Dangerous:Made & Broken (A British Bad Boy Romance)(3)

Blaine laughed. "Haven't diagnosed me with a hero complex, then, little dove?"

"No-no, Mr. Steel, that I haven't. You are about as far from a hero as it gets."

"How rude," he hummed. "And after I swooped in and saved you from those  big, bad bullies. Aren't therapists supposed to build up their patients'  self-esteem?"

"Not when that patient's ego is already way overblown. But it's not like  you'll be my patient going forward, so we're good regardless." Savior  or not, being back in Blaine's presence and feeling my body  instinctively lean toward him reminded me of how much of a jerk he'd  been during our session. I scowled at his handsome profile for good  measure.

"Does that mean you've changed your mind about shagging me?" He didn't  even look at me, just grabbed my arm and stepped off the pavement so he  could lead me across the road.

I did my best to ignore the shiver of awareness his touch drove through  my skin, even through my wooly coat. Damn him and whatever all-male  pheromones he seemingly bathed in before going out! And damn my  traitorous ovaries.         

     



 

"No offense, but I would rather slit my wrists." I yanked my elbow out  of his grasp the moment we were on the pavement again. "Does this  usually work for you? Do women really drop their knickers when you make  your interest in their fun bits known?"

"Generally, they do, yes. In fact, your continued refusal might end up  doing permanent damage to my fragile self-image. Isn't it in your  ethical code that you must do what you can to help those who come to you  seeking help? You really want to risk your professional reputation over  the welfare of a patient?"

I really should have learned my lesson from our encounter in my office,  but every word out of his mouth grated against my nerves-partly because  of my frustration at my body's reactions, and partly because he served  them with the most obscene smirk I'd ever seen. So instead of biting my  tongue, I dug my heels in and rounded on him.

"I realize that your crippling self-hatred is so tied to your  masculinity that you constantly try to undermine strong women with crude  attempts at sexual dominance, but maybe you should try to see us as  more than something to bury your cock in, hmm? Whatever it is you're so  desperately trying to hide from yourself, it isn't going to go away by  sexually harassing anyone who thinks to challenge you."

Blaine's deviant lips twitched, most likely at making me lose my  temper-again. "Ah, but I have nothing against strong women, Miss Holler.  I'll even let you be on top."

I took a deep-deep-breath and counted to ten. "Sometimes, Blaine, we  don't get what we want. It's part of our emotional development. Clearly,  you've missed out, so see this as an opportunity to better yourself. If  I had gotten the pony I desperately wanted for my sixth birthday, I  would probably have ended up a horrible human being who thought she  could get anything and anyone she pointed at, as well." Yeah, I was  subtle. "But I didn't, and look at me now, all capable of acting like a  normal person."

My righteous fury had done nothing to dim the devilish gleam in Blaine's  eyes. "You say I'm the one who's scared, but you should see  yourself-you look positively terrified that a night in the sack with me  will make that prim and proper façade of yours come tumbling down."

Well, ouch. That hit a tad too close to home. I took a step back and  shook my head, disengaging as I should have done from the start. "I  truly hope you learn to drop the bad boy act one day so you can get rid  of your demons. Goodbye, Blaine."







I spent the train ride home doing my best to forget I'd ever met Blaine  Steel, but it was hard to ignore how completely he'd gotten under my  skin.

I knew it wasn't just because he'd made my panties damp. No, it was also  because he reminded me so strongly of all the things I'd run away from,  and all the things I still woke up from nightmares of. He was  dangerous; there was no doubt in my mind about that after having looked  into his eyes. He was the type of man who could and would crush a person  if it suited him, and yet …  I hadn't done everything I could to fly  under the radar. I'd argued with him and shoved his flaws in his face,  like some moron with a death wish.

Perhaps it meant that I was finally starting to heal? Maybe, if I could  face a man like Blaine and not immediately turn around and run in the  other direction, then my childhood had finally lost its petrifying grip  on me.

I felt marginally better when I got off the train, but I was still too emotionally squashed to consider cooking.

I stopped by my local chippy on my way home, giving my current diet a  remorseful thought as the bell jingled merrily upon my entry.

"Chicken Kung Pao, Mira?" Mr. Chang sent me a friendly smile when the smell of fried food and soy sauce enveloped me.

Okay, so maybe there was a reason I never really completed a diet,  leaving me in an eternal cycle of restrictive eating, binging, and then  guilt. When your local chippy knew both your name and your regular  order, there weren't all that many excuses left.

"Yeah, thanks, Chang," I said, sending him a pale smile. "With extra sauce, please."

Oh well, the guilt would have to wait until tomorrow. Right now, all I  wanted out of life was my Kung Pao, my sofa, and a date with Doctor Who.

I was already considering maybe slapping on an episode of Coronation  Street after the good doctor when I let myself into my apartment ten  minutes later, balancing my bag and the food while pulling the keys out  of the lock as the door slammed shut behind me. But my musings were cut  short when I reached for the light switch and nothing happened.         

     



 

Dammit. Was the fuse blown? I fumbled my way through the hallway in the  darkness toward my kitchen, praying it could be fixed by flipping random  switches in the fuse box. Getting an electrician out after hours in  London was about as likely as seeing a rainbow-colored unicorn strutting  down the street wearing a tutu.

It wasn't until I got to the kitchen that I realized I wasn't alone in the flat.

Something scraped against the floor in my living room, but even before  I'd managed to convince myself it must have been something outside  making a weird noise, I heard the unmistakable sound of boots against  the wooden floors, making their way toward the hallway. Cutting off my  only escape route.

My pulse surged as I spun around, mindlessly groping for a weapon from  my kitchen counter. I grabbed a wooden handle and ripped my weapon to  me, dropping the Kung Pao on the floor.

"I know you're there!" I hissed, my voice sounding somewhat more steady than I felt.

The steps stopped right in the doorway to the kitchen, and then a cone  of light momentarily blinded me as someone switched on a flashlight.

I squinted against it, not wanting to lose track of my would-be assailant-and realized my weapon of choice was a wooden spoon.

"Hello, Aignéis," a cold, dreadfully familiar voice said from beyond the glare. "Or Mira, I suppose you go by these days."

A small whimper made its way through my throat, but I don't know how,  because every single muscle in my body spasmed and then froze as the man  shone the flashlight onto his own face, casting it in an eerie glow.

They had found me.



 *





Chapter 3

Blaine



"You what?" I stared at my father, a bottle of beer frozen halfway on its way to my mouth.

He shot me a cold look-the one that I'd learned to take as a warning  early on in my life. "I've arranged a marriage for you. It's a business  deal with the Clery family from Belfast. They've been pushing for our  help up north, and we unfortunately owe them. This is the best way to  pay our debt without actually giving them anything of real value."

Apart from one of his sons, of course. Not that William Steel had ever seen any of us as much more than business assets.

I slammed the bottle of beer down on the kitchen counter, unable to keep  my infamous temper fully in check. "Why the fuck me? Do I really strike  you as the best husband material around?"

My father raised an eyebrow at me. "You're my oldest available son, so  the task falls to you. Besides, married life might do you some good.  There's no reason to kick up a fuss about this, Blaine. You're going to  go to the church, you're going to marry the girl and sit through the  reception so the Clerys can show off their new connection, and then you  can do whatever the hell you want, as long as you make sure your wife  doesn't get herself killed by any of our enemies along the way. Though  it would suit you to breed a couple of heirs while you're at it-it's way  past time one of you began expanding the bloodline."

I bit back a snide remark about me being the oldest available son. If he  hadn't sent Jeremy to the U.S. to strengthen his business ties across  the pond, and Isaac wasn't in jail, then I would have been third down on  the list of sons to get married off to improve the business. Not to  mention I had absolutely zero intention of "expanding the bloodline."  Ever. But I knew better than to challenge him. He would send every ounce  of his considerable power to back me against any of the other crime  families in town. Hell, he would even back me against the police if need  be, but cross him …  Cross him, and it no longer mattered that we were  blood.