The Gangster's Girlfriend Read online

  When he spoke, his voice was a deep, smoky vibration she felt to her backbone. There was only a trace of an Irish accent in his words. “Mrs. Beckett, I would like to thank you for coming to see me. Please, let us sit comfortably for our discussion.”

  He moved around the desk, and she backed away from him and moved to where he was indicating, a long, dark brown leather couch across from two matching club chairs. Picking a chair, she was anxious at the thought of him sitting beside her on the couch. She crossed her legs and prayed she didn’t look as stunned and out of control as she felt. There was a tug at the corner of his beautiful lips, and she stiffened at the sight. “I hardly had a choice. Your men made that clear.”

  She was able to tear her glance away to give the large man who had brought her here a hard glare. Declan turned to the man with a raised eyebrow.

  “I was polite, Declan, truly I was.”

  “I’m sure he believes he was, and maybe as far as he was concerned, he was. Me, I’m not used to dealing with gangsters, and I didn’t think he was very polite.”

  He laughed, it was a deep, throaty chuckle that softened the hard lines of his voice and stole her breath. “You have watched too much television to go around painting such a broad term to Paul and myself.”

  “So loaning money to people at an inflated rate that would make most bankers swoon is legal? Intimidating people with the threat of violence is legal? I know you’ve ordered people killed in the past and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Peter warned me about you.”

  His smile disappeared. He made a motion and the two men left. As she watched them go, she wanted to call them back. She didn’t want to be alone with Declan Kelly. “For you, sweetheart, I’ll tell you that I allow people access to their vices. I have two pubs that both operate gambling within them, but no one is ever allowed to spend more than they can afford to lose. I do operate an escort service, and the women who work do so because they want to, never because they have to. They are clean of drugs and disease or they don’t work. I do lend money at a higher rate than is legal, but it is the smallest component of my business. Money is lent mainly to those from Ireland, but there are other immigrants who need help that a regular bank won’t give them, and only those who have means and a solid foundation are lent money. Gamblers and others without a reputation need not apply.

  I do not deal in drugs of any kind, nor are the people in my employ allowed to partake in drugs. There is also a completely legal aspect in which I own and maintain rental properties. There have been a few times in the last thirteen years when a wrong has been perpetrated of such significance that it had to be answered with violence. I did not make the decision lightly nor with satisfaction. That is not who I am.”

  “I’m very impressed and relieved to know all of that.” Her tone implied she was anything but, and she shrugged as she studied her nails. “Why don’t you just get to the demand for Peter’s debt and I’ll tell you to go to hell, the same as I told Peter yesterday. I really need to be getting home.”

  “Mrs. Beckett, I was looking forward to meeting you, but I must say, I had no idea it would be this enjoyable.” He raised a hand as she opened her mouth to make a rude reply. “As I said previously, money is not lent to a person unless a very thorough review of their background provides a clear indication the money can be repaid. Your brother stated you would pay out if he couldn’t, and because of this, I looked into you. I must now make a confession that your brother was never lent money because I believed that he would be able to pay it back. He seems to have the worst luck. Had he been able to pay it back on his own, I would have still wanted to meet with you.

  Your profession as an accountant caught my eye immediately. I have a situation and I need your expertise. I am experiencing skimming from both of my two gambling concerns located within my pubs, The Garrick and The Black Swan. I can’t say for sure who or how much, but I know something is off in the books. The problem is, there’s several people who do the ledger for each pub and I cannot pinpoint it. I know that as an experienced accountant you could audit the ledgers and tell me who is stealing from me. If you do this, then ten thousand will be deducted from your brother’s debt.”

  Miranda clenched her hands as she forced herself to stay calm. The idea of Peter offering her up like some golden ticket made her stomach turn. “I told Peter three years ago I was done helping him. No more money, no more saving his ass. I can’t go back on that now.” She was annoyed that she could hear the pleading in her voice.

  “Your brother has brought much grief into your life, I know this. I can understand your reluctance to allow his problems back into your life. If you would prefer that I make a payment in the same amount to you, then I would be happy to do so. I will say it makes no matter why you agree to assist me, only that you do.”

  Her palms were slick with sweat. She wanted to get up and tell him to fuck off, and she wanted to make sure Peter knew what she had done. This wasn’t her life. She didn’t care how prettily Declan Kelly had described who and what he was. In basic terms, he was a criminal, and to work for him in any way would place her firmly in a world she wanted no part of.

  “Miranda.” His smoky voice was almost a whisper, and she looked up and into his eyes. Desire flared hot and heady through her. She imagined he would say her name like that as their bodies were tangled together in passion. It shocked her that she not only imagined them having sex, but that she craved it in a way she never had before. Her eyes roamed down his body, and she wondered if she would be able to take him inside her. Her mind flashed to the thought of her on her knees, taking him into her mouth, to find out how large he was and what he tasted like. The thought nearly blinded her with longing. The core of her flooded with hot, sticky need.

  Closing her eyes in shame, Miranda fought for control. This was so unlike her. Confusion was as strong as her desire. She was frigid. She didn’t enjoy sex at all. In the six years she was married, she had never once looked forward to sex. In the three years since her marriage ended, her few sexual urges were satisfied by masturbation that she only felt the need for perhaps once a every other month. Sometimes she went two or three months without the need. Even when she needed a release with masturbation, she needed a lubricant. Her body had never once created the moisture that flooded her now without first reaching a climax that often took so long her wrist was sore when she was done.

  “Tell me what you are thinking.” Husky and low, the words slid down her spine.

  Shaking her head, she sought out the memory of the last time she and her ex-husband had sex. The discomfort, the shame and counting the seconds until he was finished. She needed to remember that. It didn’t matter what she imagined with Declan Kelly, the reality would be different. That knowledge allowed her to get herself together and look him in the eye. “The entire interest, the vig, Peter called it. I do the audit and find the people or person stealing from you and Peter only pays back the principal.”

  He was surprised, and his amber eyes darkened. “A vig keeps running until the money is paid back. That’s a lot of money to kiss away.”

  “I have no doubt it’s nothing compared to the theft you’ve experienced or I wouldn’t be here now.”

  He was very still as his eyes roamed over her body. She fought her body’s reaction and maintained a level gaze.

  “You have a deal.” He nodded.

  She stood. She had to get away from him.

  “Sit back down.” An order, velvet gloved over an iron fist. “Please.” The word softer when she didn’t move.

  Legs that were weak sighed with relief as she sat back down but refused to look at him. “What? What more business is there to discuss?”

  A light smiled played over his beautiful lips. “Sweetheart, this isn’t about business. What I want to talk about now is pleasure, yours and mine. Stay with me. We can have dinner and then we can learn more about the desire that is between us.”

  Miranda gasped in outrage and shock at his words. How could he k
now? Was she so completely transparent? “How dare you?”

  Shaking his head, he sounded sad, “Darlin’, do not be denying your desire for me. There is no need, as I find myself suffering the same. True, a desire this strong is not a common thing, but to deny it does nobody any good.”

  No, she couldn’t do this. She stood up, and he did too. “Stop, no. No way. I will do the audit, but that’s it. I will not get involved with you at all on a personal level. Criminals are absolutely a no-go for me, ever.”

  Turning away, she made it to the doorway of the office before he reached her, his hand on her wrist. His touch was a brand on her skin. He pulled her around to face him, and he was so close to her that she had only to lean forward to touch her body to his. She froze, terrified of touching him.

  “Miranda, why does this attraction frighten you? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

  Stepping back, she attempted to yank free, but he tightened his grip. “I am not your sweetheart, so quit talking like that. I’m sure your wife or girlfriend or whatever wouldn’t appreciate it. I’m not a toy to be picked up and played with. Take your hand off me.”

  Sighing, he let her go. “I have no woman, Miranda, and I believed that being honest and forthright would be welcome. I mean no disrespect to you. I had no idea that deep down you are a child when it comes to sexual pleasure. I apologize.”

  Miranda opened her mouth to argue with him, but she couldn’t find the words. He stepped closer, and as he leaned into her she could feel the heat of his body. Her mind screamed to move, but she was frozen. His lips were soft as they teased the corner of her mouth with light, fluttering movements. Heat hit her hard and flooded over her, and still she couldn’t move. At her lack of reaction, his lips moved over hers, just grazing, without the slightest bit of pressure. Yet everywhere they touched, she felt it down to the core of her, and she opened for him without thought. With a sigh, he swept into her parted lips. His tongue was hot, and the taste of him was sin and sweet in a heady mix. Slowly, almost gently, he explored her mouth, and with long, sure strokes of his tongue, he tasted her. Shock held her in place. She wasn’t responding but she couldn’t pull away. It felt too good. Deeper he moved into her mouth, his tongue sliding over hers causing her to tremble with need. He was drawing her into his own mouth, the soft, hot cavern of him, and she moaned. The sound woke her from the dream he had woven around her, and she pulled away, swaying as she went.

  “No.” It killed her that her voice shook and her body trembled. There was so much she wanted to tell him. That he was wrong, she knew about sex and how painful and lonely it could feel. How she could never be what he wanted her to be because she wasn’t like other women. But she couldn’t. Closing her mouth she half ran down the hall and out the front door. He was right, and she had no defense against him.

  Chapter Three

  Miranda was awake before her alarm went off, already tense about seeing Declan again. Sleep had been torture, too light and then too deep, and with dreams filled with Declan that she wanted to wake from but couldn’t. She was still aroused from her dreams. Her nipples were hard, and she was shockingly wet again. Her fingers found the moisture between her legs, and she was fascinated by it. Her dreams flooded her: Declan hard inside her mouth, his soft and lovely lips on her body, his tongue hot and wet on her skin, him sliding into her. Her fingers moved over her clitoris, and she trembled as an orgasm overtook her.

  As her breathing evened out and she pulled her fingers from her body, shame hit her hard. She needed to get herself under control. The attraction she felt for Declan was a moment of craziness, because he was so gorgeous and she hadn’t had sex in years.

  Rolling out of bed, she took a very quick shower and was in front of her closet. At five seven, she was a size ten, and although she was larger than the pinheads in the fashion industry told her she should be, she didn’t care enough to change it. She had what her college roommate had described as Marilyn Monroe curves, and they drew appreciation from men. Combined with her natural light blond hair, dark blue eyes, and creamy, pale skin, Miranda had never had a problem attracting male attention. Her problem was that she didn’t want it. Her work outfits were never fussy. She preferred the basics of either wide-leg trousers in the winter or a skirt in the few nice months. Her skirts usually skimmed her knees, paired with a button-down blouse of basic colors. She also had several long pencil skirts. After yesterday, Miranda thought it would be safer to cover up against Declan’s roving eyes, so she went with plain black pants and an even more boring black blouse. Putting her long hair in a severe bun, she completed her look with plain black flats.

  That night on the El, she gave herself a lecture that she hoped would keep Declan at bay and her body in control. Fidgeting with the strap on her large bag she carried, in addition to her small purse, she looked down at her accounting calculator from work. She felt more comfortable with something familiar. As her stop approached, she prepared to get off out of habit and had to move to sit back down. The stop near Declan wasn’t until Addison, several stops from her own Western stop on the Brown Line. From her near-run from Declan’s house, she had found herself on North Broadway in Boystown, as most people in Chicago knew it, despite it being listed as East Lakeview on the city maps. It wasn’t an area she often went to, normally staying in her own Old Town area. Although she did enjoy the shopping in Lincoln Park, just south of Boystown, from time to time.

  Ignoring the somersaults her stomach was doing, she rang the bell, and barely ten seconds had passed before the heavy oak door opened. It was the smaller, blue-eyed man who opened the door. “Mrs. Beckett, I’ll be needing both your bags, ma’am, and your cell phone, please.”

  “Excuse me?” Her voice was ice, and her back was straight as a board.

  “Please, ma’am. I’ll just be storing your things in the cupboard, and you can retrieve them on the way out. It’s for security reasons.” He looked uncomfortable but persistent.

  “I need the large bag. It has my calculator. I brought it expressly for the purpose that I do not want to use anything else but this.” Her words were clipped.

  “I’ll carry it for you, ma’am.” He held out his hand. She handed everything over, and was proud she didn’t swing them at him. She hated being stripped of her things, but what really stung was the “ma’am.” Twenty-nine was not a “ma’am.” Fuming, she followed him the short distance to Declan’s office. As he had been yesterday, Declan was behind his desk, and looked up when she entered the room.

  His smile at the sight of her caused the somersaults to move faster. Desperate to hide her reaction, she focused on the small, simple desk that had been placed to the left of Declan’s desk. It hadn’t been there last night. It faced out from the room, and the view from the window was a large wrought iron fence with ivy covering the fence. The man placed her bag on the desk and pulled out her calculator and then went over it intently. Declan was watching her, and she made a face at him. “What? Am I supposed to be hiding some sort of weapon or something?”

  The edge of his beautiful mouth tipped up. “No, sweetheart, a listening device. Mark has a mind to protect me from things seen and unseen.”

  Miranda turned back to see Mark had finally stopped fiddling with her calculator. Watching as he took the new legal pad out of the bag and flipped through it. His actions reminded her of just how wrong what she was doing was. This was never something she would ever have to endure if she weren’t working for a criminal. She exhaled slowly and counted to ten. She couldn’t back out now. She had made an agreement, her father had long drummed into her that her word was her honor.

  While her eyes were closed, Declan had taken advantage and gotten closer to her. He was so close that she could smell him. His cologne was a clean, light fragrance of juniper and spicy notes of pepper. She liked that it was light enough she could smell Declan through it. His scent was more alluring than any cologne she had ever encountered, even if she couldn’t quite define what it was, it was just Declan. Turning her he
ad, through the two top buttons of the black-button down shirt she could see his honey-brown skin. Miranda wanted so badly to open her mouth and taste him, to see if he tasted as good as he smelled. Again, she was wet with her wanting, and the uncomfortable sensation that her panties were wet pulled her out of her stupor.

  She pulled the small leather office chair out and sat down heavily. Fighting for control, she pulled the calculator toward her and fed through a new roll of tape that would record her keystrokes. He was still there, and she fumbled with the threading of the paper. Turning her head to say something, anything, to get him to go away, she saw that she was only inches away from his impressive bulge. Her mouth opened reflexively. She wanted to know what he looked like, what he tasted like. He moved then, bending down, and she was at once thankful and so very sad.

  Declan’s face was on level with her own, and his smile told her he knew every thought that had gone through her mind and he liked it. “How long do you think it will take?”

  The question wasn’t about the audit. There was no doubt about that. His cockiness gave her the jolt she needed to turn her attention away from him. She opened the ledger and skimmed through it. “When do you think the theft started?” Her tone was as cool as she could make it.

  There was a pause before he answered, “Two, maybe three months.”

  “It shouldn’t take too long, likely a few days. I’ll go back to last year and see what they looked like then, and then this year I’ll start with the last entry and go back. The entries often tell the story themselves. If the entry isn’t an honest one, then the person will make an entry of numbers they like, that they think will fit. One audit I did, the person stealing really liked the number six, and it was everywhere. Since you think it’s more than one person, it might be a little harder to detect, but it shouldn’t be too hard.”