Page 1 of Her Irish Savage

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FIONA

Someone has to be the grown-up in this relationship.

I’m determined to make Madden Kelly do the right thing. He has to return the money we stole from his brother three days ago. If I play my cards right—and I always do—Madden will believe giving back the cash is his idea.

That’s my secret power: getting men to do what I want them to do. They think I’m a helpless twenty-four-year-old girl. But I’m actually a woman who has grown up in the heart of Boston’s Irish mob. I can hold my own against anyone. I’m Fiona Fucking Ingram.

Capping my Louboutin lipstick with a decisive click, I purse my lips at my reflection in the mirror. Satisfied with the scarlet shine, I twitch the waistline of my Tom Ford leather corset to lie flat against its short matching skirt. The boned bodice is tight enough to make me regret the burger and fries I wolfed down at dinner. I should have stuck with a salad.

Fuck it. The fries were the best part of the meal. Regret is for losers.

I slip into my four-inch stilettos and head out to the living room.

I expect Madden to be on the couch, thumbing the remote between his precious Philadelphia sports teams—hockey playoffs to basketball playoffs to spring baseball. Instead, he’s studying something on his phone, a diagram that looks like a subway map for a very crowded city. He’s pacing as he looks at it, muttering under his breath.

I consider picking up my own phone from the coffee table and sending him a text to get his attention. Instead, I clear my throat, twice. When he finally looks up, he crams his phone in his pocket like I’ve caught him watching porn.

“What do you thinkyou’redoing?” I demand. Just last night, we added Headmistress and Naughty Schoolboy to our bedroom repertoire. I never expected he’d go off that fast. He was mortified about the sticky mess he left in his briefs. I sure as hell intend to usethatinformation, going forward.

“Jaysus!” His Irish accent goes thick when he’s startled. Or embarrassed. Or angry. “Don’t ya be sneakin’ up on a man!”

I raise my eyebrows, making it clear I didn’t sneak. But I keep my eyes on my true goal—getting him to return Braiden’s money. Crossing the room, I sway my hips a lot more than necessary. I raise one fingernail to trace from the tip of his chin to the bottom of his Adam’s apple. “Let’s go out tonight,” I murmur.

He flinches. “I’m busy.”

“Just a couple of drinks?” I need him relaxed and happy. I push my shoulders back, testing my corset’s zipper.

He ignores the show and reaches for his pocket instead. He wants his phone more than he wants my body. “There’s plenty of booze in the kitchen,” he mutters.

“Fine. I’ll fix us both a drink.” But my fingers find his beforehe can tap his screen to life. Melting against him, I pull his hand under my skirt.

He growls when he discovers I’m not wearing panties.

I’ve been getting sounds like that out of Madden Kelly since the night we met in Dublin, six months ago. We were both visiting the old country. Da thought a month or two in Ireland would get the wildness out of my system, and I’d finally settle down like a good girl. Let him marry me off to one of his carefully selected mob associates. Secure more of his criminal empire.

Blah, blah, blah. Da’s plan was boring.

Not like the high stakes poker game where I met Madden.

I made sure to lose three quick hands before I pleaded an empty purse. A handjob across the console of Madden’s cheap rental car made up for the grand I owed him. We closed down a pub after that, and the blow job I gave him after hours earned me an invitation to visit Pennsylvania.

I knew it would drive my father crazy, so I took Madden up on his offer. And ever since, I’ve had front row seats to Philly’s version ofThe Godfather. More specifically, I’ve watched Madden’s power struggle with his brother Braiden, the captain of Philadelphia’s Irish mob. Madden is only second-in-command.

Sucks to be Madden, I guess.

Three days ago, he took me on the milk run, collecting envelopes of cash from every business on the long list of his brother’s protection racket. I thought Madden was joking at first, stealing the money. But the joke was on me, especially when Madden headed into a back room at one of the brothels, at Mimi’s place.

He kept me waiting a full hour.

Great. Madden proved he has power over me. We never said we were exclusive. I’m not allowed to get upset about his fucking a couple of whores.

But I need him to return his brother’s money now, beforeBraiden makes both of us pay. It’s all fun and games until someone takes a knife beneath the ribs.

Now that I’ve got Madden’s hand between my thighs, I finally have his attention. He hooks two fingers into me and I sigh his name. Panting like he has me racing, I handle his zipper. “God,” I moan as I reach inside his jeans and his briefs. “That’s so good.” My fingernails on his dick seal the deal; he’s hard in seconds.

I let him force me over to the couch. He pins my wrists overhead, and I catch a fake scream at the back of my throat. I breathe faster and faster as he pumps between my thighs.

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