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My knees buckle underneath me. Cillian watches my reaction, emotionless.
“That’s horrific, I’m—”
“Sorry. I know.”
He clips off one last thorn from the rose and he passes it to me with the tenderness you’d handle the Queen’s crown jewels with. I take it, running my fingers over the blood-red velvet petals. “Thank you,” I mumble, trying my hardest to keep the tears at bay.
“We need to get going,” he says, striding towards the gate and tugging it open.
“Do you miss him?”
He turns, piercing me with a stone-cold stare.
“No,” he says with so much bitterness that I know it’s the truth. “My father was a traitor. He deserved everything he got,” he spits.
I physically recoil at the harshness of his words. It makes Cillian smile. “I don’t know what you’re so surprised about, Murphy. Your father wasn’t so innocent either.”
Before I can ask what the hell he means by that, he pushes me through the gate and we’re back in the main grounds, being watched by every housekeeper and henchmen in sight.
Lorcan
I park the Bentley in front of the estate and toss the keys in the direction of one of my men. He’ll park it in the basement where it belongs, right between the Rolls and the Lambo. I don’t have the patience for such technicalities today, not with my cock raging like it is.
Poppy mother fuckin’ Murphy.That little bitch has been on my mind all day, through every investment meeting and finance report. And I hate her even more than usual for it.
Rule number one of business is don’t let your dick get in the way of decisions. I can’t remember who said that, Warren fucking Buffet, probably. Anyway, Poppy Murphy isn’t just a minor roadblock, she’s a whole-ass eclipse. How am I meant to run Boston’s most dominant venture capitalist firm and fight a full-on war when all I can think about is breaking in her tight pussy?
Once again, thanks to my erratic mind, my plans have changed. It’s obvious that I can’t wait to take her and savor every moment. I have to get it out of the way and rid her from my mind. It’ll make my pretty little keepsake a little less rare… but it’s a hit I’ll have to take.
It’s a beautiful goddamn day; a perfect day to take Poppy Murphy’s virginity, in fact. I stare up at her bedroom window as the museum comes into view. The little princess in her ivory tower. I’m assuming the inch of freedom I gave her today will have softened her attitude towards me—but not too much, I hope. The feisty side of Poppy is half of her appeal.
I tap out the master code on the front door, and it hisses to life, welcoming me into the cool lobby. The ironic contrast of technology isn’t lost on me as I slip the large, metal key out of my suit pocket, the one that opens her bedroom door. Yeah, you have to scan your goddamn eyeball and answer twenty-one questions to get into the Museum, but there’s nothing but a simple mechanism for the bedroom.
It’s empty.
“Poppy?” I growl, bursting into the en suite, then striding through to the dressing room.
Now, my cock isn’t the only thing that’s raging. I stomp back down the stairs, the new cell Eileen brought into the office to my ear. Orna picks up on the third ring. “Where the fuck is she?” I snap, “I said an hour, not the whole fucking day.”
“Relax,” she matches my tone, “she’s in the garden. Chaperoned, as you insisted. As if there isn’t enough security in this place.”
“Chaperoned by who?”
Orna says his name at the same time my eyes land on him through the window of the bedroom.
White, hot fury. It starts where it always does, at the pit of my stomach. Then it travels up to my chest, pounding against my rib cage like a trapped beast, desperate to be let out.
There they are, walking along the length of the hedges. Talking like they are best-fucking-friends.And what is that in her hand?
I force myself not to run. Men like me don’t run towards a goddamn problem. They remain cool, calm, and collected. Deal with it like a boss.
The Glock is out of my waistband and in my hand, safety catch released, before I reach the lobby again. I round the house and cross their path. “Boy, I will give you thirty seconds to get out of my sight, or you’ll be buried under the vegetable patch.”
Yeah, cool, calm, and collected didn’t last too long.
Poppy stifles a gasp, but the kid barely moves. He turns to her like he has all the time in the goddamn world and offers her a lazy smile. “Boss’s orders,” he says, before turning on his sneakers and heads towards his rose garden. If I was a less honorable man, I’d shoot him in the back to teach him a lesson. But I like to look into a man’s eyes before I take his life.
I make a mental note to burn his precious rose garden to the ground instead, and turn back to Poppy.
