by Sienna Blake
I smiled up at him before pulling away as Aogán returned to the room.
“Greg is going to start an investigation,” Aogán said, sliding his phone into his pocket. “He promised to keep me updated.”
“If you’re sure it’s the right thing to do,” I said.
Aogán nodded. “You should have told me earlier.”
“Us. You should have told us earlier,” Donncha interrupted.
Aogán frowned. “If I’d known you were in trouble…”
“You’d have been less than an ass?” I said teasingly.
Aogán’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Orla, I—”
I shook my head. “It’s fine. I’m just glad you’re not angry with me now that you know.”
“Angry with you? What for?”
“That I kept this from you. That I’m carrying another man’s baby.”
“Jesus Christ, Orla. I could never be mad at you for that,” Aogán said, Donncha and Tristan chiming in with their own protests.
I didn’t know what to say. I was relieved that no one seemed freaked out by the pregnancy. I was sure that it would repel them. Who would want to be with a woman carrying another man’s baby?
Emotion welled up in me and I let out a choked “thank you”.
“It’s a relief to tell you all. But I still don’t know what I’m going to do,” I confessed. My hand went to my stomach. “I thought about ending the pregnancy so that I could pretend this never happened, but I don’t think I can do it. I’m scared to be a single mother.”
“You should marry me.” Aogán’s words were abrupt and shocking. I stared at him. I would think it was a sick joke if he didn’t look so serious.
Tristan and Donncha were frozen on either side of me.
“What?” I practically screeched.
“You need support. Someone to help you raise your child. I can do that better than anyone.”
“Oh my God.” As a child I’d imagined Aogán proposing one day. But not like this. This felt more like an obligation.
“Do you want me on my knee? I’ll get on my knee.”
“Jesus, Aogán,” I said in a rush, my cheeks heating.
“That’s ridiculous,” Donncha said. “She should marry someone who cares about her. Someone who makes her laugh. Me.”
“She should be with someone who understands her,” Tristan spoke up. “Me.”
“You?” Aogán looked at Tristan, then Donncha with narrowed eyes. Then understanding dawned on his face. “You love her, too.”
“Too?” Donncha repeated.
The three brothers turned to stare at me. Dread settled in my gut.
“Orla?” Tristan asked, his eyes and voice pleading with me.
“I’m sorry,” tumbled out. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Wait,” Donncha said, shaking his head, looking confused because he obviously hadn’t realised my other shameful secret, “what is happening?”
“She’s been seeing all of us,” Aogán stated, his voice turned to stone.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, my guilt shredding my insides to pieces, the safety and love I’d felt not moments ago crumbling around me. I was about to lose all three of them and I would have no one to blame but myself.
To my utter shock, Donncha turned to Aogán. “Well, we all know you don’t deserve her. We all saw the way you treated her when she arrived here four weeks ago. I would treat her best.”
“No way. I was the only one who noticed she was pregnant. I deserve her most,” Tristan chimed in.
“I loved her first. For years now.” Aogán was almost yelling now.
“You snooze, you lose,” Donncha snarked.
I could hardly keep up with the onslaught of emotions I was feeling. A part of me wanted to be offended that they were talking about me like I was an object to own, not a person who could hear them. But I was too shocked by what was happening. I thought they would hate me for falling in love with all of them. Instead they were fighting over me.
“That isn’t up to you,” Aogán said, pinning me with a glare. “It’s up to Orla.”
“Yeah,” Donncha agreed. “You have to choose.”
Feeling overwhelmed, I turned to Tristan, but he didn’t provide the reprieve I expected. He looked grim.
“Who do you want, Orla?” Tristan asked.
I felt like I was being backed into a corner, being asked to do the impossible. All I wanted to do was run away. “I have feelings for all of you.”
“But who makes you laugh more?” Donncha said.
“Who understands you more?” interjected Tristan.
“Who do you have the most history with?” Aogán said.
“I…can’t choose.” I shook my head, pressing my hands into my face. “I’m sorry.”
Out now
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Excerpt of Mr. Blackwell’s Bride
I clambered most ungracefully into the limo, my skirt flouncing ungracefully around me before realizing, to my horror, there was someone already inside. I thought it was empty. It was not.
A broad-shouldered man in a dark three-piece suit sat facing me in the center of the wide leather seat, one arm outstretched across the back, a gold watch glinting on his wrist. This must be Mr. Blackwell.
“Well, this is certainly an attractive option.” His voice was deep and boomed around the cabin, resonating with power, causing a rush of goose pimples across my skin.
Was he calling me an attractive option? I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or flattered. I mean, really, what did I expect from a man who “bought” his wife?
“I don’t care what Deloitte thinks. He’s not the one with his ass on the line.”
I frowned. Then spotted the small clip in one of his ears. He was talking on the phone.
The car door slammed shut, cutting out the wind and rest of the world. I was left alone with him—my husband—the silence between his words deafening.
I placed my bag beside me and leaned back in the seat as the limo pulled away. The seat was firm, the new leather smell still clinging to the overly air-conditioned air. The rest of the interior was wood paneling and chrome.
Outside, through the heavily tinted windows, street lights rolled by as we passed out of the airport. He continued to talk on the phone, his voice animated. I had time to study him.
He wore a tailored suit, open at the jacket to reveal a dark gray shirt underneath with a matching silver tie. I didn’t know clothing brands well, but I could tell it was tailored, clinging to his wide shoulders. He had midnight hair that appeared disheveled, as if he’d run his hand through it a few times, a wide jaw that kept clenching in the pauses between his sentences. His cocoa eyes were hooded, deep-set. He stared right at me, a slight smirk pulling at his perfectly sculpted lips.
I was taught never to stare back; especially to a man I should be showing respect. I’d never been one for conforming. Besides, I couldn’t seem to help it. He was mesmerizing, dark power rolling off him. This was a man who knew what he wanted and would not take no for an answer. This was a man who demanded the world and always got it.
As I watched him watching me, something foreign pricked at my lower belly.
“Call Mike. Ask him where that damn preliminary report for the Forrest takeover is. If he doesn’t have it ready, fire him.”
I frowned. We’d been driving for at least twenty minutes now. Was he going to talk on the phone the whole damn time?
I crossed my arms over my chest. His eyes dropped blatantly and unapologetically to my breasts. Small yet perky, they were being pushed together by my crossed arms. Something flashed in his eyes. My chest tingled at his heavy assessment. I wanted to uncross my arms but I was paralyzed, like he’d somehow pinned me with his stare.
“I don’t give a shit. It was supposed to be on my desk by the end of last fucking week.”
His cursing caused me to flinch. I’d never heard such blatant swearing. So foul. So rude. The prickling in my stomach turne
d…warm. Liquid. How strange.
His eyes snapped back up to my face, his voice growing more aggressive at the unknown person on the other end of the line.
I wanted to snatch that stupid earpiece from his head.
Instead I pressed my lips together, tilted my head and raised an eyebrow at him. I knew I shouldn’t be displaying my disapproval—this was not the action of a good wife—but dammit I was jet-lagged, I hadn’t slept for almost twenty-four hours, and I’d ripped myself from my family and married a stranger who lived on the other side of the world. It might as well have been another planet.
I felt like I might cry. I didn’t want to. Especially not in front of him.
Instead I channeled all of this flurry of emotion into my glare.
“Roger, I’m going to have to call you back.” Without waiting a beat, he ripped the earpiece from his ear and tossed it onto the seat beside him.
His eyes assessed me, his perfect lips pulling into a half smile. I was sure my hair was a mess and I had bags under my eyes, but he seemed pleased with what he saw.
“Noriko.” His voice moving across my name was seductive like bassy jazz.
“Mr. Blackwell, I presume,” I replied in English.
“Please, call me Drake.”
“Drake,” I repeated his name. It felt like power on my tongue. “How good of you to notice I’m here,” I couldn’t help adding.
His dark eyebrow raised in response. “I came to pick you up at the airport.”
“Well, that certainly compensates for not being present at our wedding ceremony.” My lips dripped with sarcasm.
“I had something important arise that I had to deal with personally.”
“So you sent an assistant in your place to pretend to be you in front of the celebrant?”
He gave me an odd look, like he was trying to decipher me. I imagined that it wasn’t often that he was met with such blatant disapproval. “My signature on the contracts are real, I can assure you.”
I almost snorted. “Will you be sending an assistant to perform in your place on our wedding night?”
His lip twitched. Now I’d really pissed him off. “That will not be happening,” he growled out between clenched teeth.
“Good to know that you will be present for some things.”
“I’m a very busy and important man,” he said as if he was telling me a truth, not bragging at all.
“And so humble, too.”
“I’m just telling you how it is.”
“I’m not surprised you think so. You seem to surround yourself with people who are all at your beck and call.”
His lip lifted into a scowl. “Do you even know how much that telephone call that I cut off for you was making me? Do you even realize how much my time is worth?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” I muttered.
His eyes flared. Before I could react, he reached across the divide with his long arms, grabbing me by the wrist. His grip was firm, on the verge of hurting me, but not quite. He yanked me across to where he was sitting. I landed, sprawled across his lap. I let out a yelp and stiffened.
He was close. He radiated heat even through his suit; I felt my own body growing hot. He smelled heavenly, of expensive cologne, fresh and clean like a sea breeze.
His lips brushed my cheek sending tingles down through my body. What the hell is this?
“Forty thousand a minute,” he said in a low voice, his deep tone vibrating through my cheekbone. “So the fact that I’ve taken time out of my evening to meet you at the airport and am choosing to sit here arguing with you, my dear wife, instead of on the phone with my CFO is a big fucking deal.”
Forty thousand dollars a minute.
I didn’t know what the equivalent was in yen so I had no idea what that meant.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You don’t seem impressed.”
“Sorry, should I swoon or giggle insipidly at you?”
“I expected some sort of positive reaction, especially considering the conditions I pulled you out of.”
I stiffened. The conditions…? As if my family lived in squalor. Okay, we were poor, but there was nothing that we wanted for. “Typical western man,” I spat out, “you think money is the answer to all your problems.”
He leaned in closer. I could feel the heat of his breath on my ear. “Money is the answer to all problems. Your father’s problems were certainly solved with my money.”
I sucked in a breath. He knew about my father? Of course he did. He probably had me researched before he picked me out. “Well,” I said, “I hope you get your money’s worth.”
“I’m beginning to wonder about that,” he muttered under his breath. “I thought you Japanese girls were supposed to be demure or something.”
…you Japanese girls…
I should slap him.
But my stomach jumbled with fear, overriding my anger. I thought you Japanese girls were supposed to be demure or something.
I had almost given myself away. Mr. Blackwell thought he was getting a perfect little Japanese girl as a wife. Instead he got me. If I wasn’t careful, Mr. Blackwell would annul the marriage and take back the money meant for my father.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I forced myself to bow my head. “Mr. Blackwell, I do apologize. I didn’t sleep on the plane. I’m delirious. I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Lying to me already, dear wife?” His voice was a mixture of amusement and suspicion.
I tensed. Finally, I had the sense to remain silent. I’d already pushed my luck tonight. I knew I wasn’t making a good impression on my new husband. I was surprised he didn’t throw me out of the moving car. Damned if I was going to let him get away with treating me like another one of his staff.
“What?” He shot me a smug look. “Nothing snarky to say back?”
I shook my head slightly, remembering myself. I was here to be his good wife. In exchange for the money my father needed for his experimental treatment.
I caught him studying my features, my eyes, my cheekbones and finally my lips. “As least you are beautiful to look at.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Well done.”
“For what?”
“You’ve managed to compliment me and insult me all in the same breath. You certainly are talented.”
His stare grew intense and heated. Something shivered down my spine. “In so many ways, wife, as I’m sure you’ll soon find out.” He grabbed my hips, tugging me closer. I gasped when the sensitive place between my legs pressed up against the hardness in his pants.
Oh. My. God.
Suddenly I was all too conscious of how I was sitting, straddling his strong thighs. Suddenly I was all too aware of how a man and a woman fitted. A liquid heat began to pool in my lower half.
His head dipped to my neck. He nipped at my ear, sending a rush trickling down my body. “I could take you right here in this limo.”
I flinched. He wouldn’t, would he? “B-But you won’t.”
“Won’t I?”
A shudder ran through me. I didn’t know whether it was from fear or anticipation. Could it be…both?
Mr. Blackwell grasped my chin forcing me to look at him. This close I could see the flecks of lighter brown and amber in his chocolate eyes. “I own you, little girl. I can do what I like with you…” his fingers trailed down my neck, over one of my breasts, “…with this body.”
Real fear gripped me. I couldn’t move. He was right. I was alone in this new country. I knew no one. I had no money. My family could not help me. No one could.
“Don’t look so scared, little wife,” Mr. Blackwell said with a smirk. “Whatever I plan to do to you, I guarantee you’ll enjoy it.”
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Books by Sienna Blake
Irish Kiss Standalone Series
Irish Kiss
Professor’s Kiss
Fighter’s Kiss
The Irish Lottery
My Brot
her’s Girl ~ coming soon
Quick & Dirty Standalone Series
Three Irish Brothers
My Irish Kings
Royally Screwed
The Cassidy Brothers
Dark Romeo Trilogy
Love Sprung From Hate (#1)
The Scent of Roses (#2)
Hanging in the Stars (#3)
Bound Duet
Bound by Lies (#1)
Bound Forever (#2)
A Good Wife Standalone Series
Beautiful Revenge
Mr. Blackwell’s Bride
Paper Dolls
About Sienna
Sienna Blake is a dirty girl, a wordspinner of smexy love stories and an Amazon Top 20 & USA Today Bestselling Author.
She’s an Australian living in Dublin, Ireland, where she enjoys reading, exploring this gorgeous country and adding to her personal harem of Irish hotties ;)
