Page 12 of Devil's Luck

“Me neither, álainn.”

Fergus shuts off the water and opens the shower door, letting in a blast of cold air. I ring as much water out of my hair as I can before he hands me a towel. We dry off as quick as we can before we start getting ready for the day.

“Did you get any sleep last night,” I ask as I slide on a pair of panties, then the matching front closure bra, after finishing drying my hair.

“Huh?” Fergus snaps up when I tap him on the forehead as I walk past where he’s perched, leaning his naked hip against the door jam leading into our closet. “Oh yea, no. No sleep. I had business stuff to deal with and came home to shower before heading back out.”

“Are you sure you’re okay to be out and about today?” It doesn’t take me long to pull my short sleeve maxi-dress over my head, then slip into my flip flops. “You don’t have to drive me to the office if you’re too tired.”

“Padraig will be driving us, so it’s no worry.”

Watching Fergus get dressed has quickly become one of my favorite parts of living together. Every day he dresses like he’s about to head out and conquer the world on a runway, and in a way he does.

Before he puts on a stitch of fabric, Fergus pulls out every piece of clothing he’s going to wear that day and sets them on the center island that now holds most of my folded clothes. Beforehe moved me in, the drawers were empty.“It was waiting for you,”he told me when I asked why he didn’t use it.

Smooth talker, my man.

First is black boxer briefs, and only black. I’ve checked every drawer and found no other colors.

Next comes black socks. There are some white ones floating around amongst the black, but I’ve yet to see him wear any of them.

Then comes the sinfully tight white t-shirt. Now, he doesn’t seem to wear this every day, but it’s about half the time. I haven’t figured out the pattern for his reason of with or without yet, but I’m sure I will eventually.

And last is a three for one pick—his suit and the coordinating tie that goes with it. The pants and jacket are always hung as a pair on the hanger, the ‘house manager’ who comes one day a week always arrives with an armful of suits she picks up from the dry cleaner on her way here, and she heads straight for the closet to unwrap them from the plastic bags to hang them up as soon as she walks in the door.

Saoirse is a super nice and lovely woman who I met on my third day living here with Fergus. She is forty years old and the wife of Padraig, Fergus’s driver and right hand man. She also cooks for us a couple times a week, which is something that has changed since I came around. She used to make enough meals to feedFergus and Corrin for every day of the week, but now that I’m here, we’ve begun sharing the task.

I tried to tell Fergus that she didn’t need to clean up after us, that I could do it all myself, but when he explained everything that she does, I conceded and agreed that there is no way I can keep up with a house this big all on my own. Five bedrooms and seven bathrooms is a lot! After meeting her for the first time, and watching how much she actually accomplishes in just one day, I’m thankful when she’s here.

Once his tie is tied, custom tailored suit coat is slipped over his broad shoulders, and a watch is sinched around his left wrist, the most surprising part of his attire is pulled out and slid on—a pair of matte black, Lucchese Baker cowhide cowboy boots with a detailed stitch pattern and a short-stacked heel completes his dashing look that makes me a little week in the knees every time I look at him.

I don’t know why I was so surprised the first time I realized what his footwear of choice was, we do live in Texas after all, but I have to admit I was.

That first night in the hotel in Frisco, he had removed his boots before I got back to the room, so taking them off wasn’t part of us exploring each other’s bodies, but when he put them back on the next morning, my jaw dropped to the floor.

I know I looked like a fish out of water, but how it took me two years to notice, I don’t think I’ll ever know.

CHAPTER SIX

FERGUS

Today sucks.

I had plans for the day to celebrate it being one month since I practically forced Nola into moving in with me, but I’m notactually in our home . . . or with her. As much as I love my life and the things I do because of the family I was born into, when something happens outside of my control, I wonder what it would be like to be just a “normal” guy.

Plain and simple, I am a useless sack of bones and muscle and my brother won’t stop giving me shit about it.

“Dude, you are a goner, aren’t you?” Tadhg’s annoying laugh can probably be heard down the street even over all the jackhammering and truck noises going on around us.

After we dropped Nola off at her office this morning, which I reluctantly agree to do last night just before running out the door to deal with the mess we’re still taking care of right now, I called in my most trusted men to get this job done.

Corrin—my personal head of security and Padraig—my right hand man and driver both stand to my left.

Tadhg is to my right and brought his closest guys as well. Cian—his right hand man, Declan—former personal head of security and now in charge of Remi and baby Máire, and Tiernan—his driver and recently promoted personal security.

Rounding out our ragtag group is Liam—our Nana Máire’s driver and security. While she claims not to need anyone watching over her, what happened late last night, that kept me from sleeping next to my woman, proves very much otherwise.

Unbeknownst to her, Nana was followed home from her one of her weekly card games. Yes, she has two a week, sometimes three if the old coots get crazy and need to settle a tiebreaker or finish a tournament. But anyway . . .

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