Savage Hearts: Chapter 3

When the cabin door opens, I blink against the bright light.

We’re at another airport, this one teeny-tiny compared to the one in San Francisco. There are a few outbuildings and a smattering of other private jets, but there’s only one main runway, and no commercial planes.

Wherever we are, it’s small and exclusive.

It’s also humid as hell. My hair’s up in a ponytail, but I can already feel it curling.

A sleek black Range Rover with tinted windows and shiny rims awaits on the runway. The driver steps out when he sees me at the top of the airstairs.

He’s wearing a black suit so tight around the crotch area, it’s almost pornographic.

Though, I suppose, if I were packing that much heat between my legs, I’d get my suits tailored to show it off, too. Wowzers, this guy is hung.

Smiling, trying to maintain eye contact and not ogle his goodies, I approach this well-endowed specimen of manhood and stick out my hand.

“Hi. I’m Riley.”

The stud shakes my hand with such serious intent, it’s as if we’re two world leaders on a critical UN diplomatic meeting to save humanity.

He’s got dark blond hair, gorgeous hazel eyes, a spiderweb tattoo on the side of his neck, and a jawline so glorious it could make angels weep.

He bears a striking resemblance to the Marvel comic book character, Thor, Norse god of thunder.

“Hullo, Riley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Okay, the world is totally an unfair place, because not only is Thor an ovulation-inducing stud, he’s got a hot-as-fuck Irish accent to boot.

I bet Sloane’s marrying the O’Donnell guy for the money, but banging this Thor dude on the side.

I hate to admit it, but it’s a good plan.

“Nice to meet you, too. What’s your name?”

“Spider.”

I make a face. “Spider? No. Your mother didn’t name you that. What’s your real name?”

There’s a beat of silence where it looks like he’s trying not to smile. “Homer.”

“Really? That’s cool! I’ve never met anyone named after an ancient Greek poet.”

He lowers his head and examines my expression with such intensity, I’m taken aback.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Your sister said exactly the same thing to me about my name when we met. Verbatim.”

“Oh. Huh. Weird.”

“Aye.”

Oh my god, people from Ireland actually say “aye.” That’s so hot. Stop looking at his crotch.

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer if you called me Spider, though. Most of the lads don’t know my real name.”

My ears prick at the mention of “lads.”

If there are more Spiders wherever we’re headed, I’m extending this vacation indefinitely.

“Sure. You can count on me not to spill the beans. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

I grin at him. He gives me an indecipherable look, then turns to take my bag from a worker carrying it over from the plane.

Spider throws the bag into the back of the SUV, opens the rear door for me, and waits for me to climb in. Then he slams the door shut behind me and slides behind the wheel.

We peel out with such force, I’m thrown back against the seat.

“Are we in a car chase I don’t know about?”

“No. Why?”

The SUV careens around a corner, tires squealing. Now I’m thrown sideways, nearly banging my head on the window.

“Oh, no reason. It’s just that a skull fracture isn’t on my itinerary.”

Glancing at me in the rearview mirror, he frowns. Then he takes another corner so fast, I have to cling to the door handle so I don’t smash through the rear window and rocket off into space.

“Dude, will you please cool it? I’m getting tossed around back here like a beach ball at the Electric Daisy Carnival!”

I can tell from the look on his face that he doesn’t get the reference. But he does slow down to under a thousand miles per hour, so I guess he understands the general idea that I’m not one for aggressive shows of speed.

“Thank you. Sheesh.”

We drive for a while without exchanging more conversation. I resist the urge to pester him with questions, mostly because I’m afraid his Irish accent will make my panties go up in smoke.

After Spider has glanced curiously at me in the rearview mirror about four hundred times, I sigh heavily and adjust my glasses. “I know. My sister and I don’t look alike.”

“Same cheek, though.”

“Cheek?”

“Sass. Confidence.”

“Ha! Nobody on earth has Sloane’s self-confidence.”

He chuckles. “Aye. Except maybe her man.”

I wasn’t going to ask questions but curiosity gets the better of me. “You mean her fiancé? The rich and elderly Mr. O’Donnell?”

He glowers. “Forty-two is hardly elderly, lass.”

Okay, two things. First: he’s right. Though it’s quite a bit older than Sloane, forty-two isn’t elderly.

More importantly, being called “lass” is my new favorite kink.

I drape myself over the back of the passenger seat and stare at Spider’s beautiful profile.

After a moment, he flashes me a quizzical look.

“Sorry, I’m just trying to imagine what it must be like to walk around looking like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know.” I wave a hand to indicate his general luminosity. “That.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Bizarrely, he seems sincere. His expression is one of genuine confusion. But how is that possible? If I were gorgeous, I’m sure I’d know it.

Like Sloane does.

It occurs to me that maybe Spider’s elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor. I might need to clarify things for him.

“What I’m saying is that you’re very good-looking.”

I’m astonished when his cheeks turn bright red.

He sputters some kind of nonsensical denial, adjusts his tie, and stares straight ahead out the windshield, blinking comically.

Aw. He’s bashful! Gorgeous, well-endowed, and bashful!

I want to crawl into his lap but smile at him instead. “You must be very popular with the ladies, Spider.”

More sputtering. He finally composes himself enough to say stiffly, “I don’t have time for a relationship.”

I laugh at that. “Gotcha. If I were you, I’d be a player, too. Why keep all those cookies in one jar when you can hand ’em out all over town and make everyone happy?”

He says gruffly, “You’re off your rocker.”

“Oh, don’t be mad. I’m paying you a compliment.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Would you prefer if I said you were homely and repulsive? Because I’m happy to indulge your charming delusion that you’re not extraordinarily attractive. It’s cute.”

His entire face is now red. Bright red, from the top of his starched white collar to the tips of his ears.

This guy is ridiculously appealing.

I flop against the back passenger seat and heave a sigh. “Okay, we’ll move on. How about if you tell me where we are?”

“Bermuda.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Bermuda? No wonder the air is so humid.

Noticing my expression, Spider says, “It’s temporary. We were in Martha’s Vineyard last, but there were some, ah…” He makes a strange face. “I’ll let your sister explain.”

Hmm. The plot thickens.

I say drily, “Were you run out of Martha’s Vineyard by the daily stampede of Sloane’s admirers beating down the door? I bet it must be hard for her fiancé to deal with the way every guy drops to his knees at her feet.”

He pauses for a beat before saying quietly, “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

It takes my breath away. I look out the window at the passing scenery, my cheeks burning with shame.

We drive for a while in silence until I admit grudgingly, “Whenever she’s around, people look right through me like I’m invisible.”

“That’s because people are bloody morons.”

He’s being nice to me because I gave him such effusive compliments.

Whatever. I’ll take it.

I smile at him. “Thank you, Spider. In addition to being very hot, you’re very sweet.”

His ears turn a darker shade of crimson.

Then we’re turning onto a long private drive, and I’m distracted by the size of the iron gate we’re going through. It’s enormous, creaking open slowly to let us pass. The gate is flanked on either side by high stone walls and a grove of trees that obscure the view beyond.

When I spot the security cameras mounted on top of the walls and all the armed guards lurking under the trees, I frown.

“Spider?”

“Aye, lass?”

“Is my sister’s fiancé famous?”

He quirks his lips. “Something like that.”

“Don’t be cryptic. I get nervous when people are cryptic.”

“Mr. O’Donnell is…a powerful man.”

The hesitation makes me even more nervous. “Like how powerful? Is he a politician or something?”

He scoffs. “Politicians wish they had his kind of power.”

“Oh, god. That sounds scary. Is he a supervillain?”

His smile is small and mysterious. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“So he’s a good guy?”

He shrugs. “Depends on who you ask.”

“Seriously? You’re killing me!”

He finds my blossoming panic amusing, because he starts to chuckle. “It’s not my place to tell you, lass. But don’t worry. You’ll be safe here.”

We drive by a guy in a black suit holding a big black rifle. He’s crouched in the bushes, watching us with narrowed eyes as we pass. He lifts a hand to his mouth and speaks into what looks like his wristwatch, but is obviously some kind of communication device.

Like a spy would have.

Or the henchman of a supervillain.

I say drily, “Oh, yeah, I feel totally safe already.” Then I gasp. “Whoa. Is that our hotel? It’s huge!”

When Spider only gives me another chuckle as an answer, I get it.

“Holy fuck nuggets. That’s his house?”

“Aye.”

I gape at the sprawling stone estate at the top of the hill. I’ve seen smaller castles. “That’s one house? For one person?”

“Two, if you count Sloane.”

I shoot him a sour look. “You’re laughing at me.”

“I would never.”

He tries to pretend innocence but totally fails. I smack him on the shoulder.

“Ow! There’s no need for violence, lass! What a rabid wee badger!”

Now he’s laughing even harder, the jerk. I mutter, “I’ll shove a rabid wee badger right up your butt, mister.”

His shoulders are shaking, his lips are pressed together, his eyes are bright, and I’m going to clobber him.

Except I’m not, because at that moment I spot Sloane emerging from the huge wooden front doors of the house. She’s followed by a man who makes my mouth drop open in shock.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with a Mick Jagger swagger, he’s got hair as black as midnight, eyes as blue as cobalt, and the sly, cocky grin of a pirate king.

The man is so beautiful, the devil himself would be jealous.

My voice comes out strangled. “That’s the fiancé?”

Spider sounds proud when he answers. “Aye. The one and only Declan O’Donnell.”

Declan O’Donnell.

Sweet Jesus, even his name is hot. He makes my last boyfriend look like Shrek.

As soon as this vacation is over, I’m getting on a plane headed straight for Ireland.

When the SUV pulls to a stop, Declan opens the back door for me before the engine is even off. I hop out and am immediately taken by his height. I have to crane my neck to look up at him. It makes his beauty even more impressive.

“Riley,” he says. “At last we meet. Your sister has told me so much about you.”

His voice is deep, his smile is brilliant, and my estrogen levels are surging.

Then, just to totally cross all the wires in my brain, he pulls me into a big bear hug, lifting me right off my feet in the process.

I wonder if my sister will mind when I start calling her fiancé Daddy?

When Declan sets me back onto my feet, I look at Sloane. She’s standing a few feet away, watching us with a hesitant smile.

She says softly, “Hey, Smalls.”

As always, she looks incredible. Perfect hair, perfect face, perfect body. My gorgeous older sister, fearless lion, effortless flirt, consumer of men’s souls.

Life has always been easy for her. Even in her “awkward” teenage emo phase, she was the sun everyone else revolved around. She’s never not been stunning.

Unlike me, who looks like one of the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. At least according to her.

I say, “Hey, Hollywood. Thanks for inviting me. Your man is a toad, and this place is a dump.”

“Wait until you see your bedroom.”

“Let me guess. You put me in the attic with the ghosts?”

“No, we put you in the basement so you wouldn’t scare the ghosts.”

“Appreciate it, hooker.”

“No problem, troll.”

We smile at each other. I can tell Declan is disturbed by this exchange, which makes me think he doesn’t have a sister.

Then I forget all about his siblings or lack thereof because he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder.

He throws me over his shoulder!

I scream in delight then start to cackle like a madwoman.

An upside down Sloane folds her arms over her chest and shakes her head in disapproval. “You’ll make her throw up, honey.”

“Are you kidding?” I shout, staring at Declan’s ass, which is eye level and magnificent. “This is awesome! Declan, you have my permission to proceed!”

Declan chuckles, Sloane rolls her eyes, and I kick my feet in sheer happiness.

It’s a good thing I packed enough of my favorite candy for this trip, because I might never leave.