The Shamrock

by Nikki Winter

  www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

  Copyright © 2011 by Nikki Winter

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including but not limited to: printing, photocopying, faxing, recording, electronic transmission, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior written permission from the authors or holders of the copyright.

  This book is a work of fiction. References may be made to locations and historical events; however, names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), businesses, events or locales is either used fictitiously or coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  Published by

  Beautiful Trouble Publishing, LLC

  PO Box 61

  Colfax, NC 27235

  www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

  Cover Art: Marteeka Karland, http://www.marteekakarland.com/

  Editor: Stephanie Parent

  Proofreader: Novellette Whyte

  http://authorgurunovellette.blogspot.com/

  Formatter: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/

  E-book Conversion: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/

  ISBN: (e-book) 978-1-61788-228-9

  I may have been roped into doing this by a certain tyrant (cough, cough) Jay…but I enjoyed every minute of the FOUR times I had to re-write it. (Grin) Hope you guys love it too. Oh and let the record show that Ardan strictly belongs to Janet.

  NOTE ABOUT EBOOKS

  eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving away eBooks is a copyright infringement. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author or Beautiful Trouble Publishing.

  CAVEAT

  This work of erotica contains adult language and sexually explicit scenes, which are smoking hot. This book is intended only for adults, as it is defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made. Keep this book out of the hands of under-aged readers.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Okay, I know you’re pissed, but—”

  “Sirai…”

  “Just let me tell my side of things, please?”

  “Sirai…”

  “For once it really wasn’t my fault!”

  Ardan O’Reilly swung around to face her. “You assaulted an officer! How is that not your fault?”

  She bit her bottom lip. Holding a pair of killer spiked stilettos in one hand, she shifted on her stocking feet from one to the other as they stood outside on the pavement in front of the police station where Ardan had to bail her out…again.

  Five years. For five long years Ardan had been cleaning up behind Sirai Holland. Truth be told, the things she managed to get herself into weren’t completely her fault considering the fact the woman was Murphy’s Law incarnate, but dammit he was really getting tired of this. If it weren’t for his daddy, he wouldn’t even know her…or her penchant for pulling other people into her messes.

  Sadly, Carrick O’Reilly had a soft spot for her since the day Sirai dragged herself through the doors of The Shamrock—Carrick’s bar. And from then on she’d pretty much become Ardan’s responsibility. Sirai had no family as far as he knew, and very few friends. It wasn’t that Ardan didn’t like her…it was that he liked her a little too much—could maybe call it love, some day after he got out of denial and stopped being a prick to her at every turn. It wasn’t exactly her fault she made him feel the way she did.

  It was what it was. Sirai had an innate ability to send his blood boiling and make him smile all within the span of a few minutes. It was the most confusing thing Ardan had ever experienced but he liked it. No wait—he loved it. Too bad right now all he could think about was spanking her for getting into trouble…again.

  “Are you gonna keep yelling or are you gonna listen to what happened?”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, I don’t wanna know. I don’t care. Just c’mon and get in the damn truck.” Ardan kept walking before he realized he was alone. Turning around he watched, Sirai head the opposite direction. “Where in the hell are you going?!”

  “To a place that doesn’t have a flaming redheaded asshole!” she yelled back.

  “Dammit! Sirai Lilah Holland, you get your ass back here, right now!”

  She stopped in her tracks, spinning to face him, “No. You. Did. Not. Just. Call. My. Government. All. Public. Like.”

  “Just so you’re aware, breaking down one sentence into like eleven smaller ones in a soft voice while staring at me hard…really doesn’t scare me. And I’d also like to add that the whole state of Florida knows your got-damn government name because your ass can’t stay outta trouble for five minutes so don’t stand there glaring at me like I’m in the wrong here.”

  That’s when she proceeded to flip him the bird. “Kiss my ass, Ardan. You’re not my daddy and I don’t need you lecturing me.”

  His booted feet had him in front of her in seconds. Gripping the front of her quarter-length jean jacket, he loomed over her until she leaned backwards so far she was forming an upside down U. “Trust me sweetheart, if I was your daddy, you wouldn’t be able to walk straight most days because your ass would be constantly sore from the tannings administered to it.”

  “What’re you gonna do, Irishman? Spank me out here in front of God and country? Let’s not forget the nice men and women who serve and protect right inside the building,” Sirai taunted, her copper colored eyes narrowed on him.

  Ardan inhaled deeply and let go. “Get in the damn truck, Sirai. Don’t make me say it again.”

  She stood there for a while, defiant as ever, glowering up at him. “No.” Then she turned away from him.

  That was when Ardan snapped. He didn’t think about it, just grabbed Sirai and tossed her over his shoulder, ignoring every hit and kick he received. He had one goal in mind here, and it involved getting her in the truck, home, and out of his hair before he did something he regretted.

  “Ardan, if you don’t put me down right now, I’ll—”

  “What?!” he shouted, finally putting her in the passenger seat of his Ford and strapping her in. “You’ll. Do. What?”

  Her jaw clenched as she sat back, folding her arms across her chest. “You made me drop my shoes. Could you please go and get them?”

  “Are you shitting me?” His brows rose.

  Hers did the same. “I paid four hundred dollars for those. If you don’t want to hear me complain the whole way back home, you’ll go pick them up.”

  Ardan bit the inside of his cheek and closed the passenger side door, stalking off to find her beloved shoes. Damned woman. For the brief period of time that he’d known her, she’d done nothing but make him want to fuck her through a mattress or spank her ass.

  Maybe you can do both, at the same time, his cock whispered. Those copper eyes, full lips, dimpled smile and gorgeous body all made him want to do things to her. Dirty things.

  “Shut. Up.” His eyes searched the parking lot but he didn’t see those damned shoes. Then he heard it, the sound of an engine starting.

  Freezing, Ardan patted his back pocket where he’d slid his keys and came away with nothing. “Son of a bitch!” When he turned around, he watched the taillights of his truck head onto the main road before it disappeared altogether.

  Oh, if he hadn’t planned on taking his hand to Sirai’s ass before, he damn sure did now.

  Sirai pulled up to The Shamrock and hopped out of Ardan’s truck, knowing better than to go home. The more public the place, the safer sh
e’d be. She was crazy, not stupid. Once he finally found her...

  That’s your ass, chick, your whole ass...under his hand...for a long time. Was it wrong that at the thought, her clit chose that very moment to break out in the lambada with a small shimmy shake? Chills raced up her spine as her nipples hardened. Shaking her head, Sirai eased her heels back on and made her way into the bar and restaurant. Carrick would protect her for the time being...hopefully. From the day she’d met Ardan he’d been a pain in her ass. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t be more like his brother Braedan, or his dad. They actually had a sense of humor.

  Every move she made, he and those damned hazel eyes followed her. When she messed up, he was there to point out the facts and examples of why and how. It drove her crazy. But then there were small moments when Ardan looked at her, when it felt like he was sincerely seeing just her and not the mistakes she made, where she melted. Those rare times when he smiled, and for once she wouldn’t feel like such a fuck-up. Then there were days like this where shit just went downhill as soon as they got into one another’s presence.

  It wasn’t like Sirai tried to get into trouble. She just did. If there was a way to trip and fall, Sirai would find it. If there was a new way to get a mild concussion, Sirai would find it. If there was a method of getting a new bruise, scrape, scratch, or cut, Sirai would find it. Then there was her penchant for trying to solve problems on her own—which didn’t always involve legal methods—that got Sirai her frequent run-ins with the law. Albeit, not purposely but she did it so successfully, with so much style, that after the age of ten, she just decided to embrace the fact that she was Murphy’s Law incarnate.

  If it could go wrong with Sirai involved, then there was no doubt that it would. Amazingly enough, the only thing she seemed to be successfully coordinated at was slinging drinks in a traditional Irish pub. Who would’ve figured?

  She’d been working with Ardan in his father’s bar and restaurant for the past five years, and the first day she’d walked through the door she’d nearly put him in traction. It wasn’t on purpose or anything. It just sort of…happened. Sirai had enough horrible job interviews and damned if she wasn’t tired of looking for someplace that could accept her status as a health liability. Okay, that was asking for a lot but when no one in town would take a chance on you, you get desperate. The Shamrock had been her last hope to get something stable enough to pay her bills and keep her in school.

  Now The Shamrock was simply home. Even after Sirai had managed to stumble her way through to getting her MBA, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the one place that had been so good to her. Oh, and maybe she couldn’t exactly separate from one slightly crazed Irishman who was constantly threatening to spank her.

  She smirked and made her way through the bar, waving to regular patrons as she went. Finally, she reached a door in the back and knocked. “C’mon.” A booming voice retorted from the other side.

  Sirai twisted the knob and put on her best ‘innocent face.’ When she stepped inside Carrick O’Reilly, larger than life, bad-ass Irish biker, looked up from the spreadsheet on his desk and smiled. It made his intimidating size and status virtually non-existent. Well, mainly because he spoiled her rotten.

  Carrick had once said he wanted a daughter before he’d wanted sons but that didn’t make him love them any less, there was just a connection a man had with his daughter, a special place he had for her that even a son couldn’t exactly fill. So when Sirai had slid into their lives, Carrick hadn’t wasted a moment letting her know she was wanted.

  Being that Sirai had no family and her number of friends were very limited—as a matter of fact she only had one best friend—it was really hard for her not to get attached to the old man and his sons. Now here she was, trying to pout and look put out because she knew a certain somebody was on his way to get her.

  “Sprung you from the cell, did they, jinx?” Carrick questioned as he sat back in his leather chair, folding large arms across his chest.

  Sirai poked her bottom lip out more. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  He chuckled.

  “No, really, this time I really didn’t do it on purpose. I was minding my business, dancing with Candice—”

  He held up one large hand. “Do I want to hear the rest of this story?”

  “Being that I stole your son’s truck and he’s gonna be on his way to put me across his knee, I would say, yes, you wanna hear this one, Pops.”

  When Carrick finally stopped laughing, he nodded his head at the seat in front of his desk. “Start talking, jinx.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Stop laughing, Braedan or I swear I won’t wait until the truck stops moving to break your neck.” Ardan growled at his little brother.

  Braedan, who’d been laughing hard enough to possibly piss himself, by Ardan’s estimation, took a deep breath and ran a hand down his face. “B-but...I just don’t understand how you fell for that. I mean, this is Sirai we’re talking about, dude. Why would you ever think it’d be that easy with her?”

  “I. Don’t. Know.”

  “Oh, that’s a line of bull. Once again you fell for those long lashed eyes and the pout. Now you’re pissed off because you can’t seem to be any more immune to it than Pops or me.”

  Ardan’s jaw clenched as he stared out the passenger window. He wouldn’t admit it...at least not out loud. No, he wasn’t any more immune to Sirai’s pretty face than anyone else. If anything it was like a gut punch every time she swung those large copper eyes his way. When her heart-shaped mouth kicked up into a smile—taunting or not—it just about made his heart stop, and every word that left her lips, the husky sound of her voice set his heart on a racecourse. Even if it wasn’t something he wanted to hear, Ardan could listen to her talk all day long.

  If he wasn’t listening to her talk, then he was watching her every action. What never failed to shock and awe him was the fact that Sirai could cause a natural disaster without even trying, but as soon as she stepped through the doors of The Shamrock every movement she made was so fluid and graceful it was like being around a completely different person.

  “Irish luck,” Ardan murmured.

  Braedan chuckled again. “You’re going to need every ounce of yours to deal with your woman, dude.”

  “She’s not my anything. Unless you’re referring to her being a pain in my ass.” He wasn’t done being a prick yet. Especially not after she stole his truck. She’d be lucky if she had any color left on her ass after he was done with her.

  “So...if she’s not your anything, you wouldn’t mind if I—”

  “Got your spinal cord removed through your face for even completing that sentence? No, I wouldn’t mind, but I’m pretty sure Pops would be upset with having to make all the funeral arrangements for you.”

  His younger brother snorted. “You have it so bad.”

  Yes, yes he did.

  “And that is how I ended up sitting in a cell for the night,” Sirai finally finished her story, and by the time she was done, Pop Carrick was laughing so hard his face had turned as red as his hair.

  “So wait,” he gasped, trying to draw in a breath. “You’re telling me this jackass—who you had no idea was a cop—asked you to dance?”

  “Yes.”

  “You turned him down because he was a prick.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you went back to dancing with Candice.”

  “Yes.”

  “Which he apparently took to mean you were a lesbian.”

  “Yes.”

  “So when he decided to call you that publicly—instead of getting pissed off, you kissed Candice in front of God and country to prove a point.”

  “Yup.”

  “Which caught her by surprise so she accidentally knocked into a gawking onlooker who spilled his drink down the front of your blouse.”

  “Unh-hunh.”

  “After that, the gawking onlooker was so eager to help you clean yourself up and possibly get his hands
on Candice too, you snatched the napkin away that he was using as an excuse to feel you up, and inadvertently your hand went flying backwards and breaking the nose of Officer Prick.”

  “Unh-hunh.”

  “He cuffed you on the spot and took you downtown to book you under the charges of assault to a policeman.”

  “Unh-hunh.”

  “And Candice called me because she didn’t have enough to spring you, and I called Ardan to go and get you. He managed to be an asshole and you stole his truck. Now you’re sitting across from me with that extremely pitiful expression on your face and hoping I’ll protect you from the ass tanning that Ardan is sure to deliver.”

  “That about sums it up, Pops.” She sighed, sitting back.

  He shrugged. “Sorry, baby girl, I can’t help you this time.”

  With wide eyes, she sat back up. “Wait, what?”

  “I can’t help you,” Carrick repeated. Then he stood and made his way around his desk. “I give it another ten minutes before that boy shows up and you’re in an extreme amount of trouble that even you aren’t accustomed to.” Grabbing his favorite leather jacket, he put it on and gave her a sympathetic grin. “If you can manage to get out of here within that time period then more power to you.”

  Sirai just gawked at him. “You betraying, old, foreign—”

  “While you’re name calling, you could be getting the hell outta here. You do realize this?” Carrick pointed out, his smile widening.

  “I hate you.” She got up and headed for the door.

  “You wish,” the old man quipped.

  “I—” Before the next words could leave her mouth, Carrick’s office door swung open, revealing an amused Braedan and...a surprisingly impassive Ardan. Oh, this would not end well.

  The brief flash of fear across her pretty face almost made him smile. Almost. She had every reason to look at him that way. He just wouldn’t let her in on the small tidbit yet.