Page 6 of Hard Irish Mobster

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Chapter Three

Katriona

As soon as I saw him step from the darkness, my knees became like rubber and unreliable. Chicago’s most powerful, ruthless mobster has kidnapped me and I don’t need to hear him say the words to know I belong to this man.

And God, what a man. Gorgeous with black eyes and darker hair. A smooth, clean-shaven jaw cut from stone and rippling muscle that my body responds to just being in the same room.

A sudden chill washes over me, and he thinks it’s from the cold, spring air. It’s not. I’m having a hard time controlling my body’s reaction to his nearness. A man like him provokes fear in others but in me, all I can feel is protected, of all things.

I hold back from smacking my own forehead to jolt me out of the fantasy world I’ve slipped into, because…come on. Who in their right mind feels safe with a kingpin like him?

Apparently, the answer to that question is me.

Feeling something for a man as handsome as he is should be natural, I suppose. Isn’t it? Life is never that black or white, and it definitely isn’t straightforward, this I know. Or at least I thought I did. I’m no longer sure because in a simple line Sylan Ward is the definition of what a girl like me should run from, and despite the ruthless and most times brutal stories that feed the reputation preceding him, I find myself pulled closer the longer I’m in his presence. But I guess picking the man you fall for or feel attracted to isn’t always in one’s control.

My heart is racing and I can’t catch my breath. “Payment? As in cold hard cash? From me?” I stammer out, shooting to my feet. “You’re shitting me. How many people does he owe? Am I on the hook to each of you? God, tell me they all work for you and you can tell them I’m dead. Are you going to kill me? I probably shouldn’t ask—”

Before I get the rest of my run-on thoughts off my chest, his lips are on mine and he’s kissing me. It’s tender and soft, unlike the man, and wholly electrifying. I follow his lead and lean into his hard, warm body. He tastes like a devilish combination of sin and whiskey. He parts my lips with a stroke of his tongue and I moan into his kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck.

I know the second I’ve lost part of my soul, because I feel tethered to him in a way I’ve never felt before with anyone else. Especially to a man of his caliber.

The warmth of his body molds mine to his, and I can feel his cock hardening between us. My chest rises and falls with every breath, brushing my nipples against him. I dig my fingers into the fine threads of Sylan’s dress shirt and arch into his arms, forcing him to take our kiss deeper. He doesn’t disappoint. Beneath my touch, he’s breathing just as hard as I am, and I take comfort in knowing I’m not the only one feeling this strange flood of emotions and desires all at once.

Scarface clears his throat by the door, and I don’t miss the faint chuckle. I break away and look up into Sylan’s dark eyes.

I clear my throat, lowing my head. “Um, that shouldn’t have happened, Sy. We should definitely forget this happened. Yeah. That’s for the best.” I press the tips of my fingers to my kiss-swollen lips and try not to smile. “Wow, your lips are so soft.” I think I say that final part in my head, but Sylan’s laugh tells me I said it loud and clear enough for everyone to hear.

“Sy?” He pulls back and stares down at me. “No one has ever called me anything other than my given name.”

“Oh? Why? It kind of seems natural. Like all my friends, well the people I work with, call me Kat. What? Did you threaten to pound anyone if they gave you a nickname?”

I know the small barb will get a rise out of him.

Just not this kind of reaction.

He leans in and presses a light kiss right below my ear. You know the place that instantly melts a woman’s heart and soul into a gooey puddle on the floor?

“Have mercy,” I purr softly. Yeah, this man knows my weakness, and I’m not entirely sure I care enough not to look affected by the feel of his lips on me.

“You, my lovely Kat, talk too much.”

I let out a wonderful sigh and groan out, “Yeah, I know.” But my breath betrays me and hitches. I release his shirt to bury my hands in his thick, soft hair to hold him close.

“I like it,” he offers in a deep, rough whisper and then kisses my weak spot again before stepping back. I’ve been in his office less than fifteen minutes and he already knows how to work my body. Damn, I need to do better at resisting.

“I don’t want you under any misconception, Katriona. That kiss will happen again and I’m going to see to it that it does. Often, mo chroí.” He pauses, his expression clear as a billboard displaying he means what he says.

I’m still stuck on that when he continues. “And no. I’m not kidding in the slightest about the kiss or the money your father is in debt for. I think that’s something you’ll learn very quickly about me, Katriona. I’m dead serious when it comes to money.”

A big part of me is sad to shift focus back on my father’s issues. “Isn’t everyone? What does he owe you?”

“Not everyone takes their debts serious. If they did you wouldn’t be here.” He counters my comment and stares at me, hard and intent before reaching out and stroking the backs of his fingers over my cheek. Something he seems to take great pleasure in, I notice.

“Touché. So how much?” I agree reluctantly and ask again. My voice is rough with the lingering shock of the entire evening.

“One million dollars.”

Boom. There drops my heart on the floor again.


Tags: Penelope Wylde Dark