Chapter 3 #2
"Hurting her is the last thing I want to do," I promise, holding my hand up in the Scouts' salute.
What? I wore the fucking uniform as a boy.
"Give me a little bit of credit here. I know the type of shit the press used to say about us, but you've been with us long enough now to know that we aren't those guys anymore.
Hell, most of us never were in the first place. I'm not a heartbreaker. I never was."
She eyes me for a long moment, trying to determine whether I'm telling the truth.
I think she wants to believe me, but this is her baby sister we're talking about here.
And Ireland is about as innocent as they come.
Of course Shelby's protective. But I'm not the enemy here.
She and I are on the same team when it comes to Ireland.
"Look," I say, dropping my hand to my side as the stage manager motions for me to hurry it the fuck up. "I think your sister is phenomenal, and I get why you're worried. But I'm not the enemy here. She's safe with me. I'll move heaven and earth to ensure she stays that way."
"Fair enough," she says, expelling a breath. "But you better take care of her, Crue. If you don't, I know where you sleep at night." She gives me a smile that makes my blood run cold. "And I'm the one with spare keys to all the rooms."
"Jesus Christ," I mutter. "Has anyone ever told you that you're mildly terrifying?"
She beams at me, patting me on the chest. "Thanks!"
It wasn't a compliment, but I'm not going to tell her that. I'm not fucking crazy. She's the best tour manager we've ever had, Jameson will kick my ass, and I plan to marry her sister. I'm not fucking with that magic.
"Break a leg out there," she says.
I shake my head, jogging toward the stage. But I make a mental note to put a fucking chair in front of the door if I ever piss her off. Just in case.
* * *
"If you don't behave, we're going to be giving all these people a show right here," I growl at Ireland, grabbing her hips to still her as she grinds her ass against me on the dance floor.
She looks back at me over her shoulder, her smoky eyes full of wicked intent behind her glasses. The siren's smile on her face makes my fucking knees weak. She knows exactly what she's doing to me.
Sober Ireland is a sweet little treat. Drunk Ireland is a wicked little minx. I'm hooked on both.
I hook my arm around her waist, anchoring her to my body. "Keep playing with me, and I'm going to bend you over the nearest flat surface," I warn, dragging my lips down the side of her throat. Fuck, she smells good.
"Mmm," she moans, melting against me. "That feels good, Crue."
"Yeah?" I wrap my lips around the shell of her ear.
"It'd feel even better if I were inside you, éire.
" I have a feeling that's going to be pure heaven.
Especially if simply touching her feels like this.
Every time I've got my hands on any part of her, my entire body lights up like a livewire, shooting off electric sparks strong enough to power a city.
Nothing has ever felt better, and I've won Grammys and played in front of sold-out stadiums. Even with tequila pumping through my veins, she's the only thing on my mind.
"Crue," she groans. "You're making it hard."
I chuckle, pressing my face to her throat. "Baby, you made it hard the minute I laid eyes on you this morning. The bastard hasn't gone down since."
"That's not what I meant," she says, pouting up at me. "I meant my virginity. You're making it hard to keep it."
"That's because you know it belongs to me."
"Yeah, but…" She bites her bottom lip.
"But what, éire?"
"Nothing. It's not important."
"Tell me," I growl, spinning her around in my arms. We aren't even dancing at this point. We're just standing still in the middle of the dance floor while everyone else moves around us. I don't give a fuck.
"What if I want to be married first?" she whispers like she's giving away state secrets or something.
Shit. Does she want to be married first? Is that what she's saying?
"You want to be married before you have sex, éire?"
"I don't know. Maybe." She shrugs, avoiding my gaze. And then she giggles. "Too bad this isn't Vegas, and late-night weddings are off the table, huh?"
"Hey, lovebirds!" Asher shouts from the side of the dance floor. "Food's up."
"Oh, food!" Ireland says, instantly forgetting the conversation. She turns toward Asher.
I place my hand on her arm, halting her. "Ireland."
"Food," she says.
I drop the subject, following her toward the booth.
Somehow, I manage to chat back and forth with everyone while we eat, but my mind keeps running back to what she said.
Not about her wanting to be married first, but the late-night wedding part.
She's willing to marry me. And I know damn well she didn't say it just because she wants to sleep with me.
She didn't hold onto her virginity this long just to get hitched spur of the moment to give it up. If she's thinking about weddings and sleeping with me, it's because she knows I'm her one.
She's falling for me.
"I'll be right back," I say, slipping out of the booth. I have some calls to make. If my girl wants a late-night wedding, she's getting a late-night wedding. And if she regrets it in the morning?
Well, I'll just have to make damn sure she doesn't regret it in the morning.