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Aside from Connor, there are two other parties interested in getting their hands on Roisin.
One is Padraic Duffy, the leader of Connor’s rival gang,The Dead Eyes.Ever since Padraic discovered the Maguire sisters were back in New York, he’s been trying to use them against Connor. It almost worked, too, when it was announced that Aimee was engaged to his bastard son.
But it’s not like there’s a lot of love shared between us, and I’m not sure that Padraic has anything I could gain from handing Roisin over.
Which leaves Aimee Maguire. Not that anyone has a clue where she is, either. But her fiancé’s contact details always feel like they’re burning a small hole in my pocket whenever Connor curses him out. Now that Jack has effectively split from his father, I’m sure he’ll be looking for all the alliances he can.
I shake my head.
It’s not worth the risk. There are few things that could make me reconsider my partnership with Connor. And Jack Duffy is not one of them.
I glance over at Roisin again. My jacket barely covers her frame, and her clothes look like a light breeze could blow them away.
Either way, I can’t bring her to Connor in this state. For one, he’d kill me. For another, he’d kill me slowly.
I might be a recluse, but even I know delivering a scantily clad, unconscious woman home stinking of alcohol will not go down well. Especially not when said woman’s older brother happens to be a wrestling champion. Not to mention, you know, the leader of an entire mob armed to the teeth with weapons I bought them.
My Lamborghini purrs as I pull into my driveway, taking the cobbled road so smoothly it’s like I’m driving on butter.
The problem with these ancestral homes in New York is that they’re all just one bad deal away from becoming a decrepit ruin, much like the shell that is now the Maguire mansion. The sheer amount of manpower needed to maintain them is astronomical.
Since inheriting the Nova estate, it’s fair to say my priority hasn’t exactly been maintenance. It’s an intimidatingly large and impressive building, but it leans slightly on the shabby side of chic. Because really, who wants five hundred people running around you all day?
Especially when women like Roisin Maguire need to crash there overnight.
We pull up to the front just as the front door opens—revealing a slight, well-dressed man in his early sixties.
“Good morning, sir,” Angus says from the doorway as I climb out. “Can I persuade you to take some breakfast today, or would you prefer the usual granola bars and brooding?” Maybe British butlers are prim and proper, but Angus raised me as much or more than my father, and he’s not afraid to share his opinions. He’s earned them.
“Bigger fish, Angus,” I say as I throw open the passenger door, revealing my unconscious companion.
My jacket has half slipped from her shoulder, revealing her sinfully exposed skin. Her head has flopped to one side and rests heavily on her chest. It’s by no means an attractive look, but damn it if it’s not endearing.
Angus, to his credit, merely purses his lips. “I thought you were working?”
“I was,” I say through my teeth.
Angus has only ever been entirely professional, but there’s something awkward about introducing one of my oldest friends to the women I bring home. Only this time, I want to make it crystal clear that this is business, not pleasure.
“Could you make up a room for her?” I say pointedly.
“Of course, sir,” he replies with a bow. “Will the lady be staying with us long?”
“No,” I say quickly.“Just one night.”
Angus nods. “I shall see she receives appropriate attire nonetheless.”
With that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the house.
Leaving me with the issue of extracting Roisin from the car.
Now that stealth is no longer my first priority, and I’m not thinking of all eight thousand ways we could get caught, I suddenly feel quite hesitant about touching her again.
Connor’s red face appears in my mind’s eye as my hand brushes under her thigh. Trading punches with my partner is a risk I run frequently, but I’d rather choose the place and time. Not get jumped by an irate older brother. I try to shift my jacket to create some kind of barrier between us as I scoop her up.
None of it helps, however, when she leans contentedly into my chest. Her breath steadily tickles my neck as I adjust my hold on her.
The beast inside of me growls in satisfaction.
