Chapter 1 #2
He swept his hand between me and the woman. “This. You two. That look. No!”
Every eye came to me.
“What two?” Cash asked.
My gaze returned to the woman, and I gave her The Smirk. “Hey, Rosie.”
She flashed her straight, perfect white teeth in a broad smile, replying, “Hey, Donovan. Long time no see.”
“It was you who left town,” I reminded her. “If I hadn’t shot you a message here and there, you’d have forgotten all about me.”
Her smile widened even more, and she lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve kept yourself occupied just fine without me.”
I barked a laugh.
Another thing about Rosie: she was full of lip.
“Dance later? Catch up?” I asked.
Her eyes flicked over my face. “I’ll see how full my card is.”
I clutched my hand to my heart and muttered, “She wounds me.”
Rosie rolled her eyes again, but that time, at me. “You’ll live.” Then she turned her back on me and said something to Cara, who glanced over and smirked before she linked arms with Ro and pulled her toward the bar.
“What the hell was that about?” Bowie asked, glancing at a retreating Rosie’s back.
“Nothing,” I replied, taking a pull of my beer.
“Looked like somethin’ to me,” Cash insisted. “Do you two have a thing goin’ on?”
“Not yet,” I drawled, my eyes resting on their new favorite spot, that being Rosie’s ass. “Is it me, or has she gotten even more beautiful?”
“Did I fuckin’ stutter?” Atlas demanded, throwing me some major side-eye. “I said no.”
“She’s a grown woman who’s divorced with two teenage kids,” Breaker pointed out. “You can hardly vet her men.”
“What do you mean, men?” I asked.
Carbine jerked a thumb toward the bar where Rosie was laughing with one of the bartenders. “Have you seen her? She’s a fuckin’ eleven outta ten. Iceman calls her the pocket rocket for a reason.”
“Iceman can bite me,” I muttered, my eyes narrowing on the fuckhead behind the bar.
“He ceased to be a factor the minute he fucked off to Virginia.” My stare slid to the Speed Demons’ SAA, who I noted was staring at me like he wanted to bury me alive.
“Breaker’s right, though, Atlas. Rosie’s old enough to make her own decisions about who she dates. ”
Atlas folded his arms across his chest. “Ro’s my sister, so if we’re splittin’ hairs, it means she’s my property, and so are DJ and little Gabby.
You’re what Dagger would affectionately call a dog’s dick, so fuck off.
She’s had her fill of shitty men with her ex-husband.
The last thing my sister needs is to be added to your harem.
And the last thing my niece and nephew need is another deadbeat motherfucker in their lives. ”
A flicker of heat burned in my belly. “Deadbeat? I help run the family bar and own a gym. Hardly a deadbeat.”
“When it comes to women, you’re a deadbeat,” Atlas reiterated.
“I like ya, Donovan; you’re a good guy and a decent buddy.
The problem is, you’ve got no stayin’ power, and my sister deserves someone who’ll stick around.
Your track record proves you’re a flaky motherfucker, especially since the longest you’ve ever seen a woman for was for however long it took you to achieve your three-fuck rule. ”
“What do you know about my three-fuck rule?” I asked, my tone affronted.
“Callum told me,” he declared. “You don’t go back after fuck number three because that’s when the girl starts gettin’ too attached.”
I scraped a hand down my face, suddenly wanting to strangle my brother and his big mouth.
“That’s fuckin’ savage,” Bowie mumbled.
“I dunno how you dare. Back in the day, you were the biggest player in Hambleton.” My eyes cut to Breaker.
“And your sexploits are fucking legendary.” I studied all the men in turn, even Atlas.
“There’s not one of you motherfuckers who I could call chaste, so why all the judgment when it comes to me? ”
“There’s one reason for that, Donovan,” Atlas bit out.
I looked at him expectantly.
His lip curled into a snarl. “None of my MC brothers tried their shit with my sister.”
“Who said anything about trying my shit?” I exclaimed. “I just want to ask her out on a date.”
“No,” he repeated.
“Jesus,” I muttered. “She’s an adult—”
“Yes, she is,” a voice interrupted. “An adult who wouldn’t be happy if she heard you all discussing her like a piece of meat.”
I twisted my neck to see Sophie, Atlas’s wife, appear at his side.
She nudged Atlas sharply in the ribs. “Keep your nose out of Rosie’s business, big man.”
His face set defiantly. “She’s my sister.”
“She’s also a woman in her thirties with two teenage kids. If Donovan asks her out and if she agrees, it’s her business. Not yours.”
He jerked his thumb toward me. “He’s a fuckboy, and I don’t want my sister gettin’ hurt yet a-fuckin’-gain.
“Maybe Donovan’s fuckboy antics are exactly what she’s looking for.” Sophie smirked. “A girl’s got needs.”
Atlas’s face paled, his stare drifting in the direction of the bar. After a beat, his eyes narrowed, and he jerked his chin in the same direction. “Is that Liam Doyle?”
My head spun left, and my chest tightened when I saw that, yes indeed, it was Liam Doyle, and he was at the bar chatting up my fucking wom— Umm, Rosie.
I turned back to Atlas and asked, “Who would you prefer for her? Me or the criminal heir to the Irish Mob Underworld?”
The asshole actually took a minute to think about it.
“Atlas!” Sophie snapped.
He heaved out a sigh. “You,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping. “I guess.”
“In that case, I’d better go save Rosie’s virtue.” A slow grin spread across my face, and with a parting chin lift, I turned on my heel and sauntered toward the bar, searching for a flash of red, but it was deserted.
My eyebrows pulled together when I realized Rosie had disappeared, along with Liam.
“Fuck,” I muttered to myself, trying to think where he could’ve taken her. It came to me immediately because it was the same place I would’ve taken her.
My shoulders stiffened, and I veered right, heading for the corridor leading toward the bathrooms.
If Liam Doyle had his hands on Rosie, it would cause problems—the biggest one being that I’d have to kick the ass of the heir to the New York Irish Mob.
I prided myself on being a good fighter as well as a good lover but fighting Liam Doyle was akin to taking on a kamikaze mission because I probably wouldn’t come out of it alive.
The rational side of my brain told me to calm the fuck down and retreat, but the other side couldn’t seem to find a fuck to give because onward I went, sallying forth into the goddamned fray.
I turned the corner, half expecting to be confronted with Liam fucking Doyle all over Rosie, but the place was deserted. Shouldering the door of the men’s room open, I stuck my head around, seeing it was empty, which meant they must have been in the ladies’ room.
That was where I headed next. I pushed the door open and stomped in, my steps faltering when I was met with the sight of Rosie bent forward over the basins, leaning toward the mirror while she slicked lip gloss on.
Slowly, her head turned toward me, and she hitched a sexy eyebrow, drawling, “Lost are we?”
“Only in you,” I grated out as I headed for her. The urge to touch her was so damned potent that it drove me crazy. “Do you know how fucking delicious you look in that dress?”
Her eyes rounded, and she opened her mouth to say something, but I was already up in her space, pressing my body against her soft, curvy one. My hand cupped her jaw roughly, and I angled her face upward before nuzzling her nose with mine.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, letting out a shocked puff of air.
“Don’t say a fucking word,” I growled, my tone bordering on feral. I ran my nose along her cheek, inhaling her expensive amber scent. “Lean down and take off your panties, then lift that dress for me.”
“Donovan—” she began, but I cut her off with another growl.
“Do as you’re told,” I ordered, my tone thick with need. “Slide your panties off, Rosie. I’m gonna turn you around, tilt that ass up, and drill you against that wall. Your slick, needy pussy’s gonna take every inch of my hard, pulsing, fat, Irish cock until you beg me to let you come.”
“Donovan—” she snapped, but I slid a hand around the back of her ass and pressed my dick hard against her belly.
“Feel that?” I rasped. “I got eight inches and it’s all for you. Gonna fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk for a goddamned week—”
A loud clunk filled the room, followed by the sound of a chain flushing.
My heart jerked.
Rosie rolled her lips inward, and her expression filled with mirth.
A jolt went through me just as one of the cubicle doors flew open, and a familiar voice shrilled, “Donovan Eoin O’Shea. What the feck is that perverted shite coming outta your dirty, nasty-assed mouth?”
My gut plummeted.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
“Mary, mother of Jesus,” my goddamned mam screeched. “What kind of gobshite did I raise? If your father were alive, he’d knock your fecking teeth down the back of your neck. I swear, you’d better take your filthy hands off poor Rosie, or else I’ll take a fecking frying pan to your thick head.”
“Fuck,” I muttered, taking a step back. “I mean, sorry, Ma.” My hand fell back down to my side, and I cocked a questioning eyebrow at Rosie, who was in the process of trying to keep her shit together and not pee herself laughing.
“You’re sorry?” my mother shrieked. “I’ll give you sorry, you dirty little bastard. What the feck were you thinking, accosting poor Rosie like that? And at your brother’s wedding, no less.”
Slowly, I turned to face Ma. “I—umm.”