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 Original Copyright © 2018 Tracie Delaney
Revised Copyright © 2024 Tracie Delaney

Edited by Vicki James (The Indie Hub)

Proofread by Nikki Groom (The Indie Hub) and Katie Schmahl.

Cover art by Clarise Tan at CT Cover Creations

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in uniform or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
 Contents
Declan
1. Indie
2. Declan
3. Declan
4. Declan
5. Indie
6. Declan
7. Indie
8. Declan
9. Indie
10. Indie
11. Declan
12. Indie
13. Indie
14. Indie
15. Indie
16. Indie
17. Declan
18. Indie
19. Declan
20. Indie
21. Indie
22. Declan
23. Indie
24. Indie
25. Indie
26. Declan
27. Indie
28. Declan
29. Declan
Epilogue
Callum
Acknowledgments
Newsletter Sign Up
Books by Tracie Delaney
About Tracie Delaney
 The plan was to destroy his life,
not to fall in love.

I’ve spent years plotting my revenge against the man responsible for wrecking my childhood. He deserves what’s coming to
him, and more. But when my mark unexpectedly dies, it’s left to his son to pay for the sins of his father.
Except I didn’t predict millionaire hotelier Declan O’Reilly to awaken a fierce longing inside me. Every stolen glance, every
illicit touch threatens to expose the truth, one I can’t allow Declan to unveil.
With our lives intertwined, a future I never expected is within my grasp. Until shadows from my past emerge, threatening
everything I’ve come to hold dear. As long buried secrets surface, I’m forced into making an impossible choice.
Can I stop the ticking time bomb before it explodes in my face? Or will my twisted lies end our relationship before it’s even
begun?
Author note: This book was previously released as The Blame Game, part of the Brook Brothers series. It has been
completely reimagined and re-edited.
 Content Warning

This story contains scenes of domestic abuse that may be upsetting to some readers. Please take care when reading.
For all the women forced to make difficult choices,
no matter what the consequences.

You’ve got this!

 Chapter 1

Indie

THE EXPECTED KNOCK ARRIVES AT MY DOOR A FEW MINUTES EARLIER THAN EXPECTED . I DON ’ T USUALLY SUFFER FROM CLAMMY
palms, but they’re clammy now. I grab a tissue and wipe them, knowing I’ll have to shake the hand of my enemy. Not that he has
any clue who I am.
I know him, though.
Soon, I’ll know him a whole lot better, too.
I straighten my spine and take a deep breath, having spent most of last night staring at the ceiling and running possibilities
through my mind for how to deal with this unexpected situation. This is happening, and far earlier than we’d planned. I guess
when luck comes calling, it makes sense to grab the opportunity with both hands, although I can’t stop the prickle of worry
circling in my tummy. I feel unprepared, despite the months of groundwork.
I drop the tissue in the trash can beside my desk and call out, “Come in!”
Pam, my assistant, enters my office. The man who follows her is familiar to me only in photographs, but seeing him in the
flesh makes my stomach tilt.
I hadn’t expected Declan O’Reilly to be so tall, broad-shouldered, or for his forest-green eyes to bore into mine until I’m
certain he can see straight through me and know the terrible things I have in store for him.
“Mr. O’Reilly.” I rise from my chair and thrust out a hand for him to take, forcing a warm smile.
He shakes it, his palm smooth. “Declan, please.”
“Declan, then.” I gesture toward the chair opposite my desk. “Have a seat.”
He unfastens the button on his single-breasted Armani jacket, and sits down. He smells of sandalwood and money, and I
admit I’m curious why he needs my services. I’ve followed Declan O’Reilly’s life closely over the last decade, watching the
growth of his multi-million-dollar hotel empire. Only last month, I read an interview he’d given to the Wall Street Journal,
where he’d laid out his ambitious plans to one day be as successful as Christoph Meyer—a German property magnate famous
for his luxurious boutique hotels.
Declan sets a soft leather briefcase at his feet, then smooths his shirt, and straightens his tie. “Thank you for seeing me on
such short notice.”
I force a professional smile that’s friendly, warm, but not overly familiar. “Not a problem at all. I had a free slot in my
calendar, and it was either see you or go to the gym with an overzealous friend. You were the easy choice.”
Declan’s slow grin lights a fire in those compelling eyes. “Not a fan of working out?” I don’t miss the brief sweep of his
gaze over my body—a normal reaction from a lot of men I come into contact with, but this one leaves me with a very
uncomfortable feeling.
Pleasure. Unwanted pleasure.
“It’s a necessary evil, I guess.” I shuffle the papers on my desk in an effort to quell the fiery burn inside me. I cannot allow
myself to feel any attraction toward this man. That isn’t the plan. I despise him.
Clearing my throat, I dare to meet his sharp gaze once more. “So, tell me… how can I help?”
He removes a folder from his briefcase and sets it down on my desk. I give his hands a cursory glance: well-shaped
fingernails, smooth skin, no scars or calluses. Those aren’t a worker’s hands. But then, why would they be? He’s led a
privileged life. At one time, so had I, until his father came along and stole my childhood.
Unfortunately, Declan O’Reilly’s father is dead, which leaves his son to pay what’s due. And he will. Bank on it.
“An unexpected cost has come up for a business venture, and I need funds to cover it,” he says bluntly, pushing the file
across my desk.
I draw it toward me, pausing when Pam enters with a tray of coffee. “Thank you, Pam.” I wait for her to leave, then pour
two cups. Declan murmurs his thanks, and I give a curt, businesslike nod.
“Tell me more. I’ve read the notes accompanying today’s appointment, but I’d prefer to get the full details from you.”
He clears his throat. “I recently purchased two adjacent properties in Manhattan. The plan is to merge them into one
boutique hotel. Unfortunately, after the sale had gone through, my lawyer discovered a covenant on one of the properties, which
prevents a change of use without buying out that covenant.”
He rubs his lips together and laces his fingers. He isn’t comfortable asking for help, and I’m enjoying his discomfort. Phil
would enjoy it even more.
“I presume buying out the covenant comes with a hefty fee?”
“One million dollars.”
I grimace, perfecting my sympathetic expression. “Not exactly small change.”
“No.”
“Bad miss from your lawyer.” If my lawyer missed something that big, I’d fire his ass in an instant.
Declan shifts in his chair. “He’s also my best friend.”
“Ah.” Awkward. “I take it you’re here because the banks won’t lend any further funds?”
The venture capitalists I worked for had a higher attitude to risk than mainstream banks. And what with the upcoming
recession, they’d tighten their criteria further.
“Got it in one.” He sips his coffee. “Believe me, Miss Monroe, I wouldn’t be here if I had any other options. I have the
cash to cover the renovations to the standard expected of an O’Reilly hotel, and I won’t skimp on that. Which brings me here.
I’m not a fan of venture capitalists. I’m building an empire, and that takes time and patience. Most venture capitalists I’ve come
across just want their pound of flesh, regardless of any long-term impacts that might have on the business. No offence.”
“None taken.”
I open the file, unsurprised at the detail I find. If Declan wasn’t all over the financials, he wouldn’t have turned his million-
dollar inheritance into a multi-million-dollar business.
I sip my drink and review his numbers. They’re all in order. In fact, the proposal is more than solid. If it’s executed
correctly, my clients could be sitting on a very healthy return. Declan O’Reilly isn’t just hellishly attractive. He’s smart, too.
I do my due diligence, taking my time, occasionally making notes in the margin. I half expect Declan to interrupt or ask
rapid-fire questions, but he sits quietly, his hands resting in his lap, moving only to lean forward and pick up his coffee cup.
Once I’m finished, I close the file and recline in my chair to meet Declan’s gaze. He has a sexy, brooding look that only a
woman made of stone wouldn’t find attractive. I’m supposed to be that woman, but I’m failing miserably. As hard as I try, I’m
not made of stone. I’m not Phil.
Though my confidence is ebbing, I cling to it as much as I can. This career I’ve built is my strength, and the only place my
predetermined destiny hasn’t interfered with… until now. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, but fate stepped in, and now I
have no choice but to go with it.
“Very comprehensive proposal, Declan.” I fake composure, casually tapping my pen against the file. “Impressive.”
“So, you think it’ll draw interest?”
“Leave it with me for a couple days. I’ll talk to some investors who might be interested in this type of opportunity and get
back to you.”
“Sounds good.”
I wait for him to say something else, or make a move to leave, letting the silence swirl around us, but he stays seated, his
gaze on me. My insides twist and churn. Those photographs did this man a terrible injustice. If his business venture fails, he
could make a fortune as a model. Those delicious green eyes, that strong, angular jaw, and his high, proud cheekbones all lend
themselves to a beauty it’s hard not to gawk at.
When he remains silent, I squirm, causing the faintest tilt to his lips. What the hell, Indie. I’m known for my ability to use
silence as a valuable business tactic, yet ten seconds under this man’s intense gaze, and I’m a hot mess.
I clear my throat and capitulate. “Like I said, it’s a solid business case. Nothing’s certain, of course. Lots of different
factors come into play when deciding whether to invest such a large sum of money in a venture that isn’t even off the ground
yet, but I’ll do my best to strike a deal that will benefit all parties.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to persuade them.”
“Just to check… you’re not willing to put up any of your other hotels as collateral? It would sweeten the deal.”
He shakes his head. “It’s this singular business. That’s it. And I want a clause in the contract that allows me to end the deal
early, without penalty, if I pay the capital plus interest back before the term ends.”
It’s not an unreasonable request. I make a note. “That’s fine.”
His hooded eyes stroke me with a lover’s touch, and heat flushes through me. This is going better than I expected. Phil
won’t believe it when I tell him that not only has Declan O’Reilly fallen unexpectedly into my lap, giving me a legitimate
reason to engage with him, but he’s also clearly interested in more than my business contacts. For some strange reason, and one
I can’t put my finger on, I’m not ready to let him leave just yet.
“It sounds like this venture is very important to you.”
“It is.” He appears intent to leave it there, yet as I search my mind for another leading question that won’t sound like I’m
being overly nosy, he expands. “Twelve years ago, a drunk driver killed my parents. My father worked hard all his life, and he
left me and my brothers financially secure. But that was never enough for me. I want to take my father’s legacy and turn it into
an empire. To make him proud. And while my brothers are all grown up and living their own lives, I still see myself as their
guardian. It’s my responsibility to make sure they always have a soft place to fall.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded and incredulous. Why has a burning sensation taken up residence in my chest? I suppress an
urge to rub my sternum and reach for the Pepto Bismol. “They’re lucky to have you.”
I can’t bring myself to say how sorry I am that he lost his parents. It feels like a step too far down the path of betrayal, and
my loyalty is with my family. Always.
Declan looks directly at me, his green gaze unwavering. “I’m not sure they would always agree with that, but thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I push back my chair and stand, suddenly needing to end this meeting so I can examine the strange
feelings swirling inside me, then make them go away. “I’ll be in touch.”
Declan rises from his chair and refastens his jacket. He reaches into the inside pocket and pulls out a business card. “I
appreciate your time. If you need anything further to seal the deal, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”
His fingers lightly brush against mine as he hands over the card, and a shiver races up my arm and flows down my spine.
To distract myself, I study the business card before dropping it on my desk.
We shake hands again, but as I try to withdraw, Declan holds onto me for a second longer than feels normal between two
strangers. His eyes flare with an interest that has little to do with the reason for his visit.
I stifle a victorious smile. My eyes track him when he walks away, his posture straight as a pencil, his gait confident with a
hint of swagger, despite his money worries. After he leaves my office, I remain standing, staring at the closed door.
My teeth graze my lip. Declan O’Reilly hadn’t turned out at all as I’d expected. Such a shame that a man so hellishly
attractive, the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, came from bad stock.
With a heavy sigh, I sit back down and reach for my cell to scroll through my contacts list, find the right one, then make a
call. When my brother picks up, I say only two words:
“We’re on.”
I cut the call without waiting for a response, not in the mood to listen to the jubilance in his voice. I may have waited a long
time for this opportunity, but now it’s arrived, a nasty taste in my mouth has replaced the expected rush of excitement at the
chance to exact the justice we’re owed.
Not that it matters. I’m locked in, committed to a course. There’s no veering off in a different direction. The time has come
to see it through to the bitter end. I owe it to my family to deliver, and nothing will make me deviate from the plan.
 Chapter 2

Declan

A COUPLE OF DAYS PASS WITHOUT ANY WORD FROM INDIA MONROE. I CALL HER OFFICE— NO ANSWER. I LEAVE A MESSAGE WITH
the receptionist, but when India doesn’t call me back, I’m left with little choice other than to assume the deal is a no-go. Bone-
deep disappointment weighs heavily upon me, not only because it means my plans are shot to hell, but also because I won’t
have a chance to see her again.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t get India out of my head. Her luminous hazel eyes haunt my dreams, and the feel of her soft
palm in mine when I shook her hand has left an imprint on my skin. During that half hour I spent in her office, she’d made me
feel like a horny teenage boy, which, considering I turned thirty recently, more than pushed the boundaries of believability.
The lack of contact from her means I can’t put off the inevitable any longer, though. I send a text to Callum, and one to
Ciaran, asking them to stop by the properties after work, then I spend the next hour pacing. My mood turns blacker with each
step. I have two strikes against me when turning to my brothers for advice or help. One, Dad brought us up with a pride streak a
mile long. Two, I’m the eldest brother, the guardian, and the one who’s supposed to have all the fucking answers.
On this particular problem, though, I’m stumped.
The sound of their heavy footsteps and laughter echoes down the hallway before Callum enters, takes one look at me, and
frowns. “Fuck me, who’s died?”
He unbuttons his suit jacket and pulls up a chair at the antique oak table in what I’d planned to turn into the restaurant
kitchen. Ciaran, still dressed in his NYPD uniform, shakes his head at his twin, and touches the Glock slotted into his duty belt.
“Can I just shoot him now?”
Callum flips off his twin. Despite the bleakness of the situation, my lips twitch. They might be identical in looks, but that’s
where the similarity ends. Callum is the more hotheaded and blunter of the two, whereas Ciaran is calm, measured, and
kindhearted. Their personalities fit well with their chosen careers. Callum is the consummate salesperson, which is why he
heads up the sales division of Necron, the liquor company he started with Zayden, his best friend from college. He’s also the
joint CEO but leaves most of the boring business stuff to Zayden, preferring the cut and thrust of sales. His charm, along with
his dogged determination, serves him well in driving the aggressive growth of the company.
In comparison, Ciaran never took any interest in money or business, nor in gaining a degree he saw as a pointless waste of
four years of his life. With the size of his inheritance, he could easily have sat on his ass and lived comfortably for the rest of
his life, but that isn’t Ciaran. An altruist at heart, he joined the NYPD as a cadet straight from high school, and when his trust
fund kicked in at twenty-one, he poured every cent of what Dad left him into setting up a non-profit charity helping the victims
of crime.
It didn’t surprise me in the least. Our grandfather was a cop, and he and Ciaran had a connection that was almost telepathic.
It made sense that Ciaran would want to follow in his footsteps. But that wasn’t his only reason for joining the police force, nor
for starting the charity. When Ciaran was eight, our grandmother was mugged on the way home from the grocery store by a
teenager who’d fallen in with a street gang. She never recovered and died a few days later. Gramps couldn’t get over losing
her, and he passed six months after Gran. It broke Ciaran’s heart, and he vowed then to join the police force as soon as he was
able to.
He’s a damned good cop, too, and while he has the political acumen to climb the ranks, he believes that true good comes
from working the streets. From engaging with the kids before the gangs get hold of them, and steering them in the right
direction.
He’s the best of all of us.
I dive straight in. No point in dragging out the inevitable. “There’s a problem with the property.”
Suspicious at the best of times, Callum narrows his eyes. “Oh yeah?”
“What kind of problem?” Ciaran asks.
“Paul’s discovered there’s a restrictive covenant in place.” I still can’t believe my best friend missed the covenant. He’s
been embroiled in a huge pro bono case which has absorbed his attention for months now. In some ways, I blame myself for
asking him to handle the sale. Then again, if Paul didn’t have the bandwidth, he should have passed me to another firm.
 “English, please,” Callum says, getting a firm dig in the ribs from Ciaran.
“Give him a chance to explain, you fuckwit.”
I force a tight smile. “It basically means I can’t turn the place into a hotel—not without buying out the covenant.” I take a
breath. “And it’ll cost a million dollars to do so.”
“I feel a moment of smugness coming on,” Callum drawls, grinning.
I let out a heavy breath. Callum has been against this venture from the get-go. When I found the houses and showed him the
sales brochures, he told me they were a money pit and to invest elsewhere.
Of all the people to be proven right, Callum is the worst. He’ll wring every drop of glee out of my misfortune. There’s no
one who likes being right more than him.
“I’m not selling either of them.”
“Then, you’re an idiot. Although, it’s your dime, so...” He shrugs. “How’re you planning to come up with a million dollars,
bigshot? Because all my money is tied up in Necron’s expansion, and this jerk gives all his cash away.”
Ciaran rolls his eyes and fingers his Glock.
A smile pulls at my lips, despite the seriousness of the situation. “I had a meeting a couple days ago with a venture
capitalist company.”
At this news, Callum eyes narrow. “You’re giving away a piece of the business? To those parasites?”
“That was the plan. Except I haven’t heard back. I called and left a message, but...” I twist my lips. “No response, which I
guess means they passed.”
“Lucky escape, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t fucking ask you.” Running a hand down my face, I sigh. This is typical of Callum and me. Whenever we disagree,
we’re like two bulls pawing the ground. And while we’d never outright gore each other, neither of us is above a slice or two
here and there. Except, on this occasion, I’ll have to back down. I need his help. I need both of them to help come up with a
solution. I don’t like it, but I’m not exactly teeming with options.
Turning to Ciaran, I say, “What do you think?”
He considers my question carefully, taking his time to answer. When he eventually speaks, it is, as always, worth listening
to. “I think when you found these properties, a spark lit up inside you—one I haven’t seen for a long time. For some reason,
these are different from all the other hotels you’ve revamped and opened over the last few years. I don’t know why, and I’m not
sure you do either, but that excitement is worth holding onto, no matter what the cost.” He hitches one shoulder. “My two cents,
for what it’s worth.”
“It’s worth exactly two cents,” Callum interjects. “Or maybe one cent.”
Ciaran touches his gun again. “Coming closer, dickhead.”
Callum barks a laugh. “You’d never shoot me. I’m the other half of you.”
“Yeah. The rotten half. And don’t test me. I’ve had a long day.”
I cut in before blood is spilled. “Despite what you think, I’m building this business for all of us. I want our family to have a
legacy—something that would make Mom and Dad proud. You’re right, Ciaran. There is something about this place.” I glance
around, frowning, the answer just out of reach. “As soon as I saw it, I felt as if I’d come home.”
Ciaran stares at me for a second or two as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Both eyebrows flick up, and he slaps a hand on
the wall. “Christ.” He takes two strides until he’s right in front of me. Gripping my shoulders, he gives me a shake. “Fuck,
Declan, that’s it. That’s why this place is so fucking special.” His eyes light up. “It’s almost a replica of home. Our home,
where we lived with Mom and Dad.”
My jaw slackens. I brush past him into the long, wide hallway, turning left into one of the sitting rooms at the front of the
house. I slap a hand to my chest as my galloping heart threatens to burst right through my ribcage. I stare up at the high ceiling
with its delicate molding and enormous windows that flood light into the space, then look to the grand fireplace decorated with
imported Victorian tiles.
Two sets of footsteps follow me inside. All three of us gape in silence, memories long since buried flooding back. After
our parents died, I sold the family home and moved us to our current apartment. At the time, I thought the change of scenery
would help us move on. Since then, I’ve come to realize it was a huge mistake. I’d ripped my younger brothers from the place
where Mom had baked cookies on a Sunday morning, the smell propelling us from our beds. Where Dad had sat at the dining
table reading the paper and sipping his coffee, grumbling about the state of the economy. I’d taken those memories from them
and forced them to live in a strange place while they were still drowning in grief.
“Fuck,” Callum mutters. Walking to the fireplace, he trails a finger over the dusty surface. His expression morphs from
belligerent to bleak, and a fresh torrent of remorse sweeps through me.
“How come I didn’t see this before?” I rub my forehead. “I knew this place was different, but I couldn’t figure out why.”
It all makes sense now. The overwhelming desperation to find a solution, and the risk of going to outside investors. The
bone-deep stubbornness to make this work, even if I have to renovate every single inch with my bare hands.
“It’s like I had blinders on.”
 “We all had blinders on.” Callum turns a hard gaze on me. “It’s our way of burying the grief.”
I wince, the unsaid message beneath his harsh tone hitting me between the eyes, as he’d intended.
“I know I made the wrong decision.”
“Yeah.” He laughs bitterly. “You did.”
“Enough,” Ciaran snaps, his legendary patience wearing thin. “No point in picking the scabs off of old wounds.”
For once, Callum looks contrite. He nods, dipping his chin. “You’re right. Sorry.”
I hold up a hand. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Ever. We’re family. Blood. Brothers to the end.” A lightbulb flicks on
in my head. “Do you think if I tell Nate about this place, he might visit more often?”
Callum’s momentary contrition vanishes. He gives a loud snort. “So, this is really about Nate? What a fucking surprise.”
Sadness sweeps through my chest. Nate is our youngest brother. He was only twelve when Mom and Dad passed. We used
to be so close. It’s not like I haven’t tried to talk to him, but each time I do, Nate clams up. Hell, he moved across the country to
escape us, only returning reluctantly once or twice a year, where he makes it abundantly clear he can’t wait to go back to Los
Angeles. The gulf of his absence continues to widen, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I release a protracted breath. “No, but I’m worried, Callum. Worried that we’re drifting.
We’re all so busy with our own ventures, we’re losing sight of what’s important. Us. Family. It’s bad enough that Nate hates
being here so much he moved to California.”
“Where all the acting jobs are.” Callum’s tone is weighed down with sarcasm.
“He always wanted to be a stage actor,” I reply, keeping my response sarcasm free. “New York is where it’s at.”
Callum shakes his head and jabs a finger at me. “No, you wanted to be a stage actor. Nate was always more interested in
movies and TV.”
My chest tightens, and I force down a swallow. How can I not have known about this? Somehow Callum is aware, yet I’ve
remained blind to the truth. I always thought Nate and I had a special bond. Not a twin bond, like Callum and Ciaran, but just as
special. Yet, these past few years, he’s slipped farther and farther away. Our lives are diverging, and I don’t like it. “Since
when?”
Callum throws an exasperated hand in the air, then gestures at Ciaran. “You tell him.”
Jesus, Ciaran knows, too? What the fuck is happening to the family I’ve worked so hard to keep together?
Ciaran directs a flash of irritation at his twin before his eyes cut to mine. “Nate told you he wanted to be a stage actor
because he felt guilty that you’d given up your dreams to take care of us when Mom and Dad…” Ciaran shakes his head, the
slight movement tinged with sadness. “Anyway, he felt he owed it to you to follow in your footsteps, but movies and TV were
always what he really wanted to do.”
I cup the back of my neck. My skin prickles with disappointment in myself, and in Nate, sending tingles up and down my
arms. Am I really so self-absorbed that Nate hasn’t felt able to talk to me? “Then, why didn’t he tell me?”
Callum snorts. “Jeez, Declan, you really are a piece of work sometimes. For years, all you went on about was seeing Nate
on stage, how great it would be, and how you’d be right there in the front row cheering him on. The poor bastard didn’t stand a
chance.”
Yep. It seems I am that self-absorbed. All the sacrifices I’ve made to keep this family together, and I’ve still managed to
fuck it up.
“If that’s true, what made him change his mind and follow his heart? Which, I might add, is what he should have done,
anyway.”
Callum hitches his right shoulder. “No idea. Right up until he moved to California, none of us had a clue that’s what he was
planning. Even during that last time he came home for Thanksgiving, he didn’t mention a thing. The next I know he’s moving out
west.”
I run a hand over my face. “Jesus, I’m such a failure.”
“You’re not a fucking failure.” Ciaran growls. “If it wasn’t for you, the authorities would have separated us, and we’d have
ended up God knows where.” He jerks his chin at Callum. “Tell him, dickweed.”
“He’s right.” Callum flashes a grin. “As much as it pains me to admit it.”
“Jesus, you’re a fucking asshole,” Ciaran mutters. “Even your apologies come with caveats.”
“We can’t all be Mother Teresa.”
Their constant bickering brings a smile to my face. It’s normal, comfortable, and it’s home. Just like this place.
“What about asking Nate for a loan?” Ciaran proposes.
“No. He’s distanced himself enough from this family. I want to pull him back into the fold, not alienate him further by
treating him as a cash cow.”
“And this might be your option to do that,” Ciaran says. “At least give him a call.”
I sweep a hand down the back of my head. “When was the last time he answered one of your calls?”
Ciaran twists his lips. “Fair point.”
“I agree with Declan,” Callum says. “Treating Nate like some sort of money tree just because he’s making bank won’t go
down well.”
“You’re probably right. So, what do we do?” Ciaran scratches his cheek, then his eyes light up. “I’ve fucking got it. What if
we move in here and sell our place?”
Callum’s face scrunches up as if he’s bitten down on a particularly tart lemon. “Fuck off. I’m not getting dust and shit all
over my Armani suits.”
“I don’t mean up here. I mean in the basement. It has a basement, right? Our old place did, and it was enormous with more
than enough space for us. That’d free up enough cash to buy out the covenant.”
“I’m not living in the fucking basement,” Callum spits, his eyes saucer-wide.
I tap my lip, excitement unfurling in my stomach. “That’s fucking genius.”
Ciaran winks. “Well, I am the intellectual one in the family.”
A rumble of dissent rolls through Callum’s chest. “Are you hearing me? I’m not living in the fucking basement of a rundown
piece of shit property while builders invade my personal space.”
I ignore him, focusing my attention on Ciaran. “How long do you think it’d take to sell the apartment?”
Ciaran clicks his fingers. “Like that. It’s in a prime spot, and it doesn’t need any work. Buyers dig that.”
“I’ll call Paul. He bought a place recently. I’ll ask him who his realtor was.”
“Jesus Christ!” Callum explodes. “Hellooo. For the bajillionth time, I’m not living in a fucking basement.”
“That’s fine.” I slide my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I’m sure Zayden will let you rent out his couch.” I wink at
Ciaran, who chuckles.
Callum’s cheeks flame red. “I fucking hate you both.” He stomps off, and a few seconds later, the front door slams shut.
“Christ, he’s a child.” Ciaran sighs. “I’ll call him later, once he’s had a chance to calm down.” He slings an arm around my
shoulder. “Right, bro. Let’s go check out our new place.”
 Chapter 3

Declan

I SPEND THE NEXT THREE DAYS CLEARING OUT A BUNCH OF CRAP IN THE BASEMENT WHILE JUGGLING PHONE CALLS TO THE
managers of my other hotels. Before I bought these two properties, I’d visit each hotel at least every two weeks, but given
what’s needed to bring this project to fruition, I’ll have to manage remotely for the foreseeable. Lucky for me, I have an
experienced team in place who are more than capable of taking care of the day-to-day operations.
I glance around the space that will soon be our home, determined to save every cent I can to spend on the hotel
refurbishment. All I have to do is to make this place habitable. It already has electrics and plumbing. I’ll have to pay someone
to fit a kitchen and a bathroom, but I’m not so cash poor that I think it’s a good idea to mess around with water and electricity.
Better to leave those to the professionals.
Ciaran helps as much as his shifts allow, roping in his best friend and fellow NYPD cop, Draven—a Goliath of a man with
hands like shovels, and a work ethic that puts Ciaran and me to shame. Callum has been notorious by his absence since
storming out. I’ve learned to leave him alone when he throws a tantrum. He’ll come around in the end. He always does. Shame
he has to take the circuitous route, but he’s always been a stubborn ass.
Digging my fingertips into my back, I arch, groaning as my muscles protest. Although I’m not used to physical labor on this
scale, there is satisfaction in ridding this beautiful building of all the clutter the previous owner had hoarded.
Covered in dust and craving a shower, I gather my stuff together and head upstairs, but as I make my way down the hallway,
there’s a knock at the door. After dropping my tool bag on the floor, I draw back the heavy oak door, and my eyebrows shoot up
in surprise.
“Ms. Monroe. I wasn’t expecting to see you.” I hold my breath, speared by how stunning she is.
My dick stirs to life from a slumber that’s lasted longer than is healthy for a man of my age. That’s a hundred percent hit
rate where she’s made me hard just by laying her eyes on me. If she laid her hands on me, I’d probably combust.
It’s been a long time since a woman had this kind of effect on me.
“Call me Indie, please. Can I come in?”
I stuff mucky hands into the pockets of my jeans and step back, cocking my head. “Sure.”
Indie’s heels clack on the old wooden floors, and she cautiously steps over a couple of cracks in the ancient slats.
“Watch your step.”
She grins, and my belly flips. “Now you tell me.”
I hide the spike of desire by clearing my throat. “Yeah, stilettos aren’t exactly the right type of footwear for a building site.”
“You’ll be asking me to wear a hard hat in a minute,” she teases, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she blinks at me.
Fuck. Is she flirting?
“If the builders were here, they’d insist on it. As they’re not, we’ll keep it our secret.”
She dips her chin, gazing at me through her long lashes. “Thank you.”
There’s a breathy tone to her voice that pushes every single lust button, turning my insides into an inferno of need. My
fingers itch to bury themselves in her hair, and my cock strains against my zipper.
Instead, I reach around her to push the door shut. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I have good news. I’ve found you an investor. Sorry it’s taken me longer than I thought. Money is in short supply, and even
risk-takers are tightening their belts.”
I frown, confused. “You didn’t get my message?”
She frowns, too. “No. What message?”
“I called a few days ago to let you know I’d found another solution. I can’t remember who I spoke with, but they said
they’d make sure they let you know.” The sting of rejection had stayed with me since I left that message and she didn’t return
my call.
Her lips thin in obvious displeasure. “They didn’t.”
The sting sooths a little. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your issue.”
 This isn’t going well. The rigidity of her jaw tells me she’s unhappy. Maybe she needs the money. Securing investors for a
deal this big would have come with a fat commission.
“So, you found other investors?” Her voice is flat, disinterested. She’s probably plotting a quick escape as we speak.
I scramble for a way to keep her here but come up empty. Without a business connection, there’s no need for us to stay in
touch, yet I can’t stand the thought of letting her walk away. It was one thing when I thought she’d rejected me, but now I know
she didn’t, the part of me I gave up to take care of my brothers roars back to life.
“Not exactly. I’m selling my home and moving in here. There’s a large basement downstairs, and the house next door has
one too if I need extra space.” Not that I would. I plan to turn the basement next door into a gym for the hotel.
“Oh. I see.” A small smile graces her lips. “You don’t strike me as the slumming it type.”
“I’m not. None of us are. One of my brothers is pissed at having to move in here. He’s worried he might get a speck of dust
on his array of designer suits.” I roll my eyes and she huffs a laugh through her nose. “But needs must. My business comes first.
Put up with some discomfort now, reap the rewards later. I’m content to be a multi-millionaire on paper for the time being.
Growing businesses is all about reinvesting profits. Plenty of time to live like a king.”
Eyes as soft as spring rain wash over me. “Well then, Your Majesty, are you going to give me the guided tour?”
An unfamiliar feeling stirs in my chest. It takes me a second to place it.
Lust.
God, I fucking want her. First, I gave up relationships to raise my siblings. Then I gave them up to start my business.
Perhaps now is the time to put myself first, but rushing her is the wrong thing to do. I don’t know how I know that, but intuition
tells me if I push her, she’ll back away rather than move in closer.
Indie licks her lips, giving me a flash of pink tongue. I almost groan, somehow biting back the telltale sound at the last
minute. She has the most enticing mouth. The plum lipstick offsets her toffee-colored hair perfectly. I reach for her hand, with a
thrill running through me when she lets me take it. Her slender fingers, tipped with pale-pink nail polish, wrap around mine. I
suppress a shiver as an electric shock passes through me.
“Let’s start on the fourth floor and work our way down.”
I barely remember the climb to the top floor. The flowery scent from her perfume drifts up my nostrils, and the way she
pants as we conquer each flight of stairs has my imagination running on overtime.
I grip her hand tightly, running my thumb over her wrist. “Almost there.”
“Phew, that’s quite a climb,” she says as we ascend the last flight. “Are you going to put in an elevator?”
“No. I realize that might put some prospective customers off from booking with us, but forging the space for an elevator
shaft would ruin the look I’m going for. It’s worth the risk. I’ll have two accessibility rooms on the first floor for guests who
might be unable to manage stairs.”
She looks directly at me. “Do you like to take risks, Declan?”
The inflection in her voice leads me to peer closer, and my eyes lock on hers. It almost sounds as if there’s a hidden
meaning behind an innocent question. I drop her hand and move into her body, testing the waters. She doesn’t disappoint,
holding her ground as I’d hoped she would.
“Depends on the reward.”
Her lips curve up at the corners. “Good answer.” She turns around and makes her way down the narrow hallway. Multiple
doorways lead off to the left and right. When she reaches the end, she faces me, leaning back against the door. “Are you
keeping it like this?”
I follow her, my steps slow but sure. “No.” I bang a fist against the far wall. “These are all coming down. I want to create
one big room here, and an identical one next door that I’ll turn into two penthouse suites. California king bed, comfy living
area, thick carpeting, luxurious bathroom. The whole works.”
She gives me a soft smile. “Sounds amazing. I might need to book in for a night, although something tells me I won’t be able
to afford it.”
My gaze drifts along the narrow column of her throat. “And if you could, would your partner join you?” I’d noticed at our
very first meeting that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but making assumptions these days is a fool’s game.
Indie lowers her chin, looking up at me through her thick eyelashes, each blink gracing her pale cheeks. “I’m single.”
A whoosh of relief shoots up my spine. Exactly as I’d hoped. “Good.” I study her reaction for any sign that my response
made her uncomfortable, but it appears to be the opposite. A small smile creeps across her face, and as she walks past, her
body skims mine, even though there is plenty of room for her to keep her distance. My lungs flatten at the all-too-brief contact.
“What’s next?” She glances over her shoulder at where I’m standing, frozen to the spot. When I don’t move, she frowns.
“Declan?”
“Sorry.” I shake myself from the effects of that fleeting touch. “My mind wandered for a moment there.” I ease past her and
begin the trek down the stairs. “Let me show you what I’m planning on the next floor down.”
As the tour progresses, instead of Indie warming to me, her body stiffens, and her responses grow monosyllabic. I scour my
mind for anything I might have done to cause her to retreat into herself. Maybe she hadn’t welcomed me holding her hand. But
the earlier signals she’d given out were the complete opposite of the barriers she’s now put up.
When we reach the first floor, I bring the tour to a close. “So, what do you think?” I ask in an effort to draw her out of
herself. For some unfathomable reason, I want her to love this place as much as I do—to share in my vision and give her
approval.
The earlier version of Indie makes a spectacular return with a dazzling megawatt smile.
I smother a frown because I can’t figure this woman out. One minute she’s fully engaged, excited even, and the next, she’s
throwing up walls. It doesn’t matter which Indie she shows me, though. I’m madly attracted to both versions.
“I think it’s fantastic. You’re a smart guy, Declan, and I have no doubt you’ll make an incredible success of this venture.”
She leans in close, with the smell of mints mingled with coffee on her breath. Her lips brush my cheek, the touch so light I’m
not sure whether I dreamed it. Pleasurable tingles flood my chest, but before I can savor the feeling, she withdraws and glances
at her watch.
“I really do have to go now.” She gifts me an apologetic smile.
“I’ll see you out.” I force my feet to move, and open the front door, stuffing my hands in my pockets before I do something
stupid. “Thanks for coming over. I appreciate it.”
She touches my arm, those slender fingers lingering for a moment. “Anytime.”
Ask her on a date. Come on, dickhead. Don’t let her just walk away.
“Would you like to go for a drink sometime?”
The fathomless depth of her eyes reaches into me, imprisoning me in the warm, hazel glow, and I drown. I could look into
her eyes forever.
“I’d like that.”
“Great. How about tomorrow?”
“Let me check.” She reaches into her purse and removes her cell. “Umm, yeah, I think that’s okay. Unless something urgent
comes up, that is.”
“I’ll text you a time and a place.”
She ducks her head, veiling her eyes behind her lashes. “I’ll look forward to it, Declan.” Then she disappears through the
door, closing it behind her.
I lean against the thick wood, my fingertips tracing the spot on my cheek where she kissed me. My lids close, and I draw in
a deep breath through my nostrils, savoring the lingering scent of her perfume.
In my experience, there are two kinds of women: those you bed and instantly forget about, and those like Indie Monroe. The
latter are as rare as snow in July.
Despite her being a virtual stranger, I’m confident I’ll remember her for the rest of my life.
I laugh at such flowery thoughts. If Callum could read my mind, he’d dine out for months on what he found. I reach down,
grab my tool bag, and set off for home.
 Chapter 4

Declan

THE FOLLOWING EVENING , I ARRIVE OUTSIDE THE BAR WHERE I’ VE ARRANGED TO MEET INDIE WITH TEN MINUTES TO SPARE. MY
cheeks burn from the cold, and I can’t feel my hands. The weather is behaving more like winter than fall. My skin might be
cold, but my insides heat at the anticipation of spending the evening with the woman I’ve obsessed over since our first meeting.
I’m still a little surprised she agreed to come on a date. There’s something about her that screams suspicion from every
pore, which is why I’d expected to have to work harder to win her over. Without knowing much about her, one thing I’m certain
of is that Indie is different from most women I’ve dated. Not that the list is long, but I haven’t lived like a complete monk.
Indie’s aloof and businesslike one minute, then warm and friendly the next. A woman like that keeps a man on his toes.
A woman like that keeps a man like me interested.
I push open the door, and the heat from the bar hits me like a furnace. After shrugging out of my coat and gloves, I take a
seat at a table with a view of the entrance, give the server my drink order, then slip my cell from my pocket and answer a few
emails while I wait. Every time the door opens, I snap up my head, disappointment darting through my chest when the new
arrival isn’t Indie.
She could stand me up. In fact, I half expect her to. And if she does… I won’t let it go. There’s an undeniable spark
between us. I don’t know about Indie, but it’s unusual for me to react to a woman like I have to her. What we have—could have
—is rare and precious, and I don’t intend to throw it away, not without giving it my best shot.
I return my attention to the list of unread emails, sending a few replies to one or two cold call suppliers, when an icy blast
of air hits me, and I lift my head to check out the new arrival.
My breath catches in my throat, and a pang of need fills my chest. Indie glances around, spots me, and gives a bright smile
and a wave that does things to a thirty-year-old man that should be illegal. She slips off her coat and lays it over her arm before
making her way over to my table. Even her style of walk is sexy—a slight sway to her hips, breasts jiggling inside her bra, and
a self-assuredness that isn’t fake.
“Hope you haven’t been waiting long.” She takes the seat adjacent to mine and folds her coat in half, setting it down beside
her. “Gosh, the weather is crazy.” Sliding her cell out of her purse, she gives it a cursory glance, then turns it over with the
screen facing down.
“A few minutes, that’s all.” I refrain from telling her I’d have waited all night, and beckon to the server. “What would you
like to drink?”
Indie taps her forefinger against her plump bottom lip. “A glass of prosecco, please.”
I drag my gaze away from her mouth. Men have killed for a chance to kiss a woman like India Monroe. She’s a mixture of
vulnerability and confidence. A puzzle I have an urge to crack. “And another beer for me.” I swing my almost empty beer bottle
by the neck, indicating I’d like the same brand.
“You don’t strike me as a beer drinker,” Indie says after the server leaves.
“No?” I lean back in my chair, resting my arm along the back of the seat, right behind her head. “What makes you say that?”
She rakes those hazel eyes over my body, and my cock pays attention. Seems as if I’m getting the warm and friendly Indie
tonight.
“Your stomach is too flat.”
I laugh. “How do you know? I could be sucking it in.”
Indie reaches forward and places her palm flat against my abs. I almost shoot through the ceiling as the heat from her hand
bleeds through my shirt. Fuck. My cock is doing more than paying attention now. It’s standing at attention.
“I knew you weren’t,” she says, peering at me through impossibly long eyelashes that are one hundred percent natural. “I
just wanted to cop a feel.”
My eyes widen. “Careful,” I tease. “I might want to do the same.”
She blinks slowly. Deliberately. “I’d like that.”
Oh yeah. She’s sending out all the right signals tonight.
The server brings over our drinks, and I take a swig of my beer, conscious of Indie’s eyes on me. I set the bottle on the table
and turn toward her. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
She angles her head to the side. “Why do you say that?”
“Not sure. A feeling. I’m not often wrong.” I reach for my beer once more, but Indie places her hand over mine, stopping
me.
“I like you, Declan. I liked you from the first moment you walked into my office. Sorry if you think I’m being forward, but
I’ve learned to take what I want. And I want you.” She releases me, sits back, and takes a sip of prosecco. When I remain silent
—because I’ve lost the ability to talk—she continues. “Don’t tell me. You’re one of those alpha male types who prefers to be
in charge and gets annoyed when a woman assumes control?”
My pulse jolts back to life, and goosebumps pepper the back of my neck. “I don’t mind the woman taking charge… to a
point.”
Indie juts out her chin, her pupils dilating as she circles the rim of her prosecco glass. “At what point does the line get
crossed?”
I lift my hand, grazing the back of it over her flushed cheeks. Flushed through desire? Or the warmth of the bar?
“In the bedroom.”
A small smile lifts her lips. “I can live with that.”
Running her hand up my thigh, she stops just shy of my groin. I inhale a sharp breath. Whoa, she’s moving fast. I’ve had a
few one-night stands over the years, unable to commit the time to a full-on relationship, but with Indie, I want more than that. I
want to get to know her, to build something far deeper than a fast fuck, then an even faster goodbye. As much as my dick wants
me to take her up on her blatant—although tempting—offer, it’s the wrong call.
In an effort to slow my thudding heart, I hold the air deep in my lungs for a few seconds, then blow it out steadily. “I prefer
to get to know my women outside the bedroom first.” A white lie. It’s her I want to get to know outside the bedroom first.
She meets my gaze, her soft, hazel eyes boring into mine. Sensual, determined, unapologetic. “And why’s that?”
“Makes the sex hotter.”
“I think it’d be pretty hot, anyway.” She ups the pressure on my leg, her fingers crawling dangerously close to my dick.
The way she’s caressing me makes my cock throb. If I was interested in nothing more than a passing fling, I’d tell her to
meet me in the restroom, where I’d fuck her fast and hard, then part ways with a colossal grin on my face.
But I’m not. This woman is different. Special. Skittish and contrary. If humans had a label the same way clothes do, hers
would read: “Handle with care”.
I clasp her hand, keeping my touch gentle and my smile warm, and remove it from my leg. “Slow down.”
She narrows her eyes, her head jerking back. Ah, she thinks I’ve rejected her.
“What’s the rush?” I add.
“I thought you liked me.” Hurt swims in her eyes, and she shuffles a few inches away, nursing her glass of prosecco close
to her chest.
“I do like you, but delayed gratification can be explosive when you finally get between the sheets.” I pick up my beer.
“What about we finish up here, go to dinner, and we can get to know each other a little better?”
She bites her lip, and I openly stare at her mouth. Fuck. She isn’t making this easy for me.
Before she can answer, her cell rings. She flips it over from where she’d laid it face down earlier, and every trace of color
drains from her face. She snatches the phone off the table.
“Excuse me for a moment.”
Setting her drink down, she scrambles to her feet and strides to the other side of the bar. Her back is straight as a steel rod,
her shoulders squared. Whoever the caller is, she doesn’t seem happy to hear from them. She glances toward the far end of the
bar, and her eyes widen, color flooding back into her cheeks. I follow her gaze but can’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just
people having a good time, drinking, and chatting with their friends.
She returns to our table a few seconds later, her eyebrows perched low over her luminous eyes. “Sorry, I need to take a
rain check.” Scooping up her purse and her coat, she mutters, “I’ll call you.”
I don’t even get a chance to ask her if she’s okay before she’s already gone, the door slamming closed behind her.
 Chapter 5

Indie

BLOOD RUSHES THROUGH MY EARS AS I STOMP DOWN THE STREET , THE MUSCLES IN MY LEGS TREMBLING WITH PURE RAGE. I
struggle to wrestle my arms into my coat without dropping my purse while muttering curses under my breath. Goddammit. I had
him. I had him in the palm of my hand. He was practically salivating. Another couple of hours and he’d have been half in love
with me. Give me a week, and I’d steal the other half.
Familiar footsteps pound the sidewalk behind me, but I don’t stop, not until I’m well out of sight of the bar and can be
certain Declan didn’t follow me.
Ducking in between two shop fronts, I whirl around, glaring at the man who’s supposed to be facilitating this plan, yet
seems intent on ruining it.
“What in God’s name are you doing, Phil?” I pelt him with angry words, my fisted hands shaking by my sides. “I was just
getting somewhere, and you ruined it.”
Without saying anything, Phil grabs my arm and shoves me forward. I wrench my shoulder upward, but his grip is too tight.
“Let go of me.”
He holds on tighter, a muscle beating in his cheek—always a bad sign.
“Phil!” I yell, but it’s no good. It’s like talking to a wall. An impenetrable, solid wall. I change tactic. “What were you
doing there, anyway? It’s creepy, not to mention inappropriate.”
In response, I get a big fat nothing. His long strides mean I have to jog to keep up with the pace he’s setting. After about five
minutes, he draws to a halt outside a coffee shop, pushes the door open, and shunts me inside. I stumble, brace a hand on the
wall, and right myself.
“Sit down,” he barks, pointing to a table in the corner. “I’ll get the coffees.” He holds out his hand for money. Color me
surprised. I open my purse and take out ten dollars, but he glares at me and taps his palm for more. I pull out another ten, and he
snatches both bills out of my hand before he strides up to the counter.
Releasing a drawn-out exhale, I remove my coat and lay it over the back of the chair. My skin prickles at Phil’s stiff posture
and the way he keeps rubbing the back of his neck as he waits to put in his order. I know this body language all too well. He’s
furious. From this angle, he looks too much like Dad. Shivers nip at the base of my spine, but I refuse to allow fear to gain the
upper hand. I’m not happy with my brother, either, and this time, I won’t hold back. He needs to let me handle this in my own
way. He can’t direct me like an actress in a movie. For our plan to work, I have to lead.
He sets a large latte in front of me with such force, a quarter of it spills over the top, making a mess on the table. I pluck a
bunch of napkins from the holder and mop up the spillage. “What is going on, Phil? You never said you’d be there tonight.”
“Just as well I was because you suck at this.”
I glare at him. “No, I don’t.”
“Okay, let’s go with you being out of practice.” Phil laughs, and just like that, his anger dissipates. It’s another thing he’s
got in common with Dad. My chest clenches, their similarities heart-wrenching and scary in equal measure.
“He’s interested, though. I could tell that from the way he was looking at you like a man starved of sex, but you gotta go
slower. Make him work for it. You give away the honey after one date without him making any effort, and it’ll be the last you
see of him.”
I shudder. “My brother watching me flirt is beyond creepy.”
“Believe me, I wasn’t enjoying myself. In fact, watching that bastard touch you, not to mention when you put your hands on
him, made me want to rip out his throat.” He shrugs as he tips sugar into his coffee. “Still, it’s what we planned.”
I sip my latte, readying myself for another bout of anger. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing? After all, Declan isn’t
his father.”
Phil freezes for a beat, his hand stilling on the cardboard stirrer. Finally, he lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. His lips
flatten, and his cheeks blotch with color as he jabs a finger at me. “You’d better not be losing your nerve, Indie.”
“I’m not… but isn’t the fact he lost his parents in such terrible circumstances punishment enough?”
Phil’s nostrils flare, his pupils dilating until I can’t see anything other than black. “My only regret is that I wasn’t driving
the fucking car that ran them off the road. And, yeah, if I could, I’d bring that bastard back from the grave and kill him all over
again. Painfully. But I can’t. We can’t. And that’s why we have to go through with this plan.”
“Why does it mean that?”
Spittle forms in the corners of Phil’s mouth as yet another reminder of Dad. And just like my father, it’s a sure sign that Phil
is about to lose his temper. I stiffen, readying myself for what’s coming. Sure enough, Phil snaps out a hand, grabs my wrist,
and squeezes. Hard.
“You’re hurting me,” I whimper.
Phil tightens his grip, and involuntary tears spring to my eyes. If he doesn’t let me go soon, he’ll break my wrist, but there is
no use begging. I know my brother, just like I knew my father. Pleading for mercy will only make him hurt me more. I let my
hand go limp and work on blocking out the pain. It’s not like I’m not used to it.
“You listen to me,” Phil hisses. “You will do whatever it takes to make Declan O’Reilly fall in love with you, and once
he’s in so deep he can’t see straight, then we’ll strike. You’ll break him emotionally. I’ll break him financially. That was
always the plan. That’s still the plan, and you will do as I fucking say. Understood?”
I nod vigorously—anything to make him release me before he snaps a bone. A cruel grin tugs at his lips, then slides off his
face. His eyes narrow, and he gives me a final, painful squeeze before he releases me. I cradle my arm close to my chest. By
the morning, I’ll have a nasty bruise. Good thing it’s cold and I can get away with wearing long-sleeved shirts and sweaters at
work.
“I’m sorry,” he says, softening his voice, the flash of anger withering now that I’ve given in. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But
we’ve come too far to give up now.”
I nod, even though my heart hurts. So much anger, so much hate, so many people’s lives ruined, and for what? There aren’t
any winners in this game of revenge, only losers.
As for Phil’s apology… they come too easily and too often.
Just. Like. Dad’s.
Maybe once we’ve gotten our revenge, the brother I once knew before all this, before Dad spiraled down a dark hole, will
come back to me. I pray that traces of the caring, kind brother who always stuck up for his baby sister in the face of Dad’s rage
lurk somewhere inside his black heart.
Phil clips me under the chin; a habit he’s had since we were kids. “You can do this, Indie. I believe in you. And from the
gleam I saw in your eyes earlier, it won’t be such a hardship. It’s not like you’re a virgin.”
I raise both hands in the air. “Stop now. I’m begging you.”
A quiet laugh escapes him. “Okay, okay. But remember what I said. Take it slow. Let him chase you. Guys like him prefer to
do the running. Trust me.”
“I will. And you.” I jab my finger in his face. “No more spying.”
He holds three fingers to his temple. “Scout’s honor.” When I roll my eyes, another lighthearted laugh comes at me. “Love
you, sis. You’re all I’ve got left. Make Dad proud.”
My throat scratches, and more tears burn the backs of my eyes, this time brought on by sadness rather than pain. I wish there
was another way, but we’ve spent a decade waiting for the right time to strike, and that time is now. Declan O’Reilly will
never be more vulnerable than he is at this moment. He’s got millions in assets, but it’s cold, hard cash that keeps businesses
afloat, and liquidating assets while the economy slides into recession isn’t easy. Phil assures me he’s got the money side all in
hand, and that he’s planning the right moment to strike. It’s odd, really, that he’s assumed responsibility for that side of the plan.
I’m the one with the financial degree. If only Declan O’Reilly was gay…
For a moment, I allow myself to imagine that he is gay, and Phil is the one who has to sleep with him. Bet my brother would
find another way to ruin Declan then. The thought depresses me, so I push it aside before it has a chance to burrow inside my
mind.
Twenty minutes later, I let myself into my apartment and head straight to the freezer to remove a bag of ice. I set it on the
counter and duck into the bathroom for a face towel. I drop a few cubes onto the towel and fold it over, pressing the makeshift
icepack to my wrist. Phil really hurt me tonight, but I have to take some responsibility. I shouldn’t have goaded him. You’d
think by now, after dealing with two abusive men since I was a child, I’d know the tells to watch out for, and do everything in
my power to avoid pushing buttons that get me hurt.
I change for bed, slip under the covers, and as I close my eyes, the past comes back.
I press myself into the corner of the dark, dank room with Barney—my one-eyed, scruffy teddy bear—dangling from my
hand as I wait for Daddy’s breathing to change into something deeper. His breaths are too shallow, and if he isn’t properly
asleep, the tiniest sound might wake him up. And then… and then.
An empty bottle lies beside the sofa. Daddy is drunk again. Drunk Daddy is the meanest of them all. I have to be
careful, but I’m so hungry. My tummy rumbles, and I press my hands to it in case Daddy hears.
I count to a hundred and slowly slither from the dark corner I’ve hidden in. Tiptoeing past him, my tummy rumbles
again, but my eyes are on the half-eaten sandwich lying on the carpet Daddy brought home from the bar. He must have
fallen asleep before he could finish it.
I hold my breath and crouch down, reaching for the doughy bread. Got it. I slowly get to my feet and back up, but I can’t
wait to take a bite. I chew and swallow. It tastes so good. I don’t know when I last had something to eat, but I think it was a
long time ago. Two days, maybe.
I back farther away, eyes on Daddy the whole time. I take another bite. My heel hits something hard. Daddy’s whiskey
bottle. It rolls across the floor and clangs against the hearth.
Daddy springs to his feet. For a second, he’s confused, then his eyes, all wild and bloodshot, fall on the sandwich
clutched between my fingers.
“What have you got there, Indie?” His words slur.
“I-I was hungry, Daddy, and it was just lying there.”
A vein pulses in his forehead. “Is it yours?”
I tuck my chin to my chest and shake my head.
“What happens to thieves, Indie?” His voice is low and menacing, and I’m scared.
Terror pushes a fat tear from my eye. I shrink back, trying to make myself as small as possible, but it won’t work. It
never works. Daddy grabs both my arms, and I drop Barney and the sandwich. He shakes me so hard I think my teeth might
fall out.
Daddy grinds his foot into the sandwich, crushing the last two bites into the faded carpet.
“They get punished.” He raises his hand, and I shrink back.
“Get off her!” Phil races into the living room. At eighteen, he’s much bigger than me but still not as big as Daddy. It
doesn’t matter, though. Phil always tries to protect me. Sometimes he can, and sometimes he can’t, but he always tries. He
wraps both his arms around Daddy’s waist and tugs him backward. They fall onto the sofa together, a tangle of arms and
legs and fury.
Daddy pins Phil beneath him. I press myself against the wall and start to cry, but I don’t make a sound. Things always
get worse when I make too much noise.
“You want to hurt someone, Dad?” Phil pants beneath Daddy’s much larger body. “You hurt me. Not her. Never her.”
Daddy clambers off the sofa and hauls Phil to his feet. He slams him up against the wall and presses his forearm
against Phil’s throat. Phil keeps his arms loose by his sides. He doesn’t fight back because that only makes Daddy angrier.
It’s better to take the punishment and pray it will be over quickly. But whether Daddy sees something in Phil’s eyes, or his
mind clears for a moment and he remembers who he used to be, he lets him go, hanging his head.
“I don’t want to hurt either of you. You’re my children, and I love you. I only want to hurt one man—the one who stole
everything. The one who did this”—he gestures around the dark, damp space with peeling paint, and mold climbing up the
walls—"to me. To us.”
Phil gingerly touches his neck, his eyes sad and so much older than his eighteen years.
“I know, Dad. I’ll help. We both will. We’ll do whatever it takes to make Declan O’Reilly pay.”
I rub my face and roll onto my side. Declan O’Reilly Senior died before Phil or my dad could exact revenge, but that hadn’t
deterred Phil. He couldn’t have the father, so Declan O’Reilly Junior became his whole focus.
I remember asking him once, “Why Declan and not any of his brothers?” He’d shoved a picture of the father in front of me,
then I understood.
Declan was the image of his dad.
With a groan, I close my eyes. I might have to lie to Phil, but lying to myself is a lot trickier. The truth is, I like Declan.
Unusually, for someone so rich, he’s not an asshole, which makes what I have to do even worse. No matter how Phil dresses
this up, he’s basically my pimp, and I’m prostituting myself in the name of retribution.
There are two questions I need to answer: is it worth it, and do I have it in me to deliver the end game?
 Chapter 6

Declan

AFTER PASSING A BOTTLE OF WATER TO CALLUM, I TAKE A LONG DRINK OF MY OWN AS I SCAN AROUND THE ENORMOUS ROOM
that will become the hub of the hotel. It’s a bar-lounge hangout that’s the signature gathering place in all my boutique hotels, but
this one has a special place in my heart. Ever since Ciaran figured out the reason I was hellbent on keeping this property, in
spite of the colossal, unexpected million-dollar bill that meant we had to sell our home, I’ve fallen more and more in love with
the place.
Pride stabs at my chest. The builders have made enormous strides in less than two weeks, and while I thought I wouldn’t,
I’m enjoying getting my hands dirty. There’s something honest in physical work that you can’t replicate by sitting at a desk and
studying spreadsheets. I’m fortunate my other hotels aren’t taking up too much of my time. Each one has a capable manager who
only calls me when the sky is falling in. So far, no collapsing skies.
“You or Ciaran heard from Nate?” I’ve messaged him regularly with updates from the build, but he’s ignored every one.
Some of them still don’t have blue ticks, meaning he hasn’t even read them.
Callum shakes his head. “I’ve texted, emailed him, and left messages on his phone, but so far, zip.”
I expel an exasperated sigh. “Same. He’s so frustrating. I don’t understand. We used to be so close, and I can’t figure out
why he seems determined to forget he’s got a family.”
“I told him we’re all getting together for Thanksgiving and that it’d be nice if he made the trip. Knowing Nate, he won’t
reply either way. And if he does turn up, he’ll brood the entire time, then head back to California the very next day.”
“I wouldn’t mind if he did. At least we’d get to see him and make sure he’s okay.”
“I’m a hundred percent confident he’s fine. Nate could fall into a vat of shit and come up smelling of expensive cologne.”
I force a laugh, but my heart aches. Without Nate in the fold, there’s an important piece of our family missing. He was only
twelve when we lost Mom and Dad, and he had a hard time adjusting. I’d tried to be the replacement parent he so desperately
needed, but nothing filled the gap of their passing. He felt the loss of Mom the deepest. They’d been as close as a mother and
son could be, and Nate had idolized her. They’d often share a secret smile or a joke, then Mom would pull him into her arms,
cover his face in kisses, and tell him how much she loved him, and how special he was.
His relationship with Dad was more complicated, but he missed his strict influence all the same. We all did. Dad was the
hub of the family, the towering authority over all of us, and even though a decade has passed, I miss him as much today as I
ever did.
I meander over to the window, and peer out onto the street. A light dusting of snow covers the sidewalks, although the
passing traffic has washed away what little had settled on the roads. It hasn’t snowed in New York in October for over a
decade, and that time had preceded a long, hard winter.
I sit on the edge of the windowsill. “It’s coming along, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Callum says. “And despite my initial reticence, I have to say you did the right thing.”
I clasp a hand to my chest and pretend to faint. “Fuck me. That’s a first.”
A throaty laugh rumbles through his chest. “Do you think you’ll make the New Year’s deadline?”
“We’d better.” With an extra million dollars in revenue to make up, I was fucked if we didn’t.
“Shame we can’t open the week before. Grab the Christmas trade.”
I give him a wide-eyed look. “Are you trying to kill me? I’m stressing enough about deadlines as it is. If I’d found this
place a couple weeks earlier, sure, I’d have liked to.” I shrug. “Can’t do anything about that now.”
Callum puts the cap back on the bottle of water and sets it on the floor. “Got the time to date, though, huh?” His eyes gleam.
“Speaking of which, you’ve been remarkably tight-lipped about the lovely Indie.”
I’d hoped he’d let it pass since I hadn’t seen him for a few days. “Not my finest hour. She got a phone call, then bailed after
only one drink.” I hitch a shoulder, feigning apathy.
“Have you called her?”
“Twice. No answer.”
“Then, call again, or go see her. Jeez, you’re useless at this whole romancing thing.”
 I arch a brow. “I don’t usually have to bother chasing.”
Callum chokes out a laugh. “Your ego’ll rival mine at this rate.”
I snort. “Doubtful. Yours could collapse solar systems.”
He grins. “You like this girl?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then, pursue her. Don’t give her an option to say no. Be tenacious.”
“Stalk her, you mean.”
“No. Make her feel special.” Callum holds his hands in the air when I open my mouth to interrupt. “I know. No chasing.
Well, you know what, bro? Sounds like you’ll have to make an exception for this one. If you want to get laid, that is.”
I chuckle. “You make me sound like a total jerk.”
Callum raises an eyebrow. “If the shoe fits…”
I flip him off, and he laughs. “Fine. I’ll try it your way.”
Callum drains the bottle of water and drops it in the trash. He lifts his jacket off the back of the door, sliding his arms into
it. “Okay, I gotta go. Can’t keep the ladies waiting.”
“Ladies? As in more than one?”
“Yup.”
I shake my head. Nothing changes with that one. Then again, he’s never been short of offers.
As the front door slams, I slip my cell from my pocket and try calling Nate again. The familiar voicemail message kicks in
—one I’ve heard so often over the years that I can recite it word for word. I hang up without leaving a message and pull up
Indie’s number. Might as well set Callum’s advice into action. No point in putting it off any longer.
My finger hovers over the call button for a few seconds. “Oh, fuck it.” My heart thuds when I hear the ringtone. After five
rings, I expect her voicemail to kick in, too, as it has on the previous occasions I’ve tried to reach her. I’m on the verge of
hanging up when she answers.
“Hi, Declan.”
Her silky-smooth voice has my ears singing. God, I’ve missed how she sounds. I barely know her, yet I can already feel
myself falling under her spell. I take a seat on the windowsill and close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose as exhaustion
sets in.
“Hi. I hope it’s not too late to call.”
“Not at all. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back when you rang earlier this week. Work has been crazy busy.”
Work. That’s a concept I understand. “It’s fine. I only wanted to check how you were. You looked frazzled when you left the
bar on Saturday night.”
She falls silent, then whispers a soft sigh. “I’m sorry if I came on a little strong. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Embarrassment shades her apology. I can imagine her cringing as she speaks. Although, what she’s apologizing for stumps
me. I don’t know a single straight guy who wouldn’t find a woman like Indie coming onto them a turn on. I know I did.
“You won’t see me complaining about a beautiful woman throwing herself at me.” I add a chuckle to put her at ease. She’s
as skittish as a thoroughbred.
“Thank you for understanding. It was my ex. On the phone, I mean. He calls from time to time. I think he’s lonely.”
A surge of jealousy scorches my chest. I haven’t earned the right to feel jealous, but it’s there, burning a fucking great hole
in the center of my torso. I make a fist and rub my sternum.
“Did you break up long ago?”
“Yes, quite a long time ago now.”
“In that case, how about dinner tomorrow night?”
She hesitates, as if she’s searching for the right words to let me down gently.
“Or the night after.” A compromise might persuade her to accept.
“No, tomorrow is good. Is eight okay?”
A slug of excitement curls in the pit of my stomach. “Absolutely. I’ll pick you up.”
“Do you mind if I meet you there?”
“Not at all. I’ll book somewhere and text you the venue.”
“I’ll look forward to it. Night, Declan.”

I smooth a hand down the front of my shirt, and pour a glass of water for myself, then one for Indie. The same Indie who is
running fifteen minutes late. I’ve already had the sympathetic looks from several servers—the annoying head tilt and checking
of watches. Any minute now, they’ll ask me to move to a table by the kitchen, or the one squished into a corner next to the
restrooms.
 Good luck to the poor, unfortunate bastard they send over with that piece of news, because I’m not fucking moving.
I check my cell for the fifth time in as many minutes to see there’s nothing from Indie. No missed calls or text messages.
Maybe she only accepted to be polite. I muse on how long I should leave it before sending a “Hope you’re not stuck in traffic”
text.
Catching another glance from a member of the wait staff, I glare at him until he turns away, then rearrange my face into
something resembling nonchalance. Disappointment crushes my chest. I was sure she’d show up. My instincts rarely let me
down, yet with Indie, I’m constantly second-guessing every thought and every word that comes out of my mouth. If Callum finds
out I’ve crashed and burned twice in a row, he’ll bust my balls about it for at least a week. Maybe even a month.
I’m about to throw some money on the table and slip out the side entrance when Indie arrives in a flurry, her coat and scarf
trailing behind her, cheeks pink from the biting wind.
“I’m so sorry.” She slips off her coat and hands it to one of the wait staff who hangs it on a nearby coat hook.
My eyes flicker over her body, poured into a black, above-the-knee dress with a high neckline, and my stomach clenches as
she treats me to a flash of golden thigh when she sits.
“I lost track of time,” she continues. “I’m working on something, and, well…” She brandishes her hand in a dismissive
fashion. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my work issues. I half expected you wouldn’t be here.”
“It crossed my mind you’d stood me up.”
She wrings her hands and nibbles on her lip. “I’d never do that. I should have called. Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. It’s fine.” I pick up the drinks menu. “Do you want wine? Or a cocktail maybe?”
“Wine would be lovely. You pick.”
I order a bottle of merlot, and there’s a moment of silence while we both peruse the dinner choices.
“How come you’re working so late?” I ask when she closes her menu.
She rolls her eyes. “Demanding client. It gets like this every year around this time. Another couple of weeks, and I should
be through the worst of it.”
“There’s more to life than work.”
She grins. “Says the man who’s taken on a project many would run a mile from. Speaking of which, how are the
renovations going?”
“Really well… I think.” I cross my fingers. “We’re on track to open New Year’s Eve.”
“Will ten weeks be enough time?”
I shrug. “It’ll have to be. It’s all I’ve got.”
The server appears with the wine, and I dismiss his offer to taste it, pausing while he fills our glasses, then retreats.
“We’re already booked up, which, I have to say, is more than I hoped for. My other properties took a few weeks for word
to get around.”
“It’s because your reputation is growing. I can’t wait to see it finished. If I get an invitation to opening night, that is.” She
gives me this look: chin tucked in, radiant eyes gazing at me through thick, dark lashes.
I shift position to give my dick more room. “Your name’s the first on the list, although don’t tell my brothers.”
She pinches her thumb and forefinger together and zips her mouth. “Not a word.” Picking up her glass, she sips the wine,
her lids falling closed as she makes a soft sigh of appreciation. My eyes drop to her lips. It’s getting harder by the second not to
lean over the table and kiss her.
“You mentioned your brothers when we first met. How many do you have?”
“Three. Callum and Ciaran are twins, and Nate’s the youngest.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Nate’s not an Irish name, is it?”
I shake my head. “My dad was Irish American, but Mom was English through and through. We think she battled hard, and
by the fourth kid, dad relented and let her call him Nathan after her grandfather, although he’s been Nate since forever.”
“It must be nice having so many siblings.”
“It is. Like all families, we argue a lot, but they mean the world to me. What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”
“A brother.” She dabs at her mouth with her napkin. “We’re not close.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shifts her attention to the silverware, flipping the knife over a couple times. “I’m not.” A few seconds scrape by before
her eyes eventually meet mine. “Sorry to be so abrupt but, well…” She eases out a breath. “Our relationship is difficult.
Complicated.” Shaking her head as though to rid herself of bad memories, she beams. “So, when do you think you’ll rival
Hilton?”
I laugh, even though her revelations about her brother niggle the back of my mind. Something doesn’t sit right. As she spoke
of him, her eyes had clouded over, and her shoulders sagged in defeat. Or tiredness, maybe. A flash of guilt had crossed her
face, too.
Realizing she’s still waiting for a response, I push aside my curiosity and file it away for future examination.
“Hilton isn’t my competition. I’d much rather reach the giddy heights of Christoph Meyer.”
 She pauses, then asks, “Who’s he?”
“He owns a boutique hotel empire. Each one is unique, high-end, and in some of the best locations in the world. If I achieve
half his success, I’ll die a happy man.”
She holds up her glass. “I have no doubt you’ll get to wherever you want to go.”
I tap mine to hers. “I hope you’re right.”
Her mouth parts, and she dampens her lips with her tongue as she sets down her wineglass, and her hand creeps across the
table. Very deliberately, she presses the tips of her fingers to mine. She barely touches me, but regardless, my insides explode.
“I have a feeling you’re a winner, Declan O’Reilly.”

As we leave the restaurant, a gust of wind knocks Indie off balance. I reach out, catching her before she falls, and when she
doesn’t try to back away, I slide my arm around her waist. There’s something very right about how she feels tucked into my
side, and I’m loath to let her go, but when a cab pulls into the curb, I have no option. I wait for her to climb in and close the
door, striding around the rear to enter through the other side, letting the noise from the street fade as I close the door.
Indie gives the driver her address, but something about being in such a confined space makes the earlier joviality we’d
shared vanish. She switches between checking her phone and chewing her lip, and when she isn’t doing either of those things,
she stares out of the window. Sensing she won’t welcome the interruption of her thoughts, I leave her to it and use the time to
send a few emails to my project manager on the renovation.
When the cab pulls up outside her apartment building, Indie twists in her seat.
“Thank you for dinner. I had a really nice time.”
I unhook my seat belt. “I’ll walk you up.”
“There’s no need.”
“I insist.”
Indie smiles. “I have a feeling not many people get away with saying no to you, Declan.”
“Depends on whether whatever I’m fighting for is worth the effort.” I exit the vehicle, but by the time I’ve gotten around to
Indie’s side of the car, she’s already on the sidewalk.
“Am I worth fighting for?” She lowers her chin and looks up at me through her eyelashes in a Princess Di kind of way. She
has the same dazzling beauty that men start wars over.
I search her face for signs of humor. There are none. I take a step forward, and when Indie doesn’t back up, I curl my hands
around her face and lower my head. My lips hover an inch above hers, and I wait, giving her the time to stop this before it goes
any further.
She slips her arms around my waist, and it’s the only sign I need. I press my lips to hers, softly at first, but within a split
second, I can’t hold back. I move into her body, pushing her backward until she’s pressed up against the wall of her apartment
building. Her breathing speeds up, her breasts squashed against me through her coat. A quiet moan echoes in her throat.
Holy shit. That sound. I’d kill to hear it again.
I slip my tongue between the seam of her lips. She tastes so sweet, so luscious, so goddamn sexy. I grow hard and
instinctively circle my hips. When she tilts her pelvis and grinds against me, I growl.
The dominant sound breaks the spell, and she tears her mouth from mine, whipping her head to the side.
“Stop, please,” she whispers.
I instantly back away. Fuck’s sake. I’d pushed her too far, too fast. My chest heaves, a lack of oxygen sending me dizzy. Or
maybe it’s just her, this woman I barely know yet yearn to kiss over and over. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a strong
reaction to a first kiss, and all I can think about is when I can do it again.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, her confidence and self-assurance disappearing behind someone who’s acting more like a frightened
teenager than a grown woman.
I tilt up her chin. “I don’t ever want to hear you apologize for saying ‘stop.’ Y’hear?”
She nods, but there’s this look in her eyes that cuts through me. I’ve no clue how I know, but I’m certain Indie has suffered,
and continues to suffer. The object—or maybe subject—of her suffering is a mystery, and one I intend to slowly unravel.
“Good.” I open the door to the lobby of her building. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”
“It’s okay. I can walk myself up.”
It crosses my mind to argue, but given that she pushed me away, insisting I walk her right to her door won’t reassure her
when she’s giving clear signals that she wants to be alone.
As she crosses the lobby to the bank of elevators, I call out to her. “Oh, and Indie?”
She glances over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“You’re definitely worth fighting for.”
 Chapter 7

Indie

MY SHOES THUD AGAINST THE WALL AS I KICK THEM OFF . AFTER TOSSING MY PURSE AND KEYS ON THE COFFEE TABLE, I SHRUG
out of my coat, leaving it where it falls, and pad into the kitchen. Despite sharing a bottle of wine with Declan, I pour myself
another glass, the portion size larger than advisable, but who cares? Bring on the hangover. I need something to squash the
storm brewing inside me.
I reach up and touch my lips, staring into the distance. Declan and I had fit together like a perfectly oiled lock and key.
Despite Phil’s warning to take it slowly, I can’t stop wondering whether we’d fit together as well in bed. I’ve had enough
experience to know that finding someone compatible between the sheets isn’t easy. Since moving to Queens ten years ago when
I turned eighteen, I’ve had four sexual partners, and I enjoyed sex with all of them, to a degree, but none excited me nearly as
much as that one kiss with Declan O’Reilly.
And that means trouble lies ahead—because he isn’t mine to keep.
Butterflies swarm my stomach as I recall what he said to me as I crossed the lobby.
You’re definitely worth fighting for.
Except, I’m not worth fighting for. When the time comes, he’ll hate me, and I’ll deserve his disgust and so much more
besides.
Phil would go crazy if he knew the effect Declan was having on me. In the ten years since Dad died, Phil has gradually
indoctrinated me into his way of thinking. Declan O’Reilly Senior ruined our father financially, which was the catalyst for
everything that came afterward. Despite endless hours of research, neither Phil nor I ever figured out what our father could
have done to Declan’s father to make him dole out such a harsh punishment, leaving a man penniless with two children to raise.
Doors were slammed in his face, jobs impossible to come by, meaning we lived on welfare and the kindness of strangers.
Regardless of the reason, Phil wanted revenge, and I’d always thought I wanted the same… until I met Declan.
Now? Well, I’m having serious doubts. Dad is dead. Declan O’Reilly Senior is dead. What good will revenge do? It won’t
bring Dad back. It won’t take away the years of pain, suffering, and agony. Phil’s need for revenge has consumed him. I don’t
want to lose myself to that same fate.
I massage my temples when a headache begins to pound behind my eyes. This desire for payback is bound to end in
heartbreak. The question is, whose? Mine? Phil’s?
Or Declan’s?
I close my eyes as painful memories of my childhood refuse to be silenced. I can still feel the agony of each blow my father
landed, how I’d flinch at his harsh words and hide in my tiny closet when he’d come home roaring drunk, spoiling for a fight.
I’d gotten off lightly, though, because Phil would always do something to distract him and take my beating for me. And
when it came to Phil, Dad would really let go, putting all his strength into each strike.
When the cancer finally took him, relief had engulfed me, bringing with it a debilitating sense of guilt. But Dad’s passing
had freed me, too. I’d moved from the Bronx to Queens, never imagining I’d end up with a financial degree that would secure
me a position at a top Manhattan firm. I’d worked hard and made lots of sacrifices, but it had all been worth it.
Unfortunately, things hadn’t gone quite so well for Phil. Plagued by his hatred for the O’Reilly family, he’d drifted from job
to job, every passing year making him angrier and angrier until I hardly recognized the sibling who had protected me as much
as he could from Dad’s fists. If only I could persuade Phil to give up this drive for revenge, maybe then he’d be able to move
on with his life. But deep down, I know he’ll never stop. Not until the debts he feels he’s owed are paid.
The only way I can help Phil is to go through with his plan. I owe him so much, and that means Declan has to suffer.
I wince as a swift pain stabs my chest. I hate this feeling of helplessness, of powerlessness, but what choice do I have? Phil
must come first. Declan is just a guy I’d never have met if it weren’t for the history between our two families. I hadn’t expected
the chance to meet him to fall into my lap. Phil and I had discussed lots of ways we could incite an encounter, but when he’d
made an appointment with my firm, I couldn’t believe my luck.
My part of the plan now consists of making him fall in love with me, then quizzing him to see if he knows why his dad
ruined mine, turning him into a monster. A husk of a man without a soul. A man who’d once held his children dear, but then
surrendered to the demon drink in a bid to forget his failures.
I hope Declan does know the truth. That will make what I have to do far easier to stomach. I’ll have to be careful in my
questioning. He’s a smart guy. The last thing I need is for him to get suspicious and turn the questioning back on me.
I’ll leave it a few days before contacting him. No point in looking desperate, even if that’s exactly how I feel.
 Chapter 8

Declan

EXACTLY TWO DAYS PASS BEFORE I CAVE AND CALL INDIE. TWO HELLISHLY LONG DAYS , DURING WHICH, NO MATTER HOW HARD I
try, I cannot get her out of my head: the feel of her lips, the sweet scent of her perfume, the way her body fit to mine as if we
were two halves of a whole. Even though I’m run off my feet at the hotel, I still find my mind turning to her every few minutes.
That kiss… that was something special, something to hold on to. I don’t believe in insta-love, but all the same, I can’t avoid
the truth that she’s on my mind far more than someone I’ve only been on two dates with should be.
I call her number and lift the phone to my ear.
“Hey, Declan. How are you?”
Excitement squeezes my insides. She’s added my number to her contacts. “Hey. Have I called at a bad time?”
“Not at all.” A couple of seconds scrape by. She’s breathing slow and steady. “About the other night⁠—”
“I had a really good time,” I cut in.
She lets out a soft laugh. “Despite me freaking out on you?”
“You didn’t freak out… much.”
She laughs again. “I’m glad you called. How are things going at the hotel?”
“Good. Really good.”
“I’d love to see how it’s coming along.”
“If you’re free tonight, I can show you what we’ve done.”
“I am free tonight.”
“Great. Shall we say eight?”
“I’ll be there.”
She hangs up, and a grin etches across my face. One way or another, I’m making this girl mine.

Dust blows up my nose, and I sneeze as I clear away the last of the debris from today. One of the laborers offered to stay and
help me, but I didn’t want him here when Indie arrives. Soon, I’ll have the basement habitable, but for now, making do in what
will become the communal area of the hotel will have to be enough.
I rub my eyes. The floor is still a little dusty, but there isn't much I can do about that. In the absence of furniture, I've tossed
cushions and thick blankets onto the floor, and a bottle of wine is chilling in an ice bucket beside the hearth. The recently fitted
wood-burning stove throws much-needed heat into the room. I've dotted candles about the place, their flickering light casting
the room in a soft, inviting glow. One that is far more alluring than the stark temporary lighting the builders installed.
When the knock comes, I stride into the hallway and draw back the door. A heavy coat almost drowns Indie’s frame, a thick
cashmere scarf hugs her neck, and her hat is tugged low over her ears. The snow has begun to fall even heavier now, and a
bitterly cold, northerly wind tosses around the last few remaining leaves. Winter has arrived early this year.
“Come in.” I stand back, closing the door behind her once she’s inside. “Here, let me take your coat.”
“Thank you.” She shrugs out of the long, black overcoat to reveal a cream cashmere sweater and skinny black jeans that hug
her hips like a second skin. My fingers prickle with an urge to explore those curves. Her smooth, toffee-colored hair trails
down her back, falling in waves to just above her waist.
What I wouldn’t give to run my hands through it, gather it into a ponytail, and wrap it around my fist as I bury myself inside
her.
“Shall I take these off?”
My mind is in the gutter when I say, “Huh?”
She points at her knee-high, black leather boots. I suppress a groan—just. Male fantasy one-oh-one right there. My dick
twitches.
 “Whatever you’re comfortable with.” If…no, when I get Indie into my bed, I’ll demand at least one session with her
wearing those boots, and nothing else.
“Great.” Grabbing my shoulder for balance, she tugs them off, sighing in what I presume is relief. She sets them by the front
door. “They might look nice, but they’re a bitch to wear. That’s fashion, I guess.”
I chuckle, motioning toward the living room. “Shall we?”
“Oh, wow,” she murmurs once we enter, her head twisting this way and that, taking it all in. Her eyes eventually cut to
mine. “Declan O’Reilly, you old romantic.”
“Too much?”
She shakes her head, moving farther into the room. “No one has ever done anything like this for me before.” She sounds
wistful, and a little sad.
“You’re worth spoiling.” I remove the bottle of wine from the cooler. “Drink?”
“Yes, please.” Indie situates herself on a couple of cushions and pulls a blanket over her knees. “I love the fireplace.”
“I do, too. It cost a fortune, but it’s worth it. The old one wasn’t worth saving. It’d have cost more to restore it to its former
glory than to put in a replacement.”
“This will be the main communal area, then?”
“Yep. All my properties have a space like this. I like to think of it as the hub of the hotel. A place where guests can gather at
the end of a long day, have a drink, a few canapes, and chat with the other customers. Or not.” I gesture behind me. “Back there,
I’m having a library built for those who want a bit of peace and quiet.” I hand her a glass of wine and tap my glass to hers.
“Cheers.”
“You seem so passionate, so driven about this project. Why go into the hotel business?”
I sit beside her, staring into the flames. “I’m not sure. I’ve always loved being around people. The idea of new folks
coming through every couple days, the buzz of it all. That’s what drives me.” Tracing a fingertip around the rim of the glass, I
gaze into it, the ghosts of my past an unwelcome intrusion. “Becoming a hotelier wasn’t always my passion, but sometimes
when life happens, you either have to roll with the punches or rail against them. In my opinion, the latter only leads to
bitterness.”
I should know. I’d let my bitterness at giving up Juilliard take up far too much headspace when I was younger.
She stares at the fire, too. Maybe my words resonate with her, or she has her own demons to work through. Blinking, she
gives me her attention once more.
“What was your passion?” she asks.
“Acting. Stage acting, to be precise. When I was younger, I got into Juilliard.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You must have been good to get into that school. What changed? You didn’t like it?”
My chest tightens with a reignition of grief that’s never far away. “I had to give up my place to look after my brothers when
my parents died.” My heart rips a little more. It always does when I think about how much I’ve lost. How much we’ve all lost.
Indie mutters a curse. “God, how awful.”
“I still miss acting, but there wasn’t a choice. At least not for me. Family is everything. Keeping us together consumed my
every waking moment. It’s what my parents would have wanted. Thankfully, Dad left us well off financially, so I didn’t have
money worries.” I gesture around, grinning. “Not until I bought this money pit.”
I think about telling her what Ciaran discovered about the similarities of this property to the one we grew up in, but
something stops me. Telling her my entire life history on what amounts to our third date isn’t the most romantic of ideas.
Her eyes twinkle as she grins, too, but before long, her expression turns serious. “I’m sorry you had to give up your dreams
—that your parents died, leaving you with so much responsibility at such a young age.”
I brush off her sympathy, although not unkindly. “It was a long time ago. What about you? You mentioned a brother. What
about your parents?”
A swirl of emotions flit over Indie’s face: dismay, hurt, anger. I open my mouth to tell her to forget it when she shrugs. “My
mother died when I was very young. I don’t remember her at all. Dad brought my brother and me up. He died of cancer ten
years ago when I was eighteen.”
I almost reach for her hand, but she’s got this far-away frosting in her eyes, as if she’s here physically, but emotionally she’s
in a whole other place.
“We were both orphaned at eighteen, then.”
She nods but doesn’t offer up any further comment.
“That must have been hard on you,” I say when she remains silent.
Her teeth graze her bottom lip as she focuses on the fire, its flickering flames casting shadows on the wall. Finally, she
says, “You have no idea.” Her voice is loaded with bitterness.
I change my mind about not touching her and curl my fingers around her clenched fist. “I’m a good listener.”
She pauses as more emotions make her face twist with pain. “Let’s put it this way: we weren’t as lucky as you. Dad died a
penniless alcoholic.” She tugs her hand from beneath mine and turns away, gazing into space with a flat stare.
 I refill her glass, but she barely acknowledges me. Mirroring my earlier actions, she runs the tip of her middle finger
around the rim of her wineglass. Several minutes scrape by without either of us speaking. Eventually, I can’t stand the silence
for another second.
“I’m sorry if I’ve brought up bad memories.”
She sweeps a hand over her face and sighs. “Do you mind if we talk about something else?”
I take her wineglass from her and place it on the hearth next to mine. Rising to my feet, I hold out a hand. “Come on. I’ll
show you how much we’ve done in the ten days since you were last here.”
All the pain that had twisted her features evaporates. She smiles warmly and clambers to her feet. “I can’t wait.”
My insides fizz with excitement, simply from the heat of her petite palm against mine. Every minute spent in Indie’s
company makes me fall further under her spell. Instead of fearing the loss of control, it thrills me.
On the second floor, I open the nearest door and wave her inside. “We’ve gotten all the rooms partitioned off on this floor,
and the bathrooms are finished.”
She pokes her head inside the nearest bathroom. “Now, that’s a tub I could spend hours in. Salts, candles, glass of wine.
I’m all set.”
“Room for two?” I wink.
“Uh-uh.” She wags her finger at me. “Soaking in a bathtub is a luxury to be indulged in alone.”
I chuckle and set off for the next floor. “We’re not as far along up here. The rooms are pretty much shells. I might have to
knock down a wall in one of them to make space for the type of bathroom I want installed. The top-floor penthouses are no
further along, so there’s no point showing you that tonight. Maybe next time—if there is a next time.”
Her throat works, and her big eyes rove over my face. The look she gives me makes my body throb with need.
“If there’s an invitation, there will be a next time. You can count on it.”
I stuff my hands in my pockets, mostly in an effort to stop myself from putting them on her. “Seen enough?”
She nods. “I can’t believe how much you’ve achieved.”
“I’m pushing the builders hard. Although, even I’m impressed at the progress they’re making, especially as I only got the
keys three weeks ago. I set a tough deadline but, so far, they seem up to the task. And I’m fortunate to have excellent
management at my other hotels, so I can take the time to be here and on hand to make instant decisions as they arise.”
A shiver rolls through her, and she wraps her arms around her body. “It’s chilly away from the fire.”
I take her elbow and guide her back to the warmth of the living room. Handing her the half-finished glass of wine, I make a
cheers with mine.
“How long ago did you start the hotel business?” Indie sits down, covering herself, once again, with the blanket.
“Six years ago. After my parents died, I was too busy raising my brothers and managing my grief to even think about the
future. My head was spinning, especially given the suddenness of their passing. I wasn’t prepared for the responsibility that fell
onto my shoulders. Then we kind of settled into a routine. Three years after they died, Callum headed off to college. Ciaran
joined the NYPD as a cadet and was pretty self-sufficient in no time. I only had Nate to worry about, and he was at school or
out with his friends most of the time. So, I started an online business. It was a way to learn the basics on a small scale before I
branched out.”
She inclines her head. She does that a lot. It’s fucking adorable. “What kind of business?”
“Buying and selling. I’d trawl online auction sites, dig out the bargains, then I’d sell them at a profit. It was a really solid
grounding in the ins and outs. Then when the idea of starting up a boutique hotel business struck, I did an online course in
hospitality.”
She slowly blinks. “You’re quite something, Declan, do you know that? A lot of men would have crumbled beneath the kind
of pressure you’ve had to cope with. Yet here you are. Successful, self-reliant. A multi-millionaire at age thirty. And sane, too,”
she adds with a grin.
“I’ve a long way to go before I’d tag myself as successful, and sane is debatable, especially having Callum for a brother.”
She huffs a laugh through her nose, and instead of the heat from the fire warming me from the outside, I’m burning up on the
inside, because of her.
“How come your brother joined the NYPD? I mean, that’s a tough job, and like you said, your parents left you well
provided for financially.”
I smile. “If you knew him, you’d understand. He and Callum might be identical twins, but the physical similarities are
where it ends. Callum measures his success by the numbers in his bank account and the profit margins on his business. Ciaran
measures his by how many people he can help.” I sip my wine. “Our maternal grandfather was a police officer. He worked for
the Metropolitan Police in London. Ciaran idolized him. He always said he wanted to be a police officer, just like Gramps. It
seemed the natural course for him to take, and he’s happy. The charity he started to help victims of crime also feeds that need of
his to help people.”
“He sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to meet your brothers.” She claps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, that’s presumptuous of
me.”
 I capture her hand and bring it to my mouth. “Not presumptuous at all.” God, the feel of her skin against my lips… It’s
killing me. I want to kiss her again. I need to kiss her again.
Our eyes meet, and the air around us crackles. I lean in, cupping a hand around the back of her neck. When she parts her
lips, and her tongue sweeps over the plump bottom one, a groan eases from my throat.
I cover her mouth with mine, my stomach doing double backflips when she meets my kiss with an eagerness and passion
that sends a thrill of excitement racing through my bloodstream. My cock hardens, but as much as the urge possesses me, I resist
easing her onto her back and lying on top of her. The last thing I want is to give her another reason to run. She’s such a
contradiction. Sometimes she’s forward, pushy, and warm. Other times, she’s withdrawn, distant, and a little cold.
A commotion comes from the hallway, and Indie pulls away, tugging the blanket around her shoulders.
I mutter a curse when Callum appears in the doorway, his arm flung around the shoulders of a woman I haven’t seen before.
After tonight, I won’t see her again, either. My brother never dates the same woman twice.
“Oops, sorry,” he says with an exaggerated wink. “Don’t let us interrupt you.”
I uncurl my legs and rise to my feet. “You already have. What are you doing here?” I fire daggers across the room, the
atmosphere hardening under the weight of my irritation.
“Showing Sheri around.” He bestows a smile on the oblivious Sheri that’s as false as her boobs, and she giggles, gazing up
at him with unveiled adoration.
She’ll learn. I’d warn her, but there isn’t much point. I’ve seen this too many times before. Callum is too handsome for his
own good. It makes some women blind to his true intentions. Namely, one and done.
“You must be Indie.” Callum strides across the room and thrusts out his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Callum, by
the way.”
Indie stands and shakes his hand, still clutching the blanket close to her body. “Nice to meet you.”
I curl an arm around her waist, my thumb brushing her hip as I scowl at my younger brother. “You’re leaving. Now.”
Callum leans over and picks up my wineglass, taking a swig before grabbing the bottle and filling it up. “Don’t be like that,
bro.” Swinging the bottle in Sheri’s direction, he cocks his head. “Come on in, sweetheart. Have a drink.”
Sheri takes a single step into the living room, but I stop her with an ominous glare. She chews the inside of her cheek and
bobs from foot to foot, looking from Callum to me and back again. I catch Indie’s eye. Lucky for me, she’s amused, her lips
curving at one corner as she watches the scene unfold.
I snatch the wine bottle from Callum’s grasp. “Get out now before I put you on your ass.”
Callum attempts a faux-aggrieved expression that falls way short. “You hurt me, brother. You’ve been raving about this girl
so much I thought the least I should do is make sure she’s good enough for you.” His eyes slide over to Indie. “My assessment?
She’s way too good for you.”
Enough. I hiss right into his face. “I will murder you with my bare hands and leave you for the rats to gnaw on your
testicles if you don’t leave. Right now.”
Callum chuckles, not the slightest bit bothered by my anger. He never is, and that’s the problem.
“Come on, sugar,” Callum says to Sheri, jerking his head. “I’ll take you up on the roof.” He shoots a smirk at Indie.
“Literally.”
Swiping the wine bottle back out of my hand and, with a casual swagger, he crosses the room before disappearing into the
hallway. Sheri trots after him like a well-trained puppy. I wait until their footsteps grow faint, then turn to Indie, my face hot
with fury.
“I’m sorry⁠—”
She bursts out laughing, cutting off my apology. “Your brother is… unapologetically himself. Although I see what you meant
earlier about not being sane. He’d drive a saint to distraction.”
My irritation melts away, and a grin creeps to life. “He will, of course, pay for his appalling behavior later.”
“I’m sure.”
The heat from the flames burns my lower legs, and I take a step in her direction.
“Was he telling the truth?” Indie asks.
“It’s Callum, so probably not. Which particular bit are you referring to?”
“The part where he said you’d been raving about me.”
“Oh, that.” Another step brings me up close to her. I capture a lock of her hair, feeding the silken strands through my fingers.
“I may have mentioned you once or twice.”
She curls her hands behind my head, with her fingertips feathering the back of my neck. “Kiss me,” she murmurs.
Desire licks through my veins, heating my blood to dangerous levels. I capture her mouth and pull her flush to my body. She
trembles in my arms, knotting her fists in my shirt. Her tongue slips inside my mouth, tentative at first, then more demanding,
with a need that rivals my own.
Out of the blue, a violent shudder racks her. She tears away, her bottom lip wavering, her eyes failing to meet mine. I
withhold a frustrated groan that threatens to burst from my throat. She’s running… again.
 “Indie.” I nudge up her chin up with my forefinger. “Talk to me, please.”
She looks up at me, her face swirling with emotions I can’t read, but it’s the guilt in her eyes that has me most confused.
“I’m sorry, Declan. I can’t do this.”
“Do what? Kiss me? You asked, Indie. I’m glad you did, but you asked. What went wrong? What’s going on?”
Her thumb brushes against my bottom lip. It’s a whisper of a touch, but enough to set off a vortex of need in my stomach. I
resist the urge to suck her thumb deep into my mouth, even though my mind is screaming for me to just fucking do it. Instead, I
close my eyes and drown in the skill of her touch.
A tortured sound breaks from her throat, and my eyes fly open.
What the hell?
Her eyes are glistening with unshed tears.
“Jesus, Indie.” I fold her inside my arms, relieved when she nestles into me. Her vulnerability tears me apart. I want—no,
need—answers, but she won’t give them. Not now. Maybe not ever. In my arms is a woman who I believe is a key part of my
future, but beneath the strong, professional veneer lies a frightened girl. Could it have something to do with her childhood? She
mentioned her father died penniless. Growing up without money isn’t something I have any experience with, but it couldn’t
have been easy. She’s clearly got some buried trauma—one that’s causing these swings in her mood.
But Indie calls to me like no other woman ever has. She evokes a deep-seated need to protect—one I haven’t felt so
strongly since my parents died and I had to break the horrific news to my much younger siblings. Their fear of what would
happen to them had strengthened my resolve to always put them first, but Indie is chipping away at that belief. She’s making me
want something I hadn’t thought possible: a life for myself. A wife, kids, a family of my own.
A bite back a laugh. Tell her that, dickhead, and watch her break her neck in a bid to get away from you.
She pulls away and digs around in her purse, producing a tissue. After she’s blown her nose, I take the tissue from her and
toss it into the fire. I capture her hand and encourage her to sit, grabbing a blanket and draping it around her shivering
shoulders.
“Do you want to tell me what that was about?” I ask lightly.
A faint smile tugs at her lips that’s soon followed by a grimace. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Declan.” She lets out a heavy breath
through her nose. “My life is complicated.”
Her gaze falls to the floor, and she smooths her eyebrow with her fingertips. Indie looks beaten, like she’s lost at sea with
no hope of a rescue.
“Do you want to go home?”
She nods.
“Shall I take you?”
The grateful look she gives me is a vise around my heart. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I can easily call a cab.”
“Not at all. The walk will help me come up with a suitable punishment for Callum.” I wink to lighten the mood. It works,
and she laughs.
“Poor Callum.”
“Believe me, there’s nothing poor about that one.”
I fetch her coat, and she follows me into the hallway to pick up her boots. Leaning on the wall for support, she groans as
she tugs them on. “I wonder at what age the desire for comfort wins out over fashion.”
I grin. “Maybe I should call that cab.” I hold out her coat, and she slips her arms inside. I lift it over her shoulders and let
my hands linger there for a moment or two. The tension rippling through her muscles eases, and I almost lean in. Almost. Then
she moves away and deftly fastens the buttons.
“If I can borrow an arm for support, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Quashing a wave of disappointment, I hold out an elbow. “It’s all yours.”
She fits her hand inside, and we make our way outside before I pull the door closed and lock it, chuckling.
“What’s so funny?”
“Callum doesn’t have a key, so he’ll be stuck here until I get back. I might take the long route home.”
“He looked as if he’d be busy for a while.”
I shake my head. “He won’t. As soon as he’s… finished, he’ll want to get as far away from his latest conquest as fast as
possible. Except now, he’ll actually have to talk to her.” I laugh harder. “Serves him right.”
“Sounds like you’ve come up with the perfect punishment.”
“Doesn’t it?” I set off with a definite spring in my step.
Indie tugs me back. “Wait. What if there’s a fire or something?”
I shrug. “Callum’s a big boy. He’ll easily break a window. An elephant could fit through the ones on the first floor. Besides,
he has a cell phone. He can call for help.”
We walk the route to Indie’s apartment in virtual silence, but the defeated droop to her shoulders has lifted, and she’s
standing taller than she was. This time, she lets me ride the elevator with her up to her floor. As we draw to a halt outside her
apartment, she reaches into her purse for her key.
Instead of putting it in the lock, though, she pivots and looks up at me. Her teeth graze her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. About
before.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” I’ll take an explanation over an apology, but I don’t think I’m going to get one. Bending my
head, I brush a soft kiss over her cheek. “’Night, Indie.” I turn to walk away.
“Do you want to come in for a coffee?” she calls after me.
I hesitate. Was she⁠—?
“Just coffee.”
My grin is wry. “As opposed to the ‘real’ meaning of coming in for coffee.” I accentuate my point with air quotes.
The smile she gives me transforms my insides to liquid. “I think I can trust you to read the signs correctly.”
She inserts the key in the lock and pushes the door open to enter her apartment. I follow, but she stops without warning, and
I almost crash into the back of her.
“What—?”
Sitting on her sofa is a man in his mid-thirties, with his shoes kicked off, feet up on the coffee table, and a bottle of beer in
his hand. He swings the bottle back and forth by the neck, his expression belligerent.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Indie snaps.
Ah. So, he isn’t a stranger.
“Hello, little sis,” he drawls. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home.”
 Chapter 9

Indie

P HIL.
The last person I want to see right now is my brother, especially with the object of his hatred standing right beside me. My
stomach floods with butterflies at both the memory of Declan’s kiss and fear from Phil’s presence.
I stomp across the living room and knock his feet off the table. “How did you get in?”
He taps the side of his nose. “Call me a genius.” Peering around me, he jerks his chin in Declan’s direction. “Aren’t you
going to introduce us?”
I glare at him, my message clear: don’t be a dick.
He knows exactly who Declan is, although Declan isn’t aware of that. There’s something in Phil’s expression, though. He
wants to see me squirm. I’ve no idea why, but it leaves me with an unsettling feeling, sort of like indigestion. Maybe he’s
sensed my growing feelings for a man I’m supposed to destroy, or maybe he really is a sadistic bastard who gets off on other
people’s pain. Regardless, I’m not playing his stupid game. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever. It’s hard enough to maintain
my composure and keep up appearances without Phil adding his idea of fun into the mix.
I turn to Declan. “Rain check?”
He nods. “Of course.” He steps outside without a murmur.
I follow him, pulling the door closed behind me because I wouldn’t put it past Phil to leap off the couch and press his ear to
the door to listen in on every word. I’m not about to make it easy for him by leaving the door ajar.
“I’m sorry. It’s my brother. I’m sure you can guess I wasn’t expecting him.”
His brows dip inward. “Are you going to be all right? I can stay if you want.”
I wish. “No need. I’ll be fine.” I rise up on tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “I’ll call you. I promise.” I reenter my apartment and
close the door before Declan says something that makes me rethink this entire scheme.
After waiting for a minute or so to make sure he’s gone, I tear into Phil. “What the hell are you playing at?” Ripping open
the buttons on my coat, I toss it over a chair and plant fisted hands on my hips. “Jesus Christ, Phil. Do you want to blow this
entire plan to smithereens?”
Phil’s eyes tighten. “Rain check? I fucking told you to take it slow.”
“I was inviting him in for coffee, that’s all.” I pause, frowning. “Wait a minute. Were you listening to our conversation when
I arrived home?” Goddamn these paper-thin walls. The next promotion I get, I’m moving.
He rises from the couch and prowls toward me. His steps are slow, deliberate, and fear grips me. I know this look. It’s the
same look Dad would get when the anger took him to dark places where evil lurked.
It takes all my strength to stand my ground. My fight-or-flight instinct is screaming at me to get the hell out of here. Phil
looms over me, his gaze carrying all the warmth of a glacier, his eyes black and dead like a shark’s. He looks like a stranger
rather than my own flesh and blood—the boy I grew up with, who defended me when Dad’s temper boiled over.
He grabs my wrist—the same wrist that has only just healed from the last time he almost broke it. Pain lances through me. I
wince and squeeze my eyes shut. There’s no point in fighting him. He’ll only hurt me more.
When I open my eyes, there’s menace in his expression. A desire to cause pain.
“Coffee equals fucking, you stupid bitch.”
My stomach is pitted into tight coils, but I force myself to stay calm. Phil is so much like Dad, it scares me. Not the dad I
had when I was very young, but the dad he grew into. The bitter one with a visceral need to rail against the world. Through
bitter experience, I’d learned it was better to stay quiet. To take my punishment and pray for it to end. The altercations always
ended quicker that way.
The problem is my brain-to-mouth function hasn’t gotten the memo. I’m not a terrified little girl anymore, clutching her
tattered old bear to her chest for comfort. I’m a grown woman, and I’ve reached the end of my tether.
“Not every guy is like you.” I spit the words in his face. “Declan is a gentleman, not a bully and a freak.”
Phil’s eyes widen. “The fuck you say to me?” His hand tightens around my wrist until the pain becomes too much to bear. I
crack, and I hate myself for it.
 “Let me go,” I whisper, trying and failing to free myself. “Phil, please, you’re going to break my wrist. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,
okay? I’ve had a bad day.”
He releases me, and my knees wobble. I cradle my wrist, my breaths coming fast and hard. The slap comes out of nowhere.
I didn’t even see him raise his arm. I gasp, and my hand flies to my cheek as I stare at this man I thought I knew who’s now
becoming little more than a stranger to me. The man I used to look up to with the kind of adulation reserved for royalty or
deities.
“You’ve already fucked him, haven’t you?” His nostrils flare, and ugly veins protrude from his neck. “You fucking whore.”
He hits me again, this time backhanding me across the other cheek.
I stumble backward, fear weakening my knees. Right now, I think he might be capable of anything. I don’t know who this
man is, but he’s not my brother.
Has our plan for revenge finally tipped him over the edge into madness?
As fast as his anger exploded, his face crumples, and he sinks to his floor. He raises his hands to his face as if he’s hiding
his shame. “I’m sorry, Indie. I’m so fucking sorry.” He crawls to me on hands and knees and wraps his arms around my legs.
He rests his cheek against my stomach, his tears of remorse—or maybe they’re crocodile tears—dampening my sweater.
My arms hang loosely by my sides for a few seconds. Comfort is the last thing I want to offer, but I’ve been well-trained to
diffuse rage. Eventually, I drop to a crouch and wrap him in my arms. When Dad had gotten like this, the only way to save
myself from more pain and torment had been to soothe, to appease his fury, and to never, ever blame.
“It’s okay, Phil.”
“I didn’t mean it,” he says. “It’ll never happen again.”
I nod in agreement, even though it’s a lie. It will happen again. It always does, just like it always did. Like father, like son.
The irony isn’t lost on me. Phil chose to destroy Declan because he’s the spitting image of his father, yet he’s just the same. But
as much as I want to tell him this plan is doomed to failure, and to beg him to reconsider, I can’t. His need for revenge is the
only thing he’s got to cling onto, and we’ve been through too much together for me to abandon him now.
I’m like a puppy getting kicked by its master; I keep coming back for more.
“I know. It’s me who’s sorry. I’m only trying to do what you want me to, Phil, and it’s working. I really think Declan is
falling for me. And just for the record, I haven’t slept with him.” Even though the thought of having him inside me is all I can
think about.
Phil sniffs, wipes the back of his hand across his nose, and sniffs again. His usual sneering expression is back now that he’s
regained control over himself, as well as over me. He gets to his feet and trundles into the kitchen. A few moments later, he
returns with a handmade icepack.
“Here.” He tilts his head forward, indicating my wrist. “To help with the bruising and keep the swelling down. Can’t have
people asking questions now, can we?”
He makes absolutely no mention of the fact that it’s his fault I need the ice in the first place. Still, it’s what I’ve come to
expect. Forcing a smile, I take the icepack from him and press it against my wrist. The cold bites into my skin, and I wince. I
choose not to bring up the fact that my face is also stinging from where he slapped me. Twice.
Phil flops onto the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee table again. This time, I don’t knock them down. Picking up the
TV remote, he begins channel surfing.
“I’m going to bed,” I say. “You know where the blankets are.”
He nods but doesn’t look away from the TV. As I open the door to my bedroom, he shouts, “Keep that icepack on for at
least thirty minutes!”
I repress an urge to slam the door, but I do give him the finger once it’s closed. He’ll never know, but it makes me feel
better. For good measure, I toss the ice in the bathroom sink, too. He can shove the icepack up his ass.
Both my cheeks are red, but I don’t think they’ll bruise, and I’ve done a good job hiding my bruised wrist after Phil
grabbed me last time. I can do the same again. I change for bed and slip beneath the covers, pulling the comforter over my
head. Then I let quiet tears slip down my cheeks.
I want out of this situation, but I don’t know how to make it happen. Phil will never allow me to bail on his—our—
carefully constructed plan. I’d rejected Declan earlier because of the strength of emotion I’d felt when we’d kissed. If I have
any chance of getting through this nightmare with my sanity intact, I have to remain aloof. I can’t allow myself to fall in love
with Declan. This is a one-way ticket, and at the end of it, it’s my role to emerge the winner. It’s the only way to save myself…
and my brother.
I roll onto my side, praying sleep will bring some relief, knowing it only ever brings nightmares.
 Chapter 10

Indie

AFTER A RESTLESS NIGHT ’ S SLEEP , I RISE OUT OF BED THE FOLLOWING MORNING AND PEEK INTO THE LIVING ROOM. THE COUCH
is empty, with the blankets tossed haphazardly to one side. Intense relief washes over me.
I inspect my wrist. As suspected, a dark bruise has begun to form, and it’s sore as hell. I return to my bedroom and pad into
the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Fortunately, the redness from Phil’s slaps has gone. That means I only have
to hide the damage to my wrist. The right clothing will do the trick, and my trusty concealer will hide the dark circles beneath
my eyes.
I shower, choosing a long-sleeved, maroon silk shirt, which I pair with a black pencil skirt, sheer pantyhose, and black
pumps, presenting the perfect professional veneer that hides the chaos underneath. Work is my solace and distraction from how
out of control my life has become. Until the day I die, I’ll regret agreeing to Phil’s revenge plan, but all those years of
brainwashing are hard to fight against. I’m in way over my head with no other choice than to see this through, then move on
with my life. It’s the only way Phil will find peace, and I owe him that at least… even if Declan is the one who will pay the
price.
When it’s over, I’ll leave New York, go to California, maybe, or somewhere the sun will have a chance to heal my battered
soul—providing I still have one left to fix.
I paint a bright smile on my face as I enter my office. Pam isn’t at her desk. There is, however, a pot of coffee waiting for
me.
“God bless you, Pam,” I mutter, although a shot of tequila would probably do more to calm my nerves than caffeine.
Mid-pour, the door opens, and I glance over my shoulder. Pam, with her face hidden behind a large bouquet of flowers,
crosses the room.
She plunks the sweet-smelling blooms on my desk. “I just picked these up at reception for you. I’ll go get a vase.”
I frown. “Who are they from?” They can’t be an apology from Phil. For one thing, he doesn’t make apologies, and for
another, he’d never waste his money on flowers for me. Or rather my money, since my brother hasn’t held down a job in years
and lives off the handouts I give him each month.
“Open the card and you’ll find out.” Pam grins. “And, no, before you ask, I didn’t peek.”
I pick up the flowers and bury my nose in the petals. They smell incredible, a mixture of lilies, jasmine, and violets. Lilies
are a particular favorite of mine. They’ve clearly chosen this arrangement with care.
I open the seal on the pale blue envelope and remove the card.
Sorry our evening ended so abruptly. How about dinner later? I’ll even settle for coffee. Call me. Declan.
A smile steals across my face. I wasn’t sure whether he’d get in touch after Phil’s untimely appearance last night. It’s just as
well Declan made the first move, because I’m nothing if not a coward. Having a man make it clear he wants me is addictive.
I’m playing enough games from the shadows. If he was a game player too, I’m not sure I’d manage to keep up the façade.
Tonight is hours away, and the thought of waiting until then to see him doesn’t appeal. I grab my phone and check my list of
appointments for today. There’s a two-hour gap right after lunch. Perfect timing. I expect the morning to drag by, but before I
know it, the calendar reminder pops up. I forward my office phone to my cell in case any clients need to get in touch with me
urgently, and almost dance down the stairs, out onto the street.
The cold snap of the previous few days has gone, leaving mild, if breezy, fall weather in its place. It’s more than warm
enough to walk the few blocks from my office to Declan’s soon-to-be boutique hotel.
I skirt past Central Park, stopping off at my favorite coffee chain on the way. I order a couple of caramel macchiatos and a
bag of mixed pastries from the bakery. I’ve no idea what Declan will like, so I select a whole range. If he doesn’t eat them, he
can give them to the builders.
The front door is ajar when I arrive at the hotel, so I balance the pastries on top of the cups and push it open.
“Declan!” I call out as I step over a pile of half-unwound cable left strewn across the hallway. It’s only then that I realize
my mistake. He might not even be here. This isn’t his only business. For all I know, he’s out of town. Connecticut, maybe, or
Boston. Though, if he was that far away, he wouldn’t have mentioned dinner tonight.
 I peer inside the living space where Declan entertained me last night. There’s no sign of the romantic setting. He must have
cleared everything away after walking me home. I chuckle to myself, wondering if Callum was climbing the walls by the time
Declan returned to rescue him from his one-night conquest.
“Can I help you, miss?”
I whip around to see a short, round guy wearing a hard hat and a fluorescent vest trundling toward me, rebalancing a large
plank of wood across his shoulder.
“I’m looking for Declan.”
He jerks his chin. “Third floor. Turn left when you get to the top of the stairs.”
“Thanks.”
“Wait,” he says as I move away. Taking off his hard hat, he hands it to me. “You’re not going anywhere without one of these
—not on my site. And not a word about ruining your hair.”
I grin as he sets it on top of my head. “What about you?”
“I’ll grab another. Not that a bang on the head would do much damage. The missus would probably say it’d knock some
sense into me. Oh, and watch your step, especially in them heels.”
I pick my way carefully upstairs. As I reach the third floor, loud banging draws my attention to the left. It’s thunderous, as if
the building is being knocked down. I make my way toward the noise and take a peek.
My breath catches in my throat. Declan is inside, naked from the waist up. He’s wielding a sledgehammer, his body slick
with sweat, the floor surrounding him full of rubble. He takes another swing at the half-demolished wall, the muscles in his
back flexing as he moves.
I carefully set the drinks and pastries on the floor and lean my shoulder against the doorjamb. Nibbling on my thumbnail, I
get my fill while he works, completely oblivious to my gawking.
Declan slams the sledgehammer into the wall once more, and the majority falls away. When the dust clears, he drops the
tool on the floor and tugs off his mask, peering into the space behind the wall. My eyes fall to his dust-covered ass, his jeans
hanging low on his hips, stout boots on his feet.
He turns around, startled when he sees me. Oh my… the view from the front is just as appealing. Maybe more so. Without a
flicker of embarrassment, I run my gaze over his hairless chest, pausing at a tattoo on his left pectoral—an intricate swirl of
thin lines with a blood-red heart at the center. And those delicious abs. Jesus. I want to explore every ridge, every muscle, with
my hands and my mouth, trekking south to that delicious V disappearing beneath his jeans. My God. The man is perfect, and he
shouldn’t be. He’s a pen pusher. An executive. His hands are smooth and callus-free. He shouldn’t have a worker's body.
Despite the filthy commentary running through my mind, I grin. “You need a shower.”
Declan’s eyes widen. “Hey.” He scuffs a hand over the top of his head. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought pastries and muffins.” I bend down and retrieve the paper bag to give it a shake.
He picks up the sledgehammer and leans it against the wall, out of the way, then walks toward me. “Thanks.”
“And coffee—caramel macchiato—to make up for last night.”
He snatches up a rag from the floor, wipes his hands, then leans down, and plucks a paper cup from the gray cardboard cup
holder on the floor. “My favorite.” He takes a sip. “Delicious.” Sweeping his tongue over his top lip, he gives me the same
head-to-toe appraisal I’d helped myself to. My face heats, and my toes curl inside my shoes, which, considering there isn’t
much room in there, is something of a miracle.
He sets his coffee back down on the floor. “Let me grab a shirt.”
My smile builds slowly and sticks there. “Don’t bother on my account.”
His answering grin makes my stomach go crazy. He lowers his head and gently presses his mouth to mine. Intense pleasure
at the feel of his cool lips sends a violent shiver ricocheting up my spine.
“Won’t be a sec.” He steps out into the hallway and disappears next door. Seconds later, he returns wearing a paint-
splattered T-shirt. I admit it. I’m mourning the loss of that delicious view of his abs.
He sets down a chair he brought with him and gives it a quick wipe. “Here you go. It’s not exactly Pottery Barn, but it’s
clean. Ish.”
I take a seat, while he grabs his coffee and perches on the edge of an old bathtub, then I pass him the paper bag. “Help
yourself.”
“Thanks.” He dips inside, plucking out a blueberry muffin. He hands me the bag, but I shake my head.
“Not for me. Give them to the builders, maybe. I’m sure they’ll appreciate them.”
He nods. “They will.”
“Thank you for the flowers.”
He peels back the crimped paper baking cup, tears off a piece of muffin, and slips it into his mouth. I watch every single
movement, transfixed by the way his throat moves when he swallows. I wonder if he notices my silent appraisal. If he does, he
keeps quiet about it.
“I’m glad you came. I was worried about leaving you last night.”
 My fingers tug down the cuff of my shirt. The last thing I need is for him to see the bruising and ask questions I don’t want
to answer. “There was no need.”
He breaks off another chunk of muffin. “I thought you and your brother were estranged.”
“We are. Well, sort of. It’s complicated.”
“That’s families for you.”
“Yeah.” I fixate on a spot in the distance. Seconds slip by. I’m about to fill the silence with inane chatter when Declan does
it for me.
“So, what’s your answer?”
My eyes snap to his. “What?”
“The note on the flowers. Dinner tonight? I’ll take you to my favorite Italian.”
“Oh.” I graze my top teeth over my bottom lip and give his offer proper consideration.
I shouldn’t go. I should put a stop to this right now, confess who I am, ask him outright why his dad destroyed mine, and
once I get my answers, leave, then never come back. Declan is a good person—a kind person. He doesn’t deserve what’ll
happen if I go ahead with Phil’s plan. I’ve stopped calling it our plan. If I think about it, Phil dismissed every one of my ideas,
anyway. This is all him, and it’s about time I acknowledged that. To myself, if not to my brother.
But I want to go. Not for Phil, or for my father, or for any stupid desire for revenge. I want this for me. Just for a little while
I want to forget who I am, who Declan is, pretend this stupid plan isn’t real, and fill my head with memories I can look back on
when this all goes to shit. Which it will, and soon if Phil has his way.
“I’d love to have dinner with you.”
Declan’s eyes brighten, a genuine smile lighting up his face. “Great. I’ll swing by your apartment about seven thirty.”
No. Nope. No can do. Phil could return at any moment, and I don’t want another altercation with my brother, nor leave the
door open for more questions from Declan.
“Actually, do you mind if I meet you there? I’ve got a few meetings this afternoon that might run a little late, so it’ll be
easier if I head to the restaurant straight from work.”
He pauses, his emerald eyes boring into mine. I duck my head, worried he’ll see too much. A few seconds later, he lets me
off the hook.
“That works for me. I’ll text you the address.”
I manage to withhold a sigh of relief. “Perfect.”
Heavy footfall sounds in the hallway. The workman who’d given me his hard hat pokes his head around the door. “Have
you taken the bathtub out in the other bathroom yet?” he asks, cocking his head backward.
“Shit.” Declan gets up from his seat on the bathtub, shaking his head. “Sorry, Bill. I’ll do it next. Give me five?”
His unpretentiousness toward Bill when it’s Declan who’s the boss shows me yet more of his character. He’s a multi-
millionaire, and a successful businessman, yet here he is, knocking down walls, ripping out baths, and responding with
politeness and humility toward what I presume is the foreman on the job. He’s unlike any rich guy I’ve ever met. Sure, he freely
admitted he’s short of cash right now, but that’s a temporary situation. It doesn’t explain how down-to-earth he is toward, well,
everyone.
Not for the first time—and probably not for the last, either—I regret agreeing to Phil’s plan. Declan doesn’t deserve this.
His brothers don’t deserve it. Children should not be held accountable for the sins of their parents.
Bill nods. “Sorry to interrupt, miss. How’s that hat working out for ya?”
I jerk from my thoughts and force a bright response. “You’ll see them at the New York fashion show any day now.”
“On you, I can see that.”
Declan makes a noise that sounds remarkably like a growl. Bill doesn’t look in the least bit bothered by Declan’s
possessive reaction to his grandfatherly flirting, though. He winks at me, then retreats.
“I can see you’re busy,” I say. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Actually,” Declan says. “I could do with a hand. Do you need to rush back?”
I glance at my watch. “I have a half hour or so, although I’m not exactly dressed for manual labor, especially if I need to
keep this suit clean for dinner.”
“I can fix that.” He motions for me to get up, his eyes holding a hint of challenge. An exquisite shiver runs up my spine, and
a rush of adrenaline fills my bloodstream.
He takes a step toward me and slides the single-breasted jacket from my shoulders. Gentle fingers unfasten the two top
buttons on my shirt. I hold my breath, the simple act of feeding my lungs oxygen an impossibility with him standing so close.
His eyes sparkle like jewels, and the heady smell of his sweaty skin makes my clit tingle.
“That’s better,” he murmurs. “You can breathe now, Indie.”
A blush heats my cheeks, and my tongue shoots out to dampen my lips. Declan hangs my jacket on the back of the chair.
Turning around, he cocks his head. When I reach him, he doesn’t walk away. Instead, he trails a finger down my cheek, then
gently cups my chin. My lips part, and I lean toward him. He slides his thumb over my bottom lip, and when I wrap my mouth
around it, he sucks in a sharp breath.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “Follow me.”
“What are you going to do?” I whisper, my heart in my throat.
“Grab you something more suitable to wear.”
Oh. I cram down disappointment, shuffling my feet as I wait for him to return. A few seconds later, he does, and he hands
an oversized sweater to me. “Put this on. It’ll keep your clothes clean.”
I press my lips together. “What exactly is it you want me to help with? Because I have a feeling I’m not going to like it.”
Declan stands with his arms folded. “The sweater, Indie. That outfit looks expensive.”
I press my thighs together at the demand in his voice, shoot him a curious look accompanied by a raised eyebrow, then pull
the sweater over my head. It’s three sizes too big and drowns me, but it smells like him, so I’m not complaining.
Declan wanders across the hallway into the room opposite. He crosses over to a door on the far side and pushes it open. I
peek inside.
“That’s a decent sized bathroom,” I say.
“Yeah.” Declan drops his tool bag on the floor. “That’s why I knocked down the wall in the other room. The bathroom there
would be too small for my plans. Fortunately, I don’t have to knock down any more on this floor.”
He bends over, and I can’t help checking out his ass in those jeans. I want to put my hands on it. To squeeze it. I want to feel
it ripple as he thrusts inside me.
I want to bite it.
Get a grip on yourself.
“Pass me that wrench.” He waves his hand toward his tool bag. “It’s the one with⁠—”
“I know what a wrench looks like.” I choose the correct tool and hand it to him.
“Of course you do,” Declan says, an amused tilt to his lips. He lies on his back and wriggles underneath the bathtub. After a
few seconds, he shuffles back out and gets to his feet. “Grab that rag for me, would you?”
I pass over a dirty cloth, holding it by the edges to avoid getting dirt and grease on my hands.
“Thanks. You might want to stand back a little. It should be fine, but sometimes the pressure in the pipes can still cause the
water to spurt.”
I retreat a few steps. “Where did you learn how to do all this?”
His grin is wry. “Believe me, I’m still learning. But the more I do, the more money I save, which means there will be
enough left over for the special touches my hotels have become known for. And I hope to God it’s the last time I ever have to
do this.”
He wraps the rag around the base of the faucet, but as he twists it, a torrent of water sprays in the air, drenching him.
“For fuck’s sake, Bill!” he yells. “Turn the goddamn water off!” He gestures to a towel. “Toss that over, Indie.”
I throw it to him, standing well back as he tries to stem the flow of water. A minute later, the gushing becomes a dribble,
then finally stops.
“About goddamn time.”
Declan’s clothes cling to his torso, and his hair is dripping wet. A ripple of laughter crawls into my throat. I try to swallow
it down, but it breaks free.
“Do-It-Yourself Plumbing 101: turn the water off.” I laugh so much, I start hiccupping.
“Find this funny, do you?” He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it into the bath.
My lips are still twitching with amusement, but as my eyes fall to his naked chest, that amusement dies. He’s just so… so…
beautiful.
I lift my chin and meet his gaze. “This is the most entertaining lunch break I’ve had in some time.”
“Oh, yeah?” He flicks water off his fingers in my direction, a broad grin inching across his face.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Did you just flick water at me?”
He juts out his chin. “What are you gonna do about it?” He sends another flick of water in my direction.
I yelp, holding my hands out in front of me. “Declan! You’re in trouble.”
“Is that so?” There’s a husk to his voice. My lungs constrict as he gives me a look that set my insides alight.
Electricity arcs between us as we gaze into each other’s eyes, but when Declan takes a step forward, Bill pokes his head
into the bathroom.
“Shit.” He grins as he takes in Declan’s drenched state. “You said give you five, so I thought I’d finish something on the
next floor down.”
Declan jabs a finger in Bill’s direction. “You owe me.”
Bill tosses him a fresh towel. “I’ll buy you a beer later.” He looks over at me. “Sorry for interrupting again, miss.”
“No problem. I need to get back to work, anyway.” I shrug out of Declan’s sweater and hand it to him. “Thanks for the
loan… and the entertainment.”
Declan chuckles, pulls the sweater over his head, and gestures toward the stairway. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”
 After collecting my jacket from the other room, I pick my way through the masses of building materials scattered all over
the floor. Declan’s hand is at my elbow, guiding me, and all I can think about is his how warm it feels, how comforting, how...
commanding.
“I’ll text you the details of the restaurant.” He presses a warm kiss to my cheek, and I feel it there. I feel it everywhere.
Removing the hard hat, I hand it over. “Okay, see you then.”
I pick my way down the steps and onto the street, unable to resist a glance over my shoulder. Declan is leaning against the
wall outside, his arms crossed over the sweater I now know hides a body that will invade my dreams for the rest of my life. He
gives me a quick wave before walking back inside.
As I stare at the space he’s left behind, an intense range of emotions swirl through my chest. I hate this stupid idea of
ruining a good man for something his dad did, and I hate that I agreed to take part in it. I want Declan to know the real me. I
don’t have a choice other than to see this through to the bitter end and break Declan’s heart, but the least I can do is offer mine
in return.
Even if doing so tears me apart.
 Chapter 11

Declan

IT ’ S AROUND ELEVEN THAT NIGHT WHEN WE LEAVE THE RESTAURANT , MILDLY DRUNK. INDIE HAS SPENT THE LAST SEVERAL HOURS
batting her eyelashes at me, playing footsie under the table, and my cock throbs from being hard for three fucking hours without
release.
“Cab or walk?”
“Let’s walk,” Indie says. “The weather is supposed to turn chilly by the end of the week, so I’m grabbing all the fresh air I
can before hunkering down for winter.”
I grin. “Good plan.”
“Thanks for dinner. It was delicious.”
Not as delicious as her. I capture her hand. “There’s no one I’d rather spend time with.”
She blinks and hits me with a smile that makes my insides twist with need. The couple of kisses we’ve shared aren’t
enough. I crave more of her. She’s fast becoming my addiction.
Indie twirls around on the spot and shimmies her hips. “I don’t want to go home yet.”
I adore this rarely seen, lighthearted version of her. Too often she looks as if she’s carrying the weight of the universe
across her slender shoulders. Whatever baggage is bearing down on her, it’s crushing her spirit. As her trust in me grows, I
hope she’ll offload some of it to me, and if not to me, then to someone. It’s obvious she can’t talk to her brother. He gave me
bad vibes from the brief introduction I got when I met him at Indie’s place. There was something in his eyes, a malevolence, a
life’s kicked me in the nuts one too many times so I’m going to burn down the world energy that raised the hackles on the
back of my neck.
“Where do you want to go?”
She leans into me, her soft body melding against mine. “Take me dancing.”
My heartbeat kicks up a notch, and I bury my nose in her hair. Dancing means touching, and touching means getting my
hands on Indie’s curves—an urge that’s starting to fill my every waking moment, and a fair few sleeping ones, too.
Curling an arm around her waist, I say, “You got it.”
I take her to a club Callum always raves about. There’s a line of people waiting, but it moves quickly, and soon we’re
inside. The space is packed with swaying bodies and couples kissing and gyrating as they move in time to the music. Hypnotic
bass beats assault my eardrums.
After turning in our coats to the attendant, Indie grabs my hand and sashays her way onto the dance floor. My gaze falls to
her ass. Jeez. That ass. I itch to get my hands on it.
She spins around, her upturned face shining with excitement. After lifting her arms in the air, her eyes fall shut, and her
caramel curls swing with every shimmy of her body.
Christ, she’s gorgeous. I step forward and catch her by the waist, tugging her closer. I move my hips, letting her set the
pace. Her eyes open slowly, almost lazily, and she reaches out and places the flat of her palm against my chest before sweeping
it down over my stomach, where she hooks three fingers into the waistband of my pants and tugs.
“C’mere, lover boy,” she says with a giggle that’s nothing like the Indie I’ve come to know. The professional woman,
always on her guard, has vanished, and in her place is a siren.
“You’re drunk,” I say, having to raise my voice to be heard.
She trails a lilac-painted fingernail across my abdomen, teasing, tantalizing. “Drunk on you.”
I put my mouth next to her ear. “Careful. I might look like a pussycat, but there’s a lion underneath.”
She leans away and gives me a slow smile, her tongue grazing her top teeth. One hand slides around my back before
settling on my ass, the other presses flat to my chest. There’s something different about Indie tonight and, fuck, I approve.
“Then, why don’t you show me your claws,” she says.
Fire licks through my belly, and I cover her mouth with mine. The DJ switches out the music for a dance track that’s just the
right rhythm. The music gets louder, the beat gets stronger, and my senses heighten, making me lightheaded. Or maybe that’s
down to the way Indie is rubbing herself against me.
 I grip her ass and circle my hips again, grinding into her. She can’t fail to notice how hard I am for her. All around, the
crowd bustles and jostles us, the other clubbers lost in their own moments as they move in time to the music.
Indie breaks off our kiss and moves away, raising her arms overhead once more. Her body weaves as the strobe lights
above change from white to red to green. I can feel the beat of the music through the checkered dance floor, the bass vibrating
all around me.
I curve a hand around the back of her neck, my thumb caressing the soft skin beneath her ear as I capture her mouth again. I
can’t get enough. The taste of her, the way she smells, how she moves her body against mine in a way that could tip a sane man
over into madness.
She breaks away again, and I’m about to curse when she whispers in my ear, “Do dirty things to me, Declan.”
My stomach somersaults so violently it’s like I’ve taken a punch to the gut. I expel a hard breath, cutting my eyes to hers.
Desire, passion, and a need that rivals my own swirls in her hazel irises.
“Here?”
“Here.” Moving into me, she hooks her calf around mine and kisses me. But this kiss feels different. She’s upped the stakes,
and I’m betting big.
I curve my hands around her face, and put my mouth right next to her ear again. I need to make sure there are no
misunderstandings about where this is going.
“You know where we are, right? You know what you’re asking?”
She nods vigorously. “I need you.”
I glance around the colossal space, spotting what I’m looking for on the far side of the dance floor. I clasp her hand and
weave through the mass of heaving bodies, then push her into the alcove, covering her body with mine. If anyone bothers to
look, they won’t see a thing.
My mouth closes over hers once more as my fingers dance over her bare thigh. She grabs my wrist and places my hand
over her pussy, pressing down hard. Yep, this Indie is definitely different. I snake my fingers inside her lace panties before
slowly easing my middle one inside her.
Christ, she’s wet and hot, and fucking perfect.
I add a second finger, moving the two of them slowly back and forth as my tongue mimics what I want to do to her with my
cock.
She tears her mouth from mine. “God, Declan.” She pants into my ear, arching into me, pushing forward, her actions leaving
no doubt what she wants.
I press the fingers that were inside her seconds ago to her lips. “Suck.”
Her eyes flare, but she opens her mouth and licks me clean. A low moan eases from her throat that I feel rather than hear.
“Do you want to come, Indie?”
“Yes, please.”
I break into a smile. “I love it when people surprise me.”
I burrow back under her skirt. This time, when I push two fingers inside her, I roll my thumb over her clit. She bucks
against me, and her hands fist my shirt. Slamming her lips to mine, she kisses me, her tongue searching, seeking, demanding
things from me that I’m only too happy to give to her.
“Declan.” My name comes out on an exhale as she clings to me like she’s been lost in the desert for days, and I’m her
savior. “Harder, please. Faster.”
My dick’s hard enough to crack concrete. There’s something so goddamn sexy about a woman who knows what she wants
and isn’t afraid to ask for it. I give her what she needs, crooking my fingers inside her, and rubbing her clit like it’s my fucking
job.
“Come,” I growl.
“Oh, God.” A harsh breath escapes her, and she bites down on my earlobe as her pussy pulses against my fingers. I keep up
the pressure until she sags against me.
Withdrawing gently from her, I lift my fingers to my mouth and lock eyes with her. As though I’ve willed it, the music
quietens, and the DJ switches the track for more of a hip-hop vibe.
“My turn to taste you now,” I say, drawing my fingers into my mouth. “Mmm. As sweet as I knew you’d be.”
“I’ve never done that before.” She buries her face in my neck, almost as though she’s afraid of what she’ll see if she spends
too long looking into my eyes. “Not in public. Never in public. What the hell is this? What are you doing to me?”
I force her to meet my gaze. “What you need. You’re coiled like an overtightened spring. I don’t know what’s going on in
your life, Indie, but if you don’t learn to relax, you’re gonna blow.”
An unidentified emotion whips across her face, but by the time I blink, it’s gone. She stares at me for a beat, then moves her
gaze over my shoulder. She’s withdrawing. Again. Any second, I expect her to sprint from the club and hurl herself into the first
cab that passes.
I cup her face and brush my lips over hers.
 “Don’t go.”
Startled, she returns her gaze to me. “What makes you think I’m going anywhere?”
My answering smile twists my lips. “Call it intuition. Come on. Let’s get a drink.” I reach for her hand but miss and grip
her wrist instead. She winces and hisses through clenched teeth.
I frown. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head and pulls her wrist close to her body. “It’s nothing.”
Instinct burns in my veins. I reach for her forearm and push up the cuff of her shirt. A dark, ugly bruise goes around her
entire wrist. I’m no doctor, but that looks a lot like someone has grabbed her, and fucking hard, too.
“What’s this? Who did this to you?”
She shakes her head again. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s get that drink.” She starts to walk away, but I clasp her elbow, stopping
her in her tracks.
“The hell it doesn’t. I want to know who did this.”
She stares at the floor and fiddles absentmindedly with a loose thread on her skirt. “Please, just drop it.”
“No, I won’t drop it.” Gripping her elbow, I steer her to a quieter part of the club. As I thread through the innumerable
bodies, a stray thought crosses my mind. She’s estranged from her brother, then he turns up unannounced, gives me the creeps,
and the next night she’s bruised. I don’t believe in coincidences at the best of times.
Somehow, I hold myself in check until we reach a quieter bar, far from the thumping music of the main dance floor. Gently, I
grip her shoulders and lock eyes with her. “Did your brother do this?”
Her head snaps back. “No,” she says a little too quickly.
“Don’t lie to me.”
Her eyes glisten, and there’s a helplessness to her that sets off alarm bells. “Please, let it go.”
I expel a weighty breath, my jaw flexing. “So, it was your brother. Jesus Christ. What kind of man does this to his own
sister?”
“He didn’t mean to. It was a mistake.”
I blink at her. She’s giving the excuse so many domestic violence victims make until they receive the help they need to
escape an abusive situation. I’m not an expert, by any means, but I’m not naïve, either. Acid sloshes around in my stomach.
“A mistake? It’s hardly a mistake to bruise someone as badly as you’re bruised. Is he still there, at your apartment?”
“No. When I got up this morning, he’d already left.”
“To go where?”
She hoists a shoulder, attempting to look as if she doesn’t care where he is. “No idea. He’s probably left the city already. I
doubt I’ll see him again for ages, if ever.”
I don’t buy it. Abusers need to abuse like addicts need their next fix. If he has gone, it won’t be long before he’s back. And
when his sadistic ass turns up here again, I’ll…
“Stop.” Her palm cradles my cheek. “It’s okay, Declan. Really.”
“Okay?” I shake my head in a blatant no. “No, Indie. It’s not fucking okay.” My jaw flexes.
Her mouth forms a resigned smile. “It’s not worth cracking a tooth over. Dentists are expensive.”
“I don’t find this remotely funny, and it speaks volumes that you do.”
Her expression pinches, and she crosses her arms beneath her chest. “Don’t judge what you don’t understand.”
I curse under my breath. Demanding she gives me answers will only push her away. I school my features into something
more compassionate and less accusatory. “Then, help me understand how you seem okay with your brother abusing you.”
She whispers, “I never said I was okay with it.”
“No? Have you reported him to the police?”
She levies a glare at me that’s steeped in warning. “I’m only going to say this one more time. Drop it. Otherwise…”
I draw in a breath. “Otherwise, what?”
She dismisses me with her hand. “Never mind.” Turning on her heel, she marches toward the exit.
“Fuck,” I bite out, thrusting the ticket for our coats at the cloakroom attendant. I take them from him and jog to catch up to
her. “Indie, listen to me⁠—”
She whips around, beseeching me with her eyes. “I’m not the kind of girl to beg, Declan, but I’m begging you now. Please
drop it.”
Snatching her coat from me, she bursts through the doors of the club, past the long line of people still waiting to gain entry,
and clips off down the street. I follow, hands stuffed in my pockets so I’m not tempted to put them on her.
We walk the entire way to her apartment in brooding silence, each lost in our own thoughts. As she draws to a halt, she
takes out her key and turns to me.
“Stop thinking about it, Declan.”
I frown, even though I know exactly what she’s referring to. It has to be written all over my face: the desire to give her
brother the beating he deserves. To jab my thumbs into his eyeballs and take blunt gardening shears to his balls.
 “The only thing I’m thinking about is when I can see you again.” I capture her hand and rub the back of it. She feels cold to
the touch.
“No, you’re thinking of how to pay back my brother. Forget it. He’s gone, and I have no idea when or if he’ll be back.”
When I remain silent, Indie exhales a harried breath. “Men. This is why we have wars, because men just can’t let the little
things go. My brother and I got into an argument. So what? Are you saying you’ve never gotten into a fight with your brothers?”
“It’s not the same.” My nostrils flare, and I clench and unclench my fists. “It’s not the same at all.”
“No? Why’s that? Oh, wait. It’s because I’m a woman.” Her laughter lacks any humor. “Good night, Declan. Call me when
you’ve toned down the alpha male, because that’s the last thing I need right now.”
Without sparing me a glance, she enters her apartment and quietly closes the door oh-so-deliberately in my face.
Another random document with
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liberty and happiness of the millions composing this Union, cannot
be acknowledged. Such authority is believed to be utterly repugnant
both to the principles upon which the General Government is
constituted, and to the objects which it was expressly formed to
attain.’
“It is not pretended that any clause in the Constitution gives
countenance to such a theory. It is altogether founded upon
inference, not from any language contained in the instrument itself,
but from the sovereign character of the several States by which it was
ratified. But it is beyond the power of a State like an individual, to
yield a portion of its sovereign rights to secure the remainder? In the
language of Mr. Madison, who has been called the father of the
Constitution, ‘It was formed by the States—that is, by the people in
each of the States acting in their highest sovereign capacity, and
formed consequently by the same authority which formed the State
constitutions.’ ‘Nor is the Government of the United States, created
by the Constitution, less a Government, in the strict sense of the term
within the sphere of its powers, than the governments created by the
constitutions of the States are within their several spheres. It is like
them organized into legislative, executive, and judiciary
departments. It operates, like them, directly on persons and things;
and, like them, it has at command a physical force for executing the
powers committed to it.’
“It was intended to be perpetual, and not to be annulled at the
pleasure of any one of the contracting parties. The old Articles of
Confederation were entitled ‘Articles of Confederation and Perpetual
Union between the States;’ and by the thirteenth article it is
expressly declared that ‘the articles of this confederation shall be
inviolably observed by every State, and the Union shall be perpetual.’
The preamble to the constitution of the United States, having express
reference to the Articles of Confederation, recites that it was
established ‘in order to form a more perfect union.’ And yet it is
contended that this ‘more perfect union’ does not include the
essential attribute of perpetuity.
“But that the Union was designed to be perpetual, appears
conclusively from the nature and extent of the powers conferred by
the Constitution of the Federal Government. These powers embrace
the very highest attributes of national sovereignty. They place both
the sword and purse under its control. Congress has power to make
war and to make peace; to raise and support armies and navies, and
to conclude treaties with foreign governments. It is invested with the
power to coin money, and to regulate the value thereof, and to
regulate commerce with foreign nations and among the several
States. It is not necessary to enumerate the other high powers which
have been conferred upon the Federal Government. In order to carry
the enumerated powers into effect, Congress possesses the exclusive
right to lay and collect duties on imports, and, in common with the
States, to lay and collect all other taxes.
“But the Constitution has not only conferred these high powers
upon Congress, but it has adopted effectual means to restrain the
States from interfering with their exercise. For that purpose it has in
strong prohibitory language expressly declared that ‘no State shall
enter into any treaty, alliance, or confederation; grant letters of
marque and reprisal; coin money; emit bills of credit; make anything
but gold and silver coin a tender in payment of debts; pass any bill of
attainder, ex post facto law, or law impairing the obligation of
contracts.’ Moreover, ‘without the consent of Congress no State shall
lay any imposts or duties on any imports or exports, except what may
be absolutely necessary for executing its inspection laws,’ and if they
exceed this amount, the excess shall belong to the United States. And
‘no State shall, without the consent of Congress, lay any duty of
tonnage, keep troops or ships of war in time of peace, enter into any
agreement or compact with another State, or with a foreign power, or
engage in war, unless actually invaded or in such imminent danger
as will not admit of delay.’
“In order still further to secure the uninterrupted exercise of these
high powers against State interposition, it is provided ‘that this
Constitution and the laws of the United States which shall be made
in pursuance thereof, and all treaties made or which shall be made
under the authority of the United States, shall be the supreme law of
the land; and the judges in every State shall be bound thereby, any
thing in the Constitution or laws of any State to the contrary
notwithstanding.’
“The solemn sanction of religion has been superadded to the
obligations of official duty, and all Senators and Representatives of
the United States, all members of State Legislatures, and all
executive and judicial officers, ‘both of the United States and of the
several States, shall be bound by oath or affirmation to support this
Constitution.’
“In order to carry into effect these powers, the Constitution has
established a perfect Government in all its forms, legislative,
executive, and judicial; and this Government to the extent of its
powers acts directly upon the individual citizens of every State, and
executes its own decrees by the agency of its own officers. In this
respect it differs entirely from the Government under the old
confederation, which was confined to making requisitions on the
States in their sovereign character. This left it in the discretion of
each whether to obey or refuse, and they often declined to comply
with such requisitions. It thus became necessary, for the purpose of
removing this barrier, and ‘in order to form a more perfect union,’ to
establish a Government which could act directly upon the people and
execute its own laws without the intermediate agency of the States.
This has been accomplished by the Constitution of the United States.
In short, the Government created by the Constitution, and deriving
its authority from the sovereign people of each of the several States,
has precisely the same right to exercise its power over the people of
all these States in the enumerated cases, that each one of them
possesses over subjects not delegated to the United States, but
‘reserved to the States respectively or to the people.’
“To the extent of the delegated powers the Constitution of the
United States is as much a part of the constitution of each State, and
is as binding upon its people, as though it had been textually inserted
therein.
“This Government, therefore, is a great and powerful Government,
invested with all the attributes of sovereignty over the special
subjects to which its authority extends. Its framers never intended to
implant in its bosom the seeds of its own destruction nor were they
at its creation guilty of the absurdity of providing for its own
dissolution. It was not intended by its framers to be the baseless
fabric of a vision, which, at the touch of the enchanter, would vanish
into thin air, but a substantial and mighty fabric, capable of resisting
the slow decay of time, and of defying the storms of ages. Indeed,
well may the jealous patriots of that day have indulged fears that a
Government of such high power might violate the reserved rights of
the States, and wisely did they adopt the rule of a strict construction
of these powers to prevent the danger. But they did not fear, nor had
they any reason to imagine that the Constitution would ever be so
interpreted as to enable any State by her own act, and without the
consent of her sister States, to discharge her people from all or any of
their federal obligations.
“It may be asked, then, are the people of the States without redress
against the tyranny and oppression of the Federal Government? By
no means. The right of resistance on the part of the governed against
the oppression of their governments cannot be denied. It exists
independently of all constitutions, and has been exercised at all
periods of the world’s history. Under it, old governments have been
destroyed and new ones have taken their place. It is embodied in
strong and express language in our own Declaration of
Independence. But the distinction must ever be observed that this is
revolution against an established Government, and not a voluntary
secession from it by virtue of an inherent constitutional right. In
short, let us look the danger fairly in the face; secession is neither
more nor less than revolution. It may or it may not be a justifiable
revolution; but still it is revolution.”
The President having thus attempted to demonstrate that the
Constitution affords no warrant for secession, but that this was
inconsistent both with its letter and spirit, then defines his own
position. He says:
“What, in the mean time, is the responsibility and true position of
the Executive? He is bound by solemn oath, before God and the
country, ‘to take care that the laws be faithfully executed,’ and from
this obligation he cannot be absolved by any human power. But what
if the performance of this duty, in whole or in part, has been
rendered impracticable by events over which he could have exercised
no control? Such, at the present moment, is the case throughout the
State of South Carolina, so far as the laws of the United States to
secure the administration of justice by means of the Federal judiciary
are concerned. All the Federal officers within its limits, through
whose agency alone these laws can be carried into execution, have
already resigned. We no longer have a district judge, a district
attorney, or a marshal in South Carolina. In fact, the whole
machinery of the Federal government necessary for the distribution
of remedial justice among the people has been demolished, and it
would be difficult, if not impossible, to replace it.
“The only acts of Congress on the statute book bearing upon this
subject are those of the 28th February, 1795, and 3rd March, 1807.
These authorize the President, after he shall have ascertained that
the marshal, with his posse comitatus, is unable to execute civil or
criminal process in any particular case, to call forth the militia and
employ the army and navy to aid him in performing this service,
having first by proclamation commanded the insurgents ‘to disperse
and retire peaceably to their respective abodes within a limited time.’
This duty cannot by possibility be performed in a State where no
judicial authority exists to issue process, and where there is no
marshal to execute it, and where, even if there were such an officer,
the entire population would constitute one solid combination to
resist him.
“The bare enumeration of these provisions proves how inadequate
they are without further legislation to overcome a united opposition
in a single State, not to speak of other States who may place
themselves in a similar attitude. Congress alone has power to decide
whether the present laws can or cannot be amended so as to carry
out more effectually the objects of the Constitution.
“The same insuperable obstacles do not lie in the way of executing
the laws for the collection of customs. The revenue still continues to
be collected, as heretofore, at the custom-house in Charleston, and
should the collector unfortunately resign, a successor may be
appointed to perform this duty.
“Then, in regard to the property of the United States in South
Carolina. This has been purchased for a fair equivalent, ‘by the
consent of the Legislature of the State,’ ‘for the erection of forts,
magazines, arsenals,’ &c., and over these the authority ‘to exercise
exclusive legislation’ has been expressly granted by the Constitution
to Congress. It is not believed that any attempt will be made to expel
the United States from this property by force; but if in this I should
prove to be mistaken, the officer in command of the forts has
received orders to act strictly on the defensive. In such a contingency
the responsibility for consequences would rightfully rest upon the
heads of the assailants.
 “Apart from the execution of the laws, so far as this may be
practicable, the Executive has no authority to decide what shall be
the relations between the Federal Government and South Carolina.
He has been invested with no such discretion. He possesses no power
to change the relations heretofore existing between them, much less
to acknowledge the independence of that State. This would be to
invest a mere executive officer with the power of recognizing the
dissolution of the Confederacy among our thirty-three sovereign
States. It bears no relation to the recognition of a foreign de facto
Government, involving no such responsibility. Any attempt to do this
would, on his part, be a naked act of usurpation. It is, therefore, my
duty to submit to Congress the whole question in all its bearings.”
Then follows the opinion expressed in the message, that the
Constitution has conferred no power on the Federal Government to
coerce a State to remain in the Union. The following is the language:
“The question fairly stated is, ‘Has the Constitution delegated to
Congress the power to coerce a State into submission which is
attempting to withdraw, or has actually withdrawn from the
Confederacy?’ If answered in the affirmative, it must be on the
principle that the power has been conferred upon Congress to make
war against a State.
“After much serious reflection, I have arrived at the conclusion
that no such power has been delegated to Congress or to any other
department of the Federal Government. It is manifest, upon an
inspection of the Constitution, that this is not among the specific and
enumerated powers granted to Congress; and it is equally apparent
that its exercise is not ‘necessary and proper for carrying into
execution’ any one of these powers. So far from this power having
been delegated to Congress, it was expressly refused by the
Convention which framed the Constitution.
“It appears from the proceedings of that body that on the 31st May,
1787, the clause ‘authorizing an exertion of the force of the whole
against a delinquent State’ came up for consideration. Mr. Madison
opposed it in a brief but powerful speech, from which I shall extract
but a single sentence. He observed: ‘The use of force against a State
would look more like a declaration of war than an infliction of
punishment, and would probably be considered by the party attacked
as a dissolution of all previous compacts by which it might be bound.’
Upon his motion the clause was unanimously postponed, and was
never, I believe, again presented. Soon afterwards, on the 8th June,
1787, when incidentally adverting to the subject, he said: ‘Any
government for the United States, formed on the supposed
practicability of using force against the unconstitutional proceedings
of the States, would prove as visionary and fallacious as the
government of Congress,’ evidently meaning the then existing
Congress of the old confederation.”
At the time of the delivery of this message the excitement was very
high. The extreme Southerners differed from it, in so far as it
disputed both the right of revolution and secession under the
circumstances, but quickly made a party battle cry of the denial of
the right of the National Government to coerce a State—a view which
for a time won the President additional friends, but which in the end
solidified all friends of the Union against his administration. To show
the doubt which this ingenious theory caused, we quote from the
speech of Senator Andrew Johnson, of Tennessee (subsequently
Vice-President and acting President), delivered Dec. 18th, 1860,
(Congressional Globe, page 119):—
“I do not believe the Federal Government has the power to coerce
a State, for by the eleventh amendment of the Constitution of the
United States it is expressly provided that you cannot even put one of
the States of this confederacy before one of the courts of the country
as a party. As a State, the Federal Government has no power to
coerce it; but it is a member of the compact to which it agreed in
common with the other States, and this Government has the right to
pass laws, and to enforce those laws upon individuals within the
limits of each State. While the one proposition is clear, the other is
equally so. This Government can, by the Constitution of the country,
and by the laws enacted in conformity with the Constitution, operate
upon individuals, and has the right and power, not to coerce a State,
but to enforce and execute the law upon individuals within the limits
of a State.”
Senator Jefferson Davis of Mississippi, publicly objected to the
message because of its earnest argument against secession, and the
determination expressed to collect the revenue in the ports of South
Carolina, by means of a naval force, and to defend the public
property. From this moment they alienated themselves from the
President. Soon thereafter, when he refused to withdraw Major
Anderson from Fort Sumter, on the demand of the self-styled South
Carolina Commissioners, the separation became complete. For more
than two months before the close of the session all friendly
intercourse between them and the President, whether of a political or
social character, had ceased.
 The Crittenden Compromise.

Congress referred the request in the message, to adopt

amendments to the constitution recognizing the rights of the Slave
States to take slavery into the territories to a committee of thirteen,
consisting of five Republicans: Messrs. Seward, Collamer, Wade,
Doolittle, and Grimes; five from slaveholding States: Messrs. Powell,
Hunter, Crittenden, Toombs, and Davis; and three Northern
Democrats; Messrs. Douglas, Bigler, and Bright. The latter three
were intended to act as mediators between the extreme parties on
the committee.
The committee first met on the 21st December, 1860, and
preliminary to any other proceeding, they “resolved that no
proposition shall be reported as adopted, unless sustained by a
majority of each of the classes of the committee; Senators of the
Republican party to constitute one class, and Senators of the other
parties to constitute the other class.” This resolution was passed,
because any report they might make to the Senate would be in vain
unless sanctioned by at least a majority of the five Republican
Senators. On the next day (the 22d), Mr. Crittenden submitted to the
committee “A Joint Resolution” (the same which he had two days
before presented to the Senate), “proposing certain amendments to
the Constitution of the United States,” now known as the Crittenden
Compromise. This was truly a compromise of conflicting claims,
because it proposed that the South should surrender their adjudged
right to take slaves into all our Territories, provided the North would
recognize this right in the Territories south of the old Missouri
Compromise line. The committee rejected this compromise, every
one of its five Republican members, together with Messrs. Davis and
Toombs, from the cotton States, having voted against it. Indeed, not
one of all the Republicans in the Senate, at any period or in any form,
voted in its favor.
 The committee, having failed to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion,
reported their disagreement to the Senate on the 31st December,
1860, in a resolution declaring that they had “not been able to agree
upon any general plan of adjustment.”
Mr. Crittenden did not despair of ultimate success,
notwithstanding his defeat before the Committee of Thirteen. After
this, indeed, he could no longer expect to carry his compromise as an
amendment to the Constitution by the necessary two-thirds vote of
Congress. It was, therefore, postponed by the Senate on his own
motion. As a substitute for it he submitted to the Senate, on the 3d
January, 1861, a joint resolution, which might be passed by a
majority of both Houses. This was to refer his rejected amendment,
by an ordinary act of Congress, to a direct vote of the people of the
several States.
He offered his resolution in the following language: “Whereas the
Union is in danger, and, owing to the unhappy division existing in
Congress, it would be difficult, if not impossible, for that body to
concur in both its branches by the requisite majority, so as to enable
it either to adopt such measures of legislation, or to recommend to
the States such amendments to the Constitution, as are deemed
necessary and proper to avert that danger; and whereas in so great
an emergency the opinion and judgment of the people ought to be
heard, and would be the best and surest guide to their
Representatives; Therefore, Resolved, That provision ought to be
made by law without delay for taking the sense of the people and
submitting to their vote the following resolution [the same as in his
former amendment], as the basis for the final and permanent
settlement of those disputes that now disturb the peace of the
country and threaten the existence of the Union.”
Memorials in its favor poured into Congress from portions of the
North, even from New England. One of these presented to the Senate
was from “the Mayor and members of the Board of Aldermen and the
Common Council of the city of Boston, and over 22,000 citizens of
the State of Massachusetts, praying the adoption of the compromise
measures proposed by Mr. Crittenden.” It may be proper here to
observe that the resolution of Mr. Crittenden did not provide in
detail for holding elections by which “the sense of the people” could
be ascertained. To supply this omission, Senator Bigler, of
Pennsylvania, on the 14th January, 1861, brought in “A bill to
provide for taking the sense of the people of the United States on
certain proposed amendments to the Constitution of the United
States;” but never was he able to induce the Senate even to consider
this bill.
President Buchanan exerted all his influence in favor of these
measures. In his special message to Congress of the 8th of January,
1861, after depicting the consequences which had already resulted to
the country from the bare apprehension of civil war and the
dissolution of the Union, he says:
“Let the question be transferred from political assemblies to the
ballot-box, and the people themselves would speedily redress the
serious grievances which the South have suffered. But, in Heaven’s
name, let the trial be made before we plunge into armed conflict
upon the mere assumption that there is no other alternative. Time is
a great conservative power. Let us pause at this momentous point,
and afford the people, both North and South, an opportunity for
reflection. Would that South Carolina had been convinced of this
truth before her precipitate action! I, therefore, appeal through you
to the people of the country, to declare in their might that the Union
must and shall be preserved by all constitutional means. I most
earnestly recommend that you devote yourselves exclusively to the
question how this can be accomplished in peace. All other questions,
when compared with this, sink into insignificance. The present is no
time for palliatives; action, prompt action is required. A delay in
Congress to prescribe or to recommend a distinct and practical
proposition for conciliation, may drive us to a point from which it
will be almost impossible to recede.
“A common ground on which conciliation and harmony can be
produced is surely not unattainable. The proposition to compromise
by letting the North have exclusive control of the territory above a
certain line, and to give Southern institutions protection below that
line, ought to receive universal approbation. In itself, indeed, it may
not be entirely satisfactory, but when the alternative is between a
reasonable concession on both sides and a dissolution of the Union,
it is an imputation on the patriotism of Congress to assert that its
members will hesitate for a moment.”
 This recommendation was totally disregarded. On the 14th
January, 1861, Mr. Crittenden made an unsuccessful attempt to have
it considered, but it was postponed until the day following. On this
day it was again postponed by the vote of every Republican Senator
present, in order to make way for the Pacific Railroad bill. On the
third attempt (January 16,) he succeeded, but by a majority of a
single vote, in bringing his resolution before the body. Every
Republican Senator present voted against its consideration. Mr.
Clark, a Republican Senator from New Hampshire, moved to strike
out the entire preamble and resolution of Mr. Crittenden, and in lieu
thereof insert as a substitute a preamble and resolution in
accordance with the Chicago platform. This motion prevailed by a
vote of 25 to 23, every Republican Senator present having voted in its
favor. Thus Mr. Crittenden’s proposition to refer the question to the
people was buried under the Clark amendment. This continued to be
its position for more than six weeks, until the day before the final
adjournment of Congress, 2d March, when the proposition itself was
defeated by a vote of 19 in the affirmative against 20 in the negative.
The Clark Amendment prevailed only in consequence of the
refusal of six Secession Senators to vote against it. These were
Messrs. Benjamin and Slidell, of Louisiana; Mr. Iverson, of Georgia;
Messrs. Hemphill and Wigfall, of Texas; and Mr. Johnson, of
Arkansas. Had these gentleman voted with the border slaveholding
States and the other Democratic Senators, the Clark Amendment
would have been defeated, and the Senate would then have been
brought to a direct vote on the Crittenden resolution.
It is proper for reference that the names of those Senators who
constituted the majority on this question, should be placed upon
record. Every vote given from the six New England States was in
opposition to Mr. Crittenden’s resolution. These consisted of Mr.
Clark, of New Hampshire; Messrs. Sumner and Wilson, of
Massachusetts; Mr. Anthony, of Rhode Island; Messrs. Dixon and
Foster, of Connecticut; Mr. Foot, of Vermont; and Mr. Fessenden, of
Maine. The remaining twelve votes, in order to make up the 20, were
given by Messrs. Bingham and Wade, of Ohio; Mr. Trumbull, of
Illinois; Messrs. Bingham and Chandler, of Michigan; Messrs.
Grimes and Harlan, of Iowa; Messrs. Doolittle and Durkee, of
Wisconsin; Mr. Wilkinson, of Minnesota; Mr. King, of New York; and
Mr. Ten Eyck, of New Jersey. The Republicans not voting were Hale
of New Hampshire; Simmons of Rhode Island; Collamer of Vermont;
Seward of New York, and Cameron of Pennsylvania. They refrained
from various motives, but in the majority of instances because they
disbelieved in any effort to compromise, for nearly all were
recognized leaders of the more radical sentiment, and in favor of
coercion of the South by energetic use of the war powers of the
government. This was specially true of Hale, Seward, and General
Cameron, shortly after Secretary of War, and the first Cabinet officer
who favored the raising of an immense army and the early liberation
and arming of the slaves.
On December 4th, 1860, on motion of Mr. Boteler of Virginia, so
much of President Buchanan’s message as related to the perilous
condition of the country, was referred to a special committee of one
from each State, as follows:
Corwin of Ohio; Millson of Virginia; Adams of Massachusetts;
Winslow of North Carolina; Humphrey of New York; Boyce of South
Carolina; Campbell of Pennsylvania; Love of Georgia; Ferry of
Connecticut; Davis of Maryland; Robinson of Rhode Island; Whiteley
of Delaware; Tappan of New Hampshire; Stratton of New Jersey;
Bristow of Kentucky; Morrill of Vermont; Nelson of Tennessee;
Dunn of Indiana; Taylor of Louisiana; Davis of Mississippi; Kellogg
of Illinois; Houston of Alabama; Morse of Maine; Phelps of Missouri;
Rust of Arkansas; Howard of Michigan; Hawkins of Florida;
Hamilton of Texas; Washburn of Wisconsin; Curtis of Iowa; Burch of
California; Windom of Minnesota; Stout of Oregon.
Messrs. Hawkins and Boyce asked to be excused from service on
the Committee, but the House refused.
From this Committee Mr. Corwin reported, January 14th, 1861, a
series of propositions with a written statement in advocacy thereof.
Several minority reports were presented, but the following Joint
Resolution is the only one which secured the assent of both Houses.

CONSTITUTIONAL AMENDMENT.

Be it resolved by the Senate and House of Representatives of the

United States of America in Congress assembled, two-thirds of both
Houses concurring, That the following article be proposed to the
Legislatures of the several States as an amendment to the
Constitution of the United States, which, when ratified by three-
fourths of said Legislatures, shall be valid, to all intents and
purposes, as a part of the said Constitution, namely:
Art. XII. No amendment shall be made to the Constitution which
will authorize or give to Congress the power to abolish or interfere
within any State, with the domestic institutions thereof, including
that of persons held to labor or service by the laws of said State.
The Legislatures of Ohio and Maryland agreed to the amendment
promptly, but events followed so rapidly, that the attention of other
States was drawn from it, and nothing came of this, the only
Congressional movement endorsed which looked to reconciliation.
Other propositions came from the Border and individual states, but
all alike failed.
 The Peace Convention.

The General Assembly of Virginia, on the 19th of January, adopted

resolutions inviting Representatives of the several States to assemble
in a Peace Convention at Washington, which met on the 4th of
February. It was composed of 133 Commissioners, many from the
border States, and the object of these was to prevail upon their
associates from the North to unite with them in such
recommendations to Congress as would prevent their own States
from seceding and enable them to bring back six of the cotton States
which had already seceded.
One month only of the session of Congress remained. Within this
brief period it was necessary that the Convention should recommend
amendments to the Constitution in sufficient time to enable both
Houses to act upon them before their final adjournment. It was also
essential to success that these amendments should be sustained by a
decided majority of the commissioners both from the Northern and
the border States.
On Wednesday, the 6th February, a resolution was adopted,[10] on
motion of Mr. Guthrie, of Kentucky, to refer the resolutions of the
General Assembly of Virginia, and all other kindred subjects, to a
committee to consist of one commissioner from each State, to be
selected by the respective State delegations; and to prevent delay
they were instructed to report on or before the Friday following (the
8th), “what they may deem right, necessary, and proper to restore
harmony and preserve the Union.”
This committee, instead of reporting on the day appointed, did not
report until Friday, the 15th February.
The amendments reported by a majority of the committee,
through Mr. Guthrie, their chairman, were substantially the same
with the Crittenden Compromise; but on motion of Mr. Johnson, of
Maryland, the general terms of the first and by far the most
important section were restricted to the present Territories of the
United States. On motion of Mr. Franklin, of Pennsylvania, this
section was further amended, but not materially changed, by the
adoption of the substitute offered by him. Nearly in this form it was
afterwards adopted by the Convention. The following is a copy: “In
all the present territory of the United States north of the parallel of
thirty-six degrees and thirty minutes of north latitude, involuntary
servitude, except in punishment of crime, is prohibited. In all the
present territory south of that line, the status of persons held to
involuntary service or labor, as it now exists, shall not be changed;
nor shall any law be passed by Congress or the Territorial Legislature
to hinder or prevent the taking of such persons from any of the States
of this Union to said territory, nor to impair the rights arising from
said relation; but the same shall be subject to judicial cognizance in
the Federal courts, according to the course of the common law. When
any Territory north or south of said line, within such boundary as
Congress may prescribe, shall contain a population equal to that
required for a member of Congress, it shall, if its form of government
be republican, be admitted into the Union on an equal footing with
the original States, with or without involuntary servitude, as the
Constitution of such State may provide.”
Mr. Baldwin, of Connecticut, and Mr. Seddon, of Virginia, made
minority reports, which they proposed to substitute for that of the
majority. Mr. Baldwin’s report was a recommendation “to the several
States to unite with Kentucky in her application to Congress to call a
Convention for proposing amendments to the Constitution of the
United States, to be submitted to the Legislatures of the several
States, or to Conventions therein, for ratification, as the one or the
other mode of ratification may be proposed by Congress, in
accordance with the provisions in the fifth article of the
Constitution.”
The proposition of Mr. Baldwin, received the votes of eight of the
twenty-one States. These consisted of the whole of the New England
States, except Rhode Island, and of Illinois, Iowa, and New York, all
being free States.
The first amendment reported by Mr. Seddon differed from that of
the majority inasmuch as it embraced not only the present but all
future Territories. This was rejected. His second amendment, which,
however, was never voted upon by the Convention, went so far as
distinctly to recognize the right of secession.
More than ten days were consumed in discussion and in voting
upon various propositions offered by individual commissioners. The
final vote was not reached until Tuesday, the 26th February, when it
was taken on the first vitally important section, as amended.
This section, on which all the rest depended, was negatived by a
vote of eight States to eleven. Those which voted in its favor were
Delaware, Kentucky, Maryland, New Jersey, Ohio, Pennsylvania,
Rhode Island, and Tennessee. And those in the negative were
Connecticut, Illinois, Iowa, Maine, Massachusetts, Missouri, New
York, North Carolina, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Virginia. It is
but justice to say that Messrs. Ruffin and Morehead, of North
Carolina, and Messrs. Rives and Summers, of Virginia, two of the five
commissioners from each of these States, declared their dissent from
the vote of their respective States. So, also, did Messrs. Bronson,
Corning, Dodge, Wool, and Granger, five of the eleven New York
commissioners, dissent from the vote of their State. On the other
hand, Messrs. Meredith and Wilmot, two of the seven commissioners
from Pennsylvania, dissented from the majority in voting in favor of
the section. Thus would the Convention have terminated but for the
interposition of Illinois. Immediately after the section had been
negatived, the commissioners from that State made a motion to
reconsider the vote, and this prevailed. The Convention afterwards
adjourned until the next morning. When they reassembled (February
27,) the first section was adopted, but only by a majority of nine to
eight States, nine being less than a majority of the States
represented. This change was effected by a change of the vote of
Illinois from the negative to the affirmative, by Missouri withholding
her vote, and by a tie in the New York commissioners, on account of
the absence of one of their number, rendering it impossible for the
State to vote. Still Virginia and North Carolina, and Connecticut,
Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Vermont, persisted in
voting in the negative. From the nature of this vote, it was manifestly
impossible that two-thirds of both Houses of Congress should act
favorably on the amendment, even if the delay had not already
rendered such action impracticable before the close of the session.
 The remaining sections of the amendment were carried by small
majorities. The Convention, on the same day, through Mr. Tyler,
their President, communicated to the Senate and House of
Representatives the amendment they had adopted, embracing all the
sections, with a request that it might be submitted by Congress,
under the Constitution, to the several State Legislatures. In the
Senate this was immediately referred to a select committee, on
motion of Mr. Crittenden. The committee, on the next day (28th
Feb.), reported a joint resolution proposing it as an amendment to
the Constitution, but he was never able to bring the Senate to a direct
vote upon it. Failing in this, he made a motion to substitute the
amendment of the Peace Convention for his own.
Mr. Crittenden’s reasons failed to convince the Senate, and his
motion was rejected by a large majority (28 to 7). Then next in
succession came the memorable vote on Mr. Crittenden’s own
resolution, and it was in its turn defeated, as we have already stated,
by a majority of 20 against 19.
In the House of Representatives, the amendment proposed by the
Convention was treated with still less consideration than it had been
by the Senate. The Speaker was refused leave even to present it.
Every effort made for this purpose was successfully resisted by
leading Republican members. The consequence is that a copy of it
does not even appear in the Journal.
The refusal to pass the Crittenden or any other Compromise
heightened the excitement in the South, where many showed great
reluctance to dividing the Union. Georgia, though one of the cotton
States, under the influence of conservative men like Alex. H.
Stephens, showed greater concern for the Union than any other, and
it took all the influence of spirits like that of Robert Toombs to bring
her to favor secession. She was the most powerful of the cotton States
and the richest, as she is to-day. On the 22d of December, 1860,
Robert Toombs sent the following exciting telegraphic manifesto
from Washington:
Fellow-Citizens of Georgia: I came here to secure your
constitutional rights, or to demonstrate to you that you can get no
guarantees for these rights from your Northern Confederates.
The whole subject was referred to a committee of thirteen in the
Senate yesterday. I was appointed on the committee and accepted
the trust. I submitted propositions, which, so far from receiving
decided support from a single member of the Republican party on
the committee, were all treated with either derision or contempt. The
vote was then taken in committee on the amendments to the
Constitution, proposed by Hon. J. J. Crittenden of Kentucky, and
each and all of them were voted against, unanimously, by the Black
Republican members of the committee.
In addition to these facts, a majority of the Black Republican
members of the committee declared distinctly that they had no
guarantees to offer, which was silently acquiesced in by the other
members.
The Black Republican members of this Committee of Thirteen are
representative men of their party and section, and to the extent of my
information, truly represent the Committee of Thirty-three in the
House, which on Tuesday adjourned for a week without coming to
any vote, after solemnly pledging themselves to vote on all
propositions then before them on that date.
That committee is controlled by Black Republicans, your enemies,
who only seek to amuse you with delusive hope until your election, in
order that you may defeat the friends of secession. If you are
deceived by them, it shall not be my fault. I have put the test fairly
and frankly. It is decisive against you; and now I tell you upon the
faith of a true man that all further looking to the North for security
for your constitutional rights in the Union ought to be instantly
abandoned. It is fraught with nothing but ruin to yourselves and your
posterity.
Secession by the fourth of March next should be thundered from
the ballot-box by the unanimous voice of Georgia on the second day
of January next. Such a voice will be your best guarantee for LIBERTY,
SECURITY, TRANQUILLITY and GLORY.

Robert Toombs.

IMPORTANT TELEGRAPHIC CORRESPONDENCE.

Atlanta, Georgia, December 26th, 1860. Hon. S. A. Douglas or

Hon. J. J. Crittenden:
 Mr. Toombs’s despatch of the 22d inst. unsettled conservatives
here. Is there any hope for Southern rights in the Union? We are for
the Union of our fathers, if Southern rights can be preserved in it. If
not, we are for secession. Can we yet hope the Union will be
preserved on this principle? You are looked to in this emergency.
Give us your views by despatch and oblige

William Ezzard.
Robert W. Sims.
James P. Hambleton.
Thomas S. Powell.
S. G. Howell.
J. A. Hayden.
G. W. Adair.
R. C. Honlester.

Washington, December 29th, 1860.

In reply to your inquiry, we have hopes that the rights of the

South, and of every State and section, may be protected within the
Union. Don’t give up the ship. Don’t despair of the Republic.

J. J. CRITTENDEN.
S. A. DOUGLAS.

Congress, amid excitement which the above dispatches indicate,

and which was general, remained for several weeks comparatively
inactive. Buchanan sent messages, but his suggestions were
distrusted by the Republicans, who stood firm in the conviction that
when Lincoln took his seat, and the new Congress came in, they
could pass measures calculated to restore the property of and protect
the integrity of the Union. None of them believed in the right of
secession; all had lost faith in compromises, and all of this party
repudiated the theory that Congress had no right to coerce a State.
The revival of these questions, revived also the logical thoughts of
Webster in his great reply to Hayne, and the way in which he then
expanded the constitution was now accepted as the proper doctrine
of Republicanism on that question. No partisan sophistry could
shake the convictions made by Webster, and so apt were his