Page 2 of Mated to the Kingpin

“Please, ma,” I head her off, not able to handle talking about picking out someone to marry. “I’m sure they’re great, but not today.”

Her lips purse before gentling and she pats me. “I just want you to be happy. I know this isn’t how you’d like this to happen. Lord knows none of us expected—“ she cuts herself off as her voice wavers and tears shine in her eyes. I wrap her up in a hug, unable to handle seeing the strongest woman I know crack. She’s been so strong for Da since the attack.

“I promise to come back and talk about your favorites, okay?” I speak into her hair. Even if I hate the idea of marrying a practical stranger. My phone goes off, saving me. I slide it from the back pocket of my jeans to check the notification.

The world around me freezes as an idea comes to me.

No. I couldn’t. I shouldn’t.

There’s a reason I walked away so many years ago and it hasn’t changed.

But once the idea is planted, I can’t think of anything else.

“Actually, I know who I want to marry. I’ll explain when I get back. I’ll need your help planning it.” I bend to press a quick kiss to her cheek and escape while she’s still processing what I’d said.

The moment I’m in my BMW headed towards downtown Savannah, I call Connor, who picks up on the second ring.

“I need you to do something for me,” I instruct before he can greet me.

“Anything.”

“I need you to monitor Claire Douglass and her dating profiles. If she sets up any dates, make sure the guys never show and give me the location and time.”

Connor, as always, agrees without question.

Suddenly the idea of having to marry isn’t so bad. The werewolf in me growls in satisfaction, pleased I’m finally giving in and hunting my mate. If I’m going to marry someone, it’s going to be Claire Douglass. I don’t care how dirty I have to play. I’m claiming her and I won’t take no for an answer.

Chapter 2

Claire

I’m cursed. That’s the only explanation. Otherwise, why else would I be sitting in the bar at my favorite restaurant’s bar during happy hour waiting for a date that was supposed to start thirty minutes ago? We’d confirmed doing happy hour together and now happy hour was winding down and I’d heard nothing from him for the last hour.

I even met this guy from a different app than the first two! I know guys can be assholes, but none of these had sent me dick pics so they were already worth considering. Then, day of meeting face-to-face, absolute silence. Not even an “I’m sorry, something came up,” the next day.

I’d even made it pretty clear that tonight, if we hit it off well and both want to, I’d be down for some action. I’ve been on a dry spell long enough my favorite vibrator was asking for mercy. Add in that I’ve been in a grueling interview process for my dream position as the Creative Director for a nonprofit youth charity, I really wanted to blow some steam off tonight.

Resignation weighs down my shoulders from another disappointing evening. I grab the white wine I’d been nursing since I’d arrived and tossed it back. At least this place has amazing food. I’d been picking at the black bean hummus platterand queso fundido I’d ordered, trying to pace myself while waiting for the guy to show. I’d text my best friend to come join me, but Lizzy is stuck at her office with her asshole boss on a late night project.

I might as well order another drink before happy hour is over. Just because I’m rolling solo tonight doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself since I’m here. I make eye contact with my server, who heads right over. I don’t let the sympathetic look in her eyes affect the smile I’m forcing.

I look good as hell tonight. I’d tamed my golden curls into a playful style by pinning half of it back and I wore my favorite outfit. When I arrived, I’d draped my crisp, tailored navy blazer over the back of my barstool so the delicate ivory lace camisole showed off my shoulders that flirts with the line between sweet and seductive. My pants, perfectly matching the blazer, hug me just right to show off the slimmest part of my waist and have my smaller butt looking hot. After leaving work, I’d exchanged my black flats for nude heels, and replaced my clear lip gloss with my favorite red-pink lipstick with a velvety matte finish.

It looks like my vibrator gets the benefit of all of my effort to look nice and be freshly shaved.

The waitress—Lara, I think she said her name was—arrives at the high-top I’ve claimed. I tell her I’ll have a fresh peach whiskey sour just as someone slides into the empty seat across from me.

I haven’t been stood up!

I smile, distracted from ordering as I get ready to greet Greg. Except across from me isn’t Greg. I freeze, grin stuck in place as my mind struggles to see how this is possible.

“Sorry I’m late. The meeting ran long.” Liam O’Reilly smiles at the waitress, the same smile that has been melting panties and turning good girls bad since he hit puberty. “I’ll take a whiskeyneat. Jameson Black Barrel if you have it, Bushmills if you don’t.”

She blushes and stammers as she confirms, standing for a moment longer staring at Liam before hurrying towards the bar. He’s looking at me, and I’m still a fly stuck in his spider web. It’s been ten years since I’ve seen him—since that awful day he broke my heart and the horrible decision I made that night. He wasn’t even at my brother’s funeral eight years ago and they’d once been best friends.

I can’t blame her for staring though. If he was gorgeous at 23, he’s devastating now. He’s wearing a deep red button down, the top few buttons undone, showing he’s added tattoos over time, paired with black jeans that show off his muscular thighs. His dark brown hair is tousled in a way that lets you know it’s supposed to look messy. He has a five o’clock shadow that only emphasizes his sharp jawline. Those gray-blue eyes seem to pierce into me, reminding me of a wolf’s gaze.

Which makes sense, considering I know what he really is. A werewolf. All of the men in the O’Reilly family are.

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