Page 2 of Devil's Luck

“I can’t believe you still call Tadhg that,” Remi chuckles and throws a bailed up pair of my socks at my head. “It feels like forever ago when you started that nickname.”

Two years ago, the book signing we’re attending this weekend was held down in Conroe, just outside of Houston. Remi lived in Chicago at the time, which is where she is from, and her travels down to Texas is how she and Tadhg met.

After her flight was delayed overnight, then canceled the next morning, Remi was stuck in a hotel near O’Hare airport. She had just gotten the notification from the airline that she had no flight to Texas, when a tall, messy blonde, tattooed stranger approached her and offered her a ride on his private jet—enterTadhg O’Carroll, the man I’ve referred to as Mr. Hottie since the moment she introduced him to me over a video call.

Seeing a woman in distress, Tadhg swooped in and saved the day for Remi.

You see, Tadhg is the second son of the O’Carroll Mafia family, the strongest Irish criminal family in the state of Texas, and far beyond. When he and Remi met, Tadhg tried to keep his true identity and what his life all entails from her, but the secret didn’t last long. After a failed attempt by a Russian idiot to kidnap her, ended with Remi unconscious in the hospital, Tadhg was forced to lay all his cards out on the table when she woke up and tell her who he really was. Their journey may have started as a bumpy ride, but their love has only grown stronger since and is something no one can deny.

“Remi . . . a stór,” It’s Saturday morning, and as I walk out into the living room of our suite to finish getting ready to head down to the book signing, I can hear Tadhg trying to talk Remi off the ledge again. That man may be a lethal assassin, but he is a giant, mushy teddy bear when it comes to his wife and daughter. “The guys will be ready to drive y’all home this afternoon when you’re done maxing out my credit card.”

“I can’t help it that I miss you and Máire.” Remi finishes tying her shoes and waves when she sees me. She has her phonepropped up on the coffee table and the cutest blue eyed cherub face is filling the screen. “Morning, Nola. How’d you sleep?”

“Good morning.” I head straight for the white paper cup of coffee, with the all too familiar green face of a smiling woman on it, that Remi is holding out for me. “Amazing, thank you for asking. That bed is like a damn cloud. I didn’t want to get up.”

“If I wasn’t missing home so much, I’d still be under those covers,” she says with a groan, followed by a yawn. “I’ve been up for two hours, and if we didn’t need to be downstairs to get in line in thirty minutes, I’d crawl back in for a nap.”

“I’m glad this is an event that starts at a reasonable hour.”

“Preach,” Remi says after taking a sip of her own coffee.

“And Tadhg, be sure to thank whichever of your guys that remembered my order.” I salute him with my beloved drink even though he can’t see me.

“I’ll do that,” he replies with a chuckle.

“What is your coffee flavor of choice?” A different and deeper voice floats over the phone line and I do everything in my power to not let the feelings it shoots through my body show. Oh, the things I’ve dreamed, imagining that voice whispering dirty things in my ear—it’d make a nun blush and faint from her vapors. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm the crazy snare drum beat that my heart has started, I step a little closer to the phone screen, but not close enough so he can see me, and see the face of the man who drives me wild even though I can never do anything about it.

Fergus Finnegan O’Carroll.

Tadhg’s older brother, also the head of the O’Carroll Mafia family, has sent my heart, and lady bits, into a tizzy several times since the moment we met almost two years ago. It’s like I drew a picture of my dream man, and God created him and plopped his fine ass in front of me to torture me and my dreams for the rest of my life.

With his not long but not too short ultra dark brown hair that I just want to run my fingers through, his sexy as fuck beard that is always neat and trimmed without a strand out of place, and the craziest bright blue eyes I’ve ever seen, it was inevitable that I would have a crush on Fergus and feel the need to change my panties every time he walked into the room. Hell, I don’t think there is a woman who crosses his path who doesn’t, but being more than his friend just isn’t in the cards for me. I hate it, it’s pure torture sometimes, but I’ve gotten used to it. My game face is stronger because of it.

Mixing the thought of pleasure and friendship has never worked well for me. I dated the brother of a friend for six months back in college and it blew up in my face. When I broke up with him, because the feelings just weren’t there anymore, I lost my friend too. When I tried to tell her it was the best for the both of us, because who wanted to be in a relationship with someone whoisn’t in love with them, she wouldn’t listen. She blamed me for her brother’s broken heart and we never talked again. It would kill me if the same thing happened to me and Remi if I tried to be with Fergus and it didn’t work . . . it’s just not worth the risk.

“If I had to guess, I’d say you have more creamer than actual coffee in that cup.” Tadhg’s voice snaps me back to reality.

“Hi Fergus,” Remi chimes in, saving me from answering for a brief moment. “And yes, her coffee is more french vanilla than actual coffee beans.”

“I can’t help that I like what I like.” I put on my shielded smile and step behind Remi so I’m also in the camera’s frame. And that’s when I notice something I never expected.

Fergus is wearing glasses! He wasn’t wearing them two seconds ago . . . but it makes his level on the hotness meter skyrocket.

“I knew it,” his eyes lock with mine like the miles between us don’t exist. “Sweet coffee for a damn sweet woman.”

Three, two, one—and my cheeks are on fire. I’ve never been able to hide my blush when flustered, and there is no denying it now. “Be careful now,” I playfully sass him with a wink. “If you keep talking like that, I’m gonna think you’re flirting with me Fergie.”

He squints behind those almost nerdy black rims that give him a little bit of a Clark Kent vibe and it’s like I can feel his growl through the phone. “And what if I am flirting with you, álainn?”

“Alright, alright,” Remi snatches her phone from the table and swats me away with a laugh, “that’s enough of that out of you two. No flirting allowed around my baby.”

“Yes, mom,” I shoot her a wink then stick my tongue out at her.

To be honest, I don’t know if her interruption is a good or bad thing. While I know nothing will come of it, Fergus and I have had a few moments of cheeky harmless flirting, but that’s all it is—harmless. We’re friends who have fun pushing each other’s buttons during innocent moments of fun. He’s never even hugged me, much less been close enough to kiss me or to be anything anywhere near intimate. Hell, this is the first time I’ve ever called him anything other than his full first name. I have no idea where the cutesy shortened version came from, but I can’t say I didn’t get the warm and fuzzies from his reaction.

Ducking back into my room, I take a minute to catch my breath. Shaking out my hands to toss off any residual sexual tension, I’m ready to get this show on the road. I tuck my driver’s license, credit card, and some cash in the front pocket of my shorts, and check myself out in the mirror one last time.

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