“You bet your ass I have a Nordstrom membership.” Hunter laughed, unfazed. “I don’t have time to shop with my stylist, and the ladies at the store know my measurements.”

“I see your thirty-five k and raise eight thousand.” Devon tossed eight black chips to the center of the table, drumming his fingers over his cards.

Devon was the opposite of Sam. A hedonist lord with a taste for fine, forbidden things, open manners, and zero scruples. Watching money burn was his favorite pastime. Ironically, Devon Whitehall needed a job like Hunter needed more distasteful sexual innuendos in his repertoire. He chose to go to university in America, passed the bar, and stayed far away from Britain.

I was pretty sure he had his own can of worms waiting to be cracked open back in his homeland but didn’t care enough to ask.

“All in,” I announced.

Hunter smacked his lip, pushing his entire stack of chips forward.

“You’re taking the piss.” Devon narrowed his eyes at my brother. Hunter flashed an innocent smile, batting his lashes theatrically.

“It’s a zero-sum game, Monsieur Whitehall. Don’t step into the kitchen if you don’t like the burn.”

“You’re mixing two phrases,” I said around the Cuban cigar in my mouth, pushing my chips to the center of the table. “It’s don’t step into the kitchen if you can’t take the heat. Burn is what you get between your legs for sleeping with enough women to fill up Madison Square Garden.”

“Funny, I don’t remember you inviting me to your sainthood ceremony, big bro.” Hunter took a pull of his Guinness, dragging his tongue over his foam mustache. “Oh, that’s right, it never happened because you bonked half of Europe. ’Sides, this was all in the past. I’m a married man now. There’s only one woman for me.”

“And that woman is my sister, so you better think carefully about what you say next if you want to get out of here with all your organs intact,” Sam reminded him.

Sam had brown hair, gray eyes, and tan skin. He was tall, broad, and had that ragged, hunky look that made women lose their pants and senses.

“Dude, my wife is knocked up. Too late for you to second-guess what we’re doing in our spare time. By the way, the abdomen pain she had this week turned out to be gas, thanks for asking,” Hunter tutted.

Was I seriously listening to a fart report from Sailor now?

“Not every single conversation must circle back to the fact your wife is pregnant,” I reminded him.

“Prove it.”

Sam jerked his thumb toward Hunter.

“You realize I will kill your brother at some point, right?” he asked me.

“Won’t hold it against you.” I spat the cigar out to an ashtray. “But wait until after he reveals his cards.”

“Speaking of marital bliss,” Devon swirled his Johnnie Walker Blue Label in its tubmler, “I believe our host has some marvelous news to share.”

“Aww, you finally opened an account on OkCupid?” Hunter clasped his hands together, cooing. “Our parents have been riding his ass for being lonelier than a satanist in a Youth for Jesus convention for a while now.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell when Cillian Fitzpatrick says I do,” Sam drawled.

“Better bring a warm coat, mate.” Devon smirked.

“Hell’s not ready for me yet. And Cillian likes variety too much to settle for one pussy.” Sam speared Devon with a deadly glare.

“Women are like pancakes. They all taste the same,” I agreed.

Sam flashed his teeth. “I fucking love pancakes.”

The man had bedded everyone in town.

Everyone other than my sister.

It didn’t take an astrophysicist to figure out Aisling was stupidly in love with Brennan. Whenever she was in the room with her sister-in-law’s brother, she all but drooled on his lap. The minute I’d realized her lapse in judgment, I’d hired Brennan on retainer. I didn’t have too much work for him back when we started our professional relationship, but having him on my payroll ensured he wasn’t going to touch Ash.

Brennan was an honorable man in his own backward, lethal way.

I cracked my knuckles, my eyes firmly on my cards. I had two pairs. I would bet both my nuts Hunter’s cards had alphabet letters and drawings of animals at best. For an Irishman, luck wasn’t on his side.

“I’m engaged.” I dropped the bomb.

Sam choked on his cigarette, the inch-long ash dangling from it falling onto the table. Hunter cackled. Devon gave me a curt nod of approval.

Me? I felt nothing.

Numbness was a notion I was familiar with, knew how to manage, and did not stir me off course.

Hunter slapped his thigh, his cards raining down on the floor as he laughed his ass off. He fell from his chair, holding his stomach.

“Engaged!” he bellowed, dragging himself up back to his seat. “Who’s the unlucky woman? Your blowup doll?”

“Her name is Minka Gomes.”

“You named your blowup doll Minka?” My brother wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, downing a bottle of water. “I thought you’d go for something more stripper-y. Like Lola or Candy.”

“I don’t recall running a background check on her.” Sam pinned me with a glare. These days, I had him dig up dirt on everyone I met, from business partners to shoeshiners.

“Just because you haven’t heard of her doesn’t mean she’s not in existence,” I bit out. Admittedly, it was hard to explain how I’d ended up engaged to a complete stranger.

Minka was pleasant enough when I stopped by her house with a marriage offer earlier today. Devon prepped her for our meeting. She said she was happy to sign all the necessary paperwork and asked for two clauses to be added during our negotiations. She wanted a cabin in Aspen, and an annual trip to Fashion Week in a European city of her choice, along with a healthy shopping budget. I was content to grant both her wishes.

She was beautiful, polite, and obnoxiously eager to please.

She also stirred absolutely nothing in me.

“Please explain to me how you went from corrupting Europe’s finest princesses to getting engaged to some random local chick.” Hunter scrubbed his chin.

My brother, like the rest of my family, thought I’d spent my time romancing EU’s finest royals. That was a story I spoon-fed my family to protect them from the truth. I did brush shoulders with duchesses and daughters of earls, socially climbing my way from another rich American man to the kind of person who knew everyone worth knowing on the continent.