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“I don’t take leftovers home. If you want another salad, I’ll send someone back here to get you a fresh one. Or whatever else you want.” He stands up. “I’m going to the men’s room. Donotmove from this table.”
“You’re serious? Why?”
“Because my guard is in the car, and I don’t have one for you yet.”
“And why is that?” I lean back.
“When you’re with me,I’myour guard. I protect what’s mine.” He drops the napkin onto the table and struts away, turning a corner.
Mine? His? Sounds very medieval. Barbaric even.
After finishing the entire club soda, I have to pee. I can’t see what the big deal is if I don’tleavethe restaurant.
I peek out from the wall that separates our seating area and glance at the route to the bathroom. It’s clear, so I hoof it that way and turn the corner.
But I slam into a wall of muscle named Kieran O’Rourke.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kieran
IgrabIsabellaoutof pure instinct. My brain immediately screams that she is trying to escape. Trying to leave me. I have nothing emotionally invested in this woman in twenty-four hours, except thirty million dollars and the bloodlust of wanting the Italians and Russian to destroy each other.
The thought of Isabella walking out on me awoke a visceral fire in my gut. For a second, I fell down the same vortex, the same black hole that swallowed me when I watched my sweet Norah flatline. Which makes no fucking sense.
Breathing heavily, I pin Isabella to the wall. “Where are you going?”
“I had to pee. You should have asked me and escorted me here with you. You’re annoyed about the waiter. Meanwhile, your manners could use some polishing.” Her words roll over me, and I drag her farther down the darkened hallway.
She gasps and claws at me to cover her face. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t hit me.” Her shattered voice guts me.
“I told you I will never hit you.” I pull her trembling body against mine. It’s soothing me, as well, because I feel fucking wrecked. “AndI’msorry. You’re right. I…” I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. What the fuckisthis?
My schedule this week included meeting with Ewan about dock permits and then developers to build state-of-the-art warehouses. Not buying wedding rings or eating lunch with a fiancée I just met.
“I’m figuring shit out, Isabella. Work with me. We’re in this together.” Slowly, I hear the man I used to be with Norah. The reasonable boyfriend who wanted the woman I loved to be my partner. Not my prisoner. Not my trophy.
My father hadn’t retired yet, and I worked for him right alongside my brothers, pretending I wasn’t the heir who would be wrenched out of the street work I was doing for him and then made the boss.
Of everything.
“I… I like that,” she whispers. “Us being in this together.”
I run my thumb across her lips and realize she’s not wearing lipstick. And not that it came off when she was eating. Her lips are as cherry-red right now as they were this morning while sipping her coffee.
Jaysus, how these lush lips would look wrapped around my cock. Could I be a real husband to her? Let her sleep in my bed every night?
What if the man I am in bed is too much for her and she ends up despising me? The idea of being the emperor of Astoria and not just the O’Rourke King is now too sweet to turn away from.
I have to make it work with this girl.
But how?
A week later, I’m sitting on a white silk sofa with my head in one hand, thinking,not like this.
Thisbeing giving a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down to dresses. They all look lovely on Isabella. Red dresses. Black dresses. A long, silver-sequined one, although I have no idea where she’d wear that.
I’m only here because the last seven days hadn’t gone as smoothly as I’d like. I hadn’t been home much. The town recently knocked down dilapidated warehouses along Shore Road on an un-dredged section of waterfront across from Randall’s Island. Ewan secured me the permits to build my own docks so I don’t have to pay Parisi’s skyrocketing “handling fees”.
