never hurt me directly, like strike me, but he was never warm. The O’Rourkes had seven or eight kids. I’d lost track. They looked like a happy family. That the oldest five brothers now run the O’Rourke empire suggests how close they were growing up.

I clear my throat, forcing Darragh to notice me.

“Hungry?” he asks.

Sophie cradled on his lap is a sight that makes my blood whoosh faster in my veins. Hungry, yes. For him.

“I am,” I say, embarrassed by my uncontrolled attraction to him. “Can I get some fresh air first? Take a walk? It’s not raining.”

Darragh eyes me suspiciously, giving my cardigan, yoga pants and sneakers a once-over. “A walk. For fresh air.”

“Uh huh.”

“Can I go for a walk with you?” Sophie asks.

My heart seizes, but this is an opportunity to prove I’m not running off. “Of course, sweetie.” I hold out my hand to her. I’m sure I can distract her while I shove a letter in the mailbox.

Darragh looks at the clock on the stove and stands up, gently putting Sophie on her feet.

She scoots past me. “I’ll get my coat.”

“A walk.”

“Darragh, I was cooped up in that motel room. Please…”

He lowers his eyes. “Why now? We were in the mall. The hospital.”

“That wasn’t outside. I like fresh air.”

“Sit on the porch.”

“Everything is wet.” I fold my arms. “Where am I going to go with nothing? No money. No phone. And with your daughter?”

That sets off alarms, though, as he grabs my arm. The roughness sends mixed signals of lust through me.

“I’m ready!” Sophie sticks her head into the kitchen.

“Please, it’s just a walk,” I whisper. “To get my blood moving.”

“I offered to get your blood moving.”

Now it’s a tsunami under my skin. “And I said I was considering it.”

He stares at me. “If you don’t come back… If I find my daughter wandering—”

“You. Won’t.” I pull away and turn around. Snagging Sophie’s hand, I say, “Why don’t you show me your bus stop?”

“Okay!”

We leave, and I don’t look back. Outside, the lampposts on the street keep the darkness away. Sunrise and sunset times are similar to those of New York. But in November, daylight is limited. Here in Seattle, the sun is on a permanent holiday.

I glance down the street where I saw the mailbox.

“My bus stop is this way.” Sophie tugs me.

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