Devon

I creep through the dark, damp warehouse which reeks of musty old carpet. This obviously hasn’t been home to a viable business for many years. Peering around stacks of carpet rolls, I can see light shining through a doorway on the far side of the room. The first voice I hear is Victoria’s, and she’s threatening him with bodily harm.

“You’re in a hell of a position to be threatening me, lassie!” He laughs heartily. I can picture his oversized belly shaking. “You’re gettin’ me all chubbed up. You’re nothing like the double-baggers we normally see around here.”

“You have no idea who you’re messing with, Irishman,” she hisses. “I suggest you release me this instant.”

“You know me?” he asks with a shocked tone. “How do you know me?”

“Maybe she called you that because you’re obviously Irish,” I answer on her behalf, stepping through the doorway with my gun drawn. “You fucking piece of shit.” He swings around with a switchblade in his hand, and his eyes immediately widen at the sight of my ten-inch chrome pistol. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you never to bring a knife to a gunfight?”

“Feck you. Liam! Sean!” he yells, thinking he still has backup.

“They’re dead.” I creep forward, keeping my sights on the center of his chest. He alters his grip on the knife and his nostrils flare, indicating that he is about lash out in desperation. Instead of allowing him the first strike, I squeeze the trigger. The kick of the slug recoils sharply against my wrist. The knife immediately clatters across the floor as he slams his hands to his chest. By the look in his eyes, I know he’s already gone. A magnum hollow point through the heart gives no one a second chance. “Fuck… I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to deal with these guys just yet.” I glance over at Victoria, who is on her back, spread-eagle, tied to a carpet cutting table.

“Why not?” she asks, fidgeting against the restraints.

“They don’t really affect us until we move into the next phase of our business,” I explain, bending down to pick up his switchblade. “I don’t have the cash flow yet to fund a prolonged war with them. They’ll be flooding in here by the weekend, looking for revenge.” I shake my head, knowing exactly what will be headed our way once this gets out.

“My clutch is right over there,” she tells me, nodding to a small black bag lying on the floor against the wall. “Pull out my phone and take a picture of me.”

“I can just take a picture with mine.” I laugh, pulling the phone from my pocket.

“You could do that, but then you’d end up on the floor next to the Irishman,” she replies with a dark look flooding her eyes. “Come on. I fucking dare you!”

I’ve known some tough women in my day, my mother being one of them. But I have never met one who could threaten me with a straight face while being tied down with her legs spread apart and her dress slit all the way up to her bra. Needless to say, I decide to go with my gut and retrieve her purse. There’s obviously something I don’t know about this woman and I’m not in the mood to take any more chances today. I fish out her phone and try to figure out how to pull up the camera without using her security code.

“Just left swipe,” she says with an irritated sigh, as if I don’t have better things to do with my time than figure out how these fucking phones work. After the camera pops up, I take a picture and set her phone down on the table next to her.

“You’re just fucking lucky I saw him grab you,” I mention, picking up the knife again in anticipation of cutting her free. My eyes scan her shapely legs once again, making me wish the circumstances were different.

“I saw that you were watching as we went out the door. What the fuck kind of place is Devon City anyway?” She glares at me as if I was personally responsible for what had happened to her. She appears to be completely self-assured, regardless of her predicament.

“You do realize that you’re tied up and the only thing standing between you and me is this skimpy little thong, right?” I slip the tip of the switchblade beneath the narrow strap that holds everything in place. Her leg twitches beneath the knife, causing an immediate strain in my jeans as my thoughts turn to what I really want to do to her. It’s taking every ounce of restraint not to accidentally cut the fabric with a slight flick of my wrist. The curves of her mound are thinly disguised by the sheer fabric and her heavenly scent is every bit as delectable as her looks. I literally crave a taste of her, not that I could stop at that.

“Yes, it might appear that I’m at a distinct disadvantage here,” she replies with another sigh. “But, I also know that if you do anything to violate me, a holy shit storm will rain down upon you, creating a bloody torrent that will make the Irish Mob look like a bunch of kindergarteners.” The cold, deadly serious glare that accompanies her tone actually sends a shiver down my spine.

This chick has to be all of five foot four, but she makes up for it with a complete overabundance of piss and vinegar. I guide the switchblade between the layers of rope and slowly cut them away, one by one. After freeing her from the final rope, I hold out my hand and help her from the table. She grabs the sides of her dress and twists it back in place before running her hands down the front of it in an effort to straighten out the wrinkles.

“Sorry. He did a number on your dress,” I say, trying not to laugh at how it looks on her. Here, take my jacket.” I pull my suit jacket off and hand it to her.

“Do you always wear a suit?” she asks, her lips curling slightly for the first time since I’ve arrived. “It kind of turns me on when gangsters dress up.”

“So you think I’m a gangster?” I ask, a little shocked by the term. “I think of myself as more of a hybrid businessman, a visionary who saw a city on the verge of falling apart and stepped in to save it.”

“Whatever gets you through the day,” she replies with a widening smile. “By the way, thanks for the help.” She leans toward me with those incredibly full lips, and I honestly feel a spark of electricity run through me as her lips touch mine. My mind shoots back to being a kid and listening to my sister and her friends talk about kissing boys and feeling all tingly. I have never experienced it before, but this has to be what they were talking about.

“Wow. That was kind of amazing,” I mutter, taken by surprise.

“Kind of amazing?” Her eyes narrow. “Judging by the expression on your face and that bulge in your trousers, I would say that it was more than kind of amazing.” She laughs, looking down at the obvious protrusion between my legs. I’ve been feeling the pressure building down there ever since finding her spread-eagle on the table. The creamy, soft skin of her inner thighs instantly had me dreaming of being between them.

“Normally, I wouldn’t say a damn thing,” I reply, wanting her to know that I indeed felt something out of the ordinary in her kiss. “What are you going to do with that picture?”

“Take care of your Irish Mob problem,” she replies dryly. “After I send it, they will be the ones with the problem. Trust me.”

Part of me wants to pursue the line of questioning, but I know better. Whoever she is and whatever her connections are will have to come to light on her timeline. I have already decided that I’m going to dig up every bit of information I can find on Victoria Lynn from Manhattan. Hopefully, an exhaustive search will help me put the pieces together.

I slip a hand around the curve of her back, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “How a woman who has just been kidnapped, tied up, and nearly raped can still be absolutely radiant is beyond me,” I whisper into her ear. “I’ll take you back to your hotel. I think you could use a change of clothes.”

“Or maybe just a bottle of good champagne and a hot bath,” she replies with a sigh. “At least I fared better than him,” she adds, glancing down at the Irishman’s body. I take her hand and lead her toward the rear door.

“Need me to clean up, boss?” Tiny asks as soon as he makes eye contact with us.

“No. Just leave the bastard where he fell,” Victoria answers on my behalf. “Let the fecking mice deal with the lad,” she adds, giving us her best Irish accent and displaying a sense of humor despite her near-death experience.

“What did you say to him at the club anyway? It’s not like he makes a habit of kidnapping people in broad daylight,” I ask, wondering how the whole thing started.

“I simply asked him why he was in your club,” she says with a sparkle in her eyes. “Then I speculated that he must have been researching the man who was going to take him out. I guess that statement was a little prophetic,” she adds, her eyes flashing a more sinister look.

Once again, I shake my head in amazement. She is implying that she instigated the conflict with the Irishman. She’s either the coolest woman I’ve ever run across or a complete sociopath. Only time can tell. So far, she seems larger than life and too good to be true. If she is the real deal, though, we would make one hell of a pair.

Victoria

The day has gone completely as planned and everything went off without a hitch. Devon is proving himself to be a worthy ally, and after I send this picture, the Irish Mafia will remain on their heels instead of making a play for this territory. The fact that Devon killed him is a nice bonus. When everything comes together, he is going to be truly amazed. What has me amazed is the fact that he is even hotter in person than he was in the pictures. His thick dark hair, stunningly chiseled features and slightly cleft chin really bring out those vibrant blue eyes. I’ve always loved the contrast between dark eyebrows and blue eyes. The fact that he is built like a professional athlete is also a nice bonus.

Walking around the front of the building, I wave off the security detail that has been standing by just in case I used my distress words. Knowing the history of the Irishman, I knew he would rape me before slitting my throat, so I had plenty of time to execute my backup plan if necessary.

“You know those guys?” Devon asks with a curious expression as the black limo pulls away from the curb and eases down the street.

“I’m just a friendly girl,” I reply, giving him a smile. “We’re staying at the same hotel.”

“Oh yeah, friendly. That’s the first word that comes to mind,” he counters, nodding his head and laughing out loud. “There are lots of other words that come to mind long before friendly.”

“Charming . . . beautiful . . .”

“Feisty,” he adds with another chuckle.

“Hey, feistiness has served me well. I graduated at the top of my class at Harvard Law,” I inform him, wanting him to understand that I’m not some uneducated floozy. “Also, my father wanted a son instead of a daughter, so I had no choice but to grow a pair.”

“That explains a few things.” He gives me another nod as we approach his shiny black Escalade. “I could use a good attorney. I got my MBA from Wharton, but I’ll admit I wasn’t at the very top of my class.”

“Wharton’s a great school. So you do know a thing or two about business.” Up to this point, I had based his intellect on the way he presented himself and his reputation. Knowing that he has an advanced degree from Wharton makes him an even better candidate for a partnership. They had to have known about the degree, which makes me wonder why it was omitted from his file. “My specialty is commercial real estate,” I add, wanting him to know that I wouldn’t be his defense attorney if things went south for him.

“Then we could definitely use your help,” he replies with a hint of anguish. “Even though we’ve been picking up these properties for practically nothing, there’s a ton of legal work required to get clear titles and make sure there are no pitfalls that can pop up down the road.” He opens the door for me and motions for me to get inside. “We can talk business tomorrow. Let’s go get you that bottle of champagne.” I slide to the center of the rear seat and he takes the spot next to me. Tiny and Felix grab the third row seats behind us, so there is plenty of room. I debate on sliding to the far side of the seat, but I decide to lean into him instead. Not only is this man smart, motivated, and incredibly good looking, but he also smells amazing.

A yawn escapes my lips as I close my tired eyes for a few seconds. Even though the day has gone well, it has also been emotionally draining. The Irishman has been causing trouble for years, so he had been a high priority on our agenda. When I talked to him at the club, he had no idea who I was, so it was easy to pretend that I had a connection with Devon. Only moments later, I felt the stab of a Taser in my side and my legs gave out beneath me. The hardest part to wrap my head around is how predictably he acted, lashing out at me for simply teasing him about an adversary. Did he think that I would simply walk up to him in a bar and pick a fight without having a plan in place? He’d lived up to his reputation of being a hot-headed moron.

“Are you hungry?” Devon asks in a sultry tone. “I just brought in a great French chef who’s making a pot of Coq au vin as we speak.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to order a salad from room service after my champagne soak,” I inform him, wanting to keep him at bay for now. After making a dramatic first impression on him, it’s best to leave him alone with his thoughts. Judging by the bulge he’s still sporting, I’m pretty sure I know what he will be thinking about for the rest of the evening. A solid foundation has been laid, and there is no sense messing anything up by indulging in a night of promiscuous stranger sex. I prefer getting to know a guy before fucking his lights out.