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Was this a dream?
Seriously?
I mean, I’d been depressed before Finn O’Grady had walked through my doors. Now I wasn’t sure whether to be apoplectic or worried as fuck because he wasn’t wrong: you didn’t mess with the Five Points.
God, if I’d known they’d been behind the development on this building, I’d have probably signed over months ago.
The Points were. . . .
I shuddered.
Vindictive.
Aidan O'Donnelly was half-evil genius and half-twisted sociopath. St. Patrick’s Church, two streets away, had the best roof in the neighborhood and the strongest attendance because Aidan, for all he’d cut you into more pieces than a butcher, was a devout Catholic. His men knew better than to avoid Sunday service, and I reckoned that Father Doyle was the busiest priest in the city because of Five Points’ attendance.
“I like you down there,” he murmured absentmindedly.
The words weren’t exactly dirty, but the meaning? They had my temperature soaring.
Shit.
What the hell was I doing?
Enjoyingthe way this man was victimizing me?
It was so wrong, and yet, what was standing right in front of me? I knew he’d know what to do with that thing tucked behind his pants.
He wouldn’t try to penetrate my urethra—yes, you read that right. Craig had tried to fuck my pee-hole! Like,why?
Finn?
He oozed sex appeal.
It seemed to seep from every pore, perfuming the air around me with his pheromones.
I hadn’t even believed in pheromones until I scented Finn O’Grady’s delicious essence.
It reminded me of the one out of town vacation we’d ever had. We’d gone to Cooperstown, and I’d scented a body of water that didn’t have corpses floating in it—Otsego Lake. He reminded me of that. So green and earthy. It was an attack on my overwhelmed senses, an attack I didn’t need.
With the envelope in his hand, he held out his other for me. When I placed my fingers in his, the size difference between us was noticeable once more.
I was just over five feet, and he was over six. I was round and curvy, and he was hard and lean.
It reminded me of the nursery tale Mom had sung to me as a child—Jack Sprat could eat no fat, and his wife could eat no lean.
Did it say a lot for my confidence that I couldn’t seem to take it in that he wantedme? Or was it simply that I wasn’t understanding how anyone could prefer me over Jenny?
Even my mom had called Jenny beautiful, whereas she’d kissed me on the nose and called me her ‘bonny lass.’
Biting my lip, I accepted his help off the floor. My black jeans weren’t the smartest thing for the tea room, but I didn’t actually serve that many dishes, just bustled around behind the counter, working up the courage to do what Mom had done every day—greet people.
I wasn’t a sociable person. I preferred my kitchen to the front of house, hence the jeans, but I regretted not wearing something else today. Something that covered just how big my ass was, how slender my waistwasn’t.
Ugh.
This man is blackmailing you into his bed, Aoife. For Christ’s sake, you’re not supposed to be worrying if he likes the goods, too!
Still, no matter how much I tried, years of inadequacy weighed me down as I wiped off my knees.
