I found her in the kitchen. Bea was making tea.

“You got anything to say?” I asked Mags.

Bea glanced at me with a raised eyebrow. I knew that look. She thought I should take it easy, but fuck taking it easy.

I was mad. And still a little buzzed from that fight, though I’d mostly come down.

“No, I don’t,” Mags said. “All I wanted to do was sit in the park. Those guys harassed me.”

“Those guys wanted to drag you back to Colm Healy, one of the most despicable and violent men in this city. Do you have any idea how much danger you were in?”

“Clearly, I didn’t,” she said, throwing up her hands. “This is pretty new to me and I don’t need a lecture.”

Bea silently left the room. Good old Bea.

I stepped toward Mags and took a calming breath. “You’re not a prisoner,” I said.

“I feel like one,” she snapped back.

“You can come and go as you please,” I said, ignoring her comment. “You only need to make sure you have guys to keep an eye on you.”

“That’s bullshit,” she said. “And that’s definitely not freedom.”

“Were you free before?” I asked, coming closer. She backed up until she ran into the countertop. “When you worked for your dad at that strip club? When he’d come home and hit you?” She opened her mouth to argue, but I talked over it. “Don’t fucking deny it,” I said. “I saw what he did the other day. I know what men like him do at home.”

She clenched her jaw and her face turned red. “Only when he drank,” she said quietly. “And I hit him back when he tried.”

“Good,” I said, and tilted her chin to look at me. She glared with pure defiance. “You weren’t any more free with him than you would be with me. At least if you live here, you’ll get something from it.”

“Yeah?” she whispered. “What do you think I’d get?”

“Money,” I said, leaning closer, my lips brushed past her cheek. “Power. Sex, if you want it. Pleasure.”

She sucked in a breath. My other hand lingered on her hip.

“I don’t know what I want,” she said.

“Marry me,” I said. “Be my wife. I’ll make you happy. And if I don’t, maybe my money will.”

I held her there, pinned to the counter. I pulled my lips back along her cheek and she met my eyes, and I saw the hurt and rage there, the uncertainty, the longing, the frustration. She wanted to be free, but was trapped at every turn.

I’d give her what she wanted. Only, she didn’t know what she needed, not yet at least.

“Marry me,” I repeated, and gripped her chin, then moved my hand back to grab her hair. “Marry me,” I said, lips brushing against hers.

“God,” she whispered, “yes, I’ll marry you.”

I pressed my lips against hers, drinking her in, tasting her perfect plump tongue, berries and wildflowers, ash and chimney smoke. Her body pressed against mine and she sucked in a breath but she kissed me back, a slight moan in her throat, a gorgeous groan that set my heart racing and my cock half-hard.

Goddamn, she was wild and right and I wanted her, wanted to break her, wanted to build her back up.

Wanted to leave her dripping wet and moaning my name, begging me to come back, come back, to give her what she needed. To make her free.

To make her come.

I broke off that kiss and stared into her eyes. “Tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll bring the priest. You’ll wear my ring.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “Tomorrow. But I need a dress.”

I kissed her cheek. “I’ll take care of everything. You just stay here for now.”

I left her there alone and stalked back to my office. Bea was in the hallway, frowning at me as I passed.

“She’s doing it?” Bea asked.

“She’s doing it,” I said. “Call Father Giovanni. And get Mags a dress.”

Bea said nothing as I closed my office door behind me and sat down in the large leather chair to survey my domain.

6

Mags

Bea looked almost shy as she held the dress up. “I think it’ll look good on you,” she said. “I know it’s very last minute, but at least it was expensive. Considering Dean’s paying for it.” She smiled, almost girlish. I wondered if she used to be pretty when she was younger.

The dress was gorgeous. Strapless, fitted at the top, structured ever so slightly to hug my hips in gorgeous patterned lace with small pearls at the end of each flower pattern, then cascading down in layers of simple white, a wide princess dress. I held it up to the light and it almost shimmered.

“I love it,” I whispered.

“Good,” Bea said, sounding pleased. “Father Giovanni is waiting out back with Dean. I’ll help you dress, if you need it?”

“I think I’m okay,” I said, glancing at her. She wore a simple pantsuit and looked almost elegant. “Is my dad here?”

Tags: B.B. Hamel Romance
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