Page 121 of Dublin Beast

And Nora? She was raised by the head of the anti-crime task force—she practically breathed take-down strategies over breakfast.

Harper couldn’t have found a stronger circle if she’d sourced them out herself and built it from scratch.

And listening to them? Well, it’s clear Harper is well on her way to finding her footing again.

Hope stirs in my chest—unexpected and powerful.

Maybe if she sees how they love my brothers, she’ll see that the Quinn brothers are more than blood and violence. We’re family men. We’re lovers. We’re protectors.

We do our best for North Dublin. We protect our people. And if we weren’t standing here, fighting the fight against the McGuires and Gravely… well, things would be a fuck ton more dangerous.

Everything in me wants to go in and join them.

To wrap an arm around her waist and kiss her temple and tell her she’s fucking incredible.

But I don’t.

She’sin it. Focused. Powerful. At home—even if she hasn’t realized it yet.

No. I let the moment with the ladies live on, undisturbed, and head upstairs.

The more she bonds with the members of my family, the clearer she’ll see what a future here could be.

* * *

I push open the door to my suite and step inside, letting the sensation settle around me.

The fire’s burned low in the hearth, the soft crackle of burning logs almost died out. I stride over to the poker stand, grip an iron rod, and bring the embers back to a fiery glow.

I toss a couple of pieces of split cedar into the fireplace and set the screen into place. It’s the third week in November and the damp chill of winter isn’t welcome in my bedroom.

If and when I get Harper naked again, I don’t want her wishing she was covered or buried under the covers.

I want her bold and bare.

I scan the room and frown. The place is clean—Cora wouldn’t have it any other way—but tonight it feels wrong. Too much leather and no lace. Too much steel and no silk.

This room is mine—but now, she’s here.

I want our space to reflect that.

The Quinn quarters aren’t just bedrooms. They’re small sanctuaries, private little kingdoms tucked into the ribs of this stone castle we call home.

Each suite has a sleeping space, a living room, and a private bath. Mine’s in the east wing, with high ceilings, black-out curtains, a full bar, and access to the round, stone turret room on this corner of the castle.

I glance at the heavy wooden door that leads to the turret. When did we stop playing knights and monsters? How long ago was I last in there?

Opening the door, I chuckle at the hand-painted sign hanging on the opposite wall.

Quinn Dungeon!

Prepare to be tortured.

I laugh and pull it down, folding it to show Brendan tomorrow. How old were we when he wrote that? Twelve?

Seems we were inclined toward torture even then.

I scan the space and wonder if it could be someplace Harper could claim. Brendan gave Nora a room to paint.

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