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“Mine?”
“Theirs,” he said and edged in closer. “Shit, Sersha, you understand what he’s capable of, right? He shot Dingo for walking in on you two together. What do you think a guy they call ‘Ire’ will do to any man who touches you? Who flirts with you? Who buys you a drink?”
Concern brought her brows closer. “Are you telling me to be afraid of him?”
“I’m telling you to be afraidforthem. You want to fuck around with other guys? Their injuries, their deaths, will be on you.”
She blinked in surprise. “Their deaths? You’re exaggerating… aren’t you?”
He snickered in contradiction. Someone pulled the door from his hand, opening it from the other side.
Niall stood there before them. “Just her. We’re going out,” he said to Daly, who turned to descend again. “Miss McLeod.”
The acknowledgement came with Niall putting a hand on her lower back to push her inside. He closed the door behind her.
Ire was at the desk, on the phone, fixated on something in the corner. As she went a few steps, the long nook opposite his position opened up. The two blondes were on the chesterfield again. Sans clothes.
“Bring her…” Ire said into the phone, beckoning her with two straight fingers and pointing at the chair at the end of his desk. He smiled as his attention drifted, but it wasn’t for her. “Make you no promises… I’ve heard…” She went to sit, putting the glass and her purse on the desk. “Not sure I do. Your Doherty puts on a show…” His light tone wasn’t typical. Was it the blondes? Them enjoying each other seemed to be his focus. “I was there that night… Think every guy did…”
The blondes were beautiful, no denying it. Long silky hair. Perfect skin. What was it men enjoyed about women enjoying each other? Not that she judged them. Having never been with a woman, she couldn’t say whether it would be satisfying to touch one like the pair on the couch touched each other.
Over the years, more than a dozen men had groped her. They’d used their hands and fingers to please her. She was used to men’s bodies. The hard angles. The ridge of their arousal. How it felt to be filled by them.
The touch of his lips on her shoulder startled her. Was he finished on the phone? She tried to turn on a smile. With the women present, they couldn’t talk about their situation, their deal, or about Evander.
Ire’s narrow eyes stayed close, his lips a breath from her shoulder. What was it with men kissing her there?
Looking into him, a weight of need settled over her. Tired suddenly, but not in need of sleep, she licked her lips, aching to feel his against her again.
“Did I interrupt?” she asked, reaching for some semblance of sanity.
“My cousin.”
That was a shock. The blondes, over there…
“They’re your cousins?”
“On the phone,” he said, sweeping her hair from her shoulder as he stood up.
Good, because that would be weird. Creepy… Perverted. They didn’t look Irish either. Scandinavian? Russian? What did she know? Ire’s father had dark hair. He looked just like him; she’d been looking at pictures of McDades all day. The women over there, kissing, touching, they didn’t have the family’s authority. Even in 2D, the McDades presented formidable figures.
Yet, something about the women entranced her. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Did they enjoy being on show? A hand on a breast slid lower. Sensing it, the second woman parted her thighs, moving into the caress.
“Want to join them?”
She jumped. How could she be unaware of him when he was her reason for being there?
His question filtered in and she breathed out an awkward laugh. “No. God, no.”
“You’re used to living with rules,” he said, rounding the desk, whiskey in hand, to prop himself on the corner, observing the women too. “Thoserules don’t exist here, Sersha. Learn to be a bad girl. Satisfy your curiosity.”
That lilt, the way he said her name, even that didn’t quite land right. Mesmerized by the delicate fingers sliding through soft hair, the allure tempted her.
“I wouldn’t—I mean I’ve never…” Her mouth dried. His glass landed on the desk, then his open hand was in front of her. “What?”
She slipped her hand into his and with one tug, he pulled her to her feet. His other hand drifted up her arm, along her clavicle to her throat.
“We don’t need a reason to do something in this house,” he said. The back of his finger ascended the front of her neck to ease her chin higher. He ducked to kiss her slow. No tongue, just a long, gentle press of his lips to hers. Her eyes stayed closed when his mouth ebbed. “We need a reason not to do it… No one expects you to be a good girl here. You don’t need to behave. What reason is there to resist what feels good?”
