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“The meeting is set for tomorrow.” I glance at him wryly, managing to push ahead enough to get behind Saoirse as the cabs are waved down. “I think we can have a night to settle in before going straight to business.”
Then, as he glares at me, I slip smoothly into the cab next to Saoirse and close the door firmly shut.
“The Merrion,” I tell the driver as Saoirse gapes at me, her mouth twitching when she finally closes it.
“My father is going to kill you,” she says as the cab pulls into traffic. It’s cleaner and nicer-smelling than the one I took when I attempted to take Amy back to my flat in London, but I miss my motorcycle already. Even more than that, I miss Saoirse clinging to me as she rides behind me on it, but I’d never admit that out loud. Especially not to her.
“No, he won’t,” I tell her with a smirk. “He wants me back in Boston more than he could possibly want me dead.” I look at her, considering. “Unless, maybe, he knew about last night.”
Saoirse pulls away from me. “We’re not going to talk about that,” she says sharply, but I could swear I see her squirm.
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “I know you’re thinking about it. I bet you’re sore still, that every time the plane bumped the slightest bit, or this cab, you felt it in your—”
“Connor McGregor!” Saoirse glares at me. “If you say another word to me about my—or anything else, I’ll—”
“What?” My eyes take on a dangerous gleam. “You’ll tell Niall, maybe? Pit him against me for your honor?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Saoirse says stiffly. “Niall doesn’t give a shit about me or my honor.”
“Then what were the two of you talking about? On the plane?”
Saoirse raises an eyebrow at me. This close, I can smell her perfume wafting off her soft, warm skin. She smells like orange blossoms. Last night she’d worn something muskier, more seductive, but today she smells fresh and sweetly enticing. I can’t help but think that’s as much on purpose as the prim outfit to remind me of how pure she’s meant to be. How innocent and virginal.
There was nothing virginal about how she behaved last night.
“Why, Connor,” she says slowly, her mouth twitching with amusement. “Are you jealous?”
Something in me snaps, like a twanged guitar string. I reach out, capturing her chin in mine and turning her face so that she can’t look away. “I’m not jealous, Saoirse,” I say coldly, although the burning coal in the pit of my stomach suggests otherwise. “I’m concerned. Niall is on Liam’s side in this. There’s no reason he should want to get close to you unless it’s to hurt me in some way.”
Saoirse jerks away from me, hard enough to leave a reddened mark on her skin that I instantly regret and am aroused by all at once. “Not everything is about you, Connor,” she snaps. “Niall and I have known each other since we were young. Not well, he was always Liam’s friend and older than me. Liam paid very little attention to me when we were children. But I know him well enough, especially while I was engaged to your brother. We were talking about home. That’s all.”
“You shouldn’t be alone with him. He could take you, and then you’d have no value to your father or me.” The second the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. Graham might care about antiquated traditions and virgin brides, but I don’t. Saoirse’s connections are enough; she doesn’t have to come to me a virgin. Or at least—I would have thought so before I discovered what a pleasure it could be to defile her in every way for the first time.
At the core of it, though, I don’t fundamentally care about that. Saoirse herself has intoxicated me, driven me insane, and made me feel out of control these past days. Some other man being the first to plumb her depths wouldn’t change that, in my eyes.
Which, of course, is directly at war with the lingering urge to slaughter any man who looks twice at her that I’ve been fighting off these past days, as well.
But Saoirse believes me. She recoils, her eyes narrowing. “You should keep your hands off of me, then,” she spits as the cab turns the corner towards the hotel. “Or I’ll have only the most technical virginity left by the time we make it to the altar.”
She doesn’t wait for me to come around and open the door for her, bolting out of the cab herself, which tells me how much my words stung. “Saoirse—” I try to stop her, but she barely gives me a glance as she sweeps past the valet collecting her bags.
“I’ll see you at dinner tonight,” she says tautly, without a backward glance. Graham pushes past me to join her, giving me a wrathful look. Niall follows them several paces behind as my men gather around me, Jacob at my side.
“I thought you were better with women,” Jacob says affably, smirking as he watches Saoirse storm off. “Sure you want to put a ring on that finger?”
“Shut the bloody hell up,” I growl, striding forward into the hotel, and I catch his shrug as he follows, still smirking with amusement.
It’s going to be a long few fucking days.
