Beast I Can’t Tame by L.K. Shaw
Epilogue Two
I wishsomeone had told me beforehand how boring Italian weddings are. Not that I could have gotten out of coming to this one, but at least I’d have been prepared. Everyone is so stiff and proper. Where’s the lively music? The dancing? I’m not a particular fan of weddings in general, but at least the Irish throw a good party with theirs.
The late afternoon sun is hidden behind the giant manor house where the reception is being held. A large white tent stands tall over and shelters tables where Italians loiter and chat. Children race around the garden lawn; two of them screech by and nearly collide with my legs. A caterer passes a moment later with a tray of drinks, and I snag one before he can get away.
“Jaysus, how much longer are we going to have to hang around this place?” my younger brother, Padraig, asks before tossing back a half-full rocks glass of top-shelf Irish whiskey. Thank fuck the Italians got something right.
“Hopefully only through one more round of drinks.” I raise my glass. “Slàinte mhaith.”
Just as I’m about to drain the whole thing in a single swallow, my attention locks onto a flash of green near the gazebo on the other side of the garden, and I pause. A young woman stands half-hidden behind the wooden structure. She leans out several times, her dark hair pulled into some fancy updo, and her eyes scan the grounds before she darts back behind cover. I glance around, trying to determine who, or what, she’s looking for, but I can’t figure it out. No one is paying her any attention that I can tell.
Without warning, she snatches up her skirts, darts across the lawn, and disappears into an open side door of the house. Interesting.
“Stay here.” I practically throw my glass at Paddy without taking my eyes off the door the woman ran through.
“Hey,” he grumbles, bobbling it, but I’ve already started walking away. “Wait, where are you going? Don’t leave me here for Mother to find.”
I ignore his whining and weave my way through the crowd of people until I slip inside the same door. I’m in the kitchen. Waitstaff hustle around the room while chefs sweat at the stoves as they season, stir, or flip the various dishes being served. I dance around moving bodies, trying not to collide with any of them as I make my way out of the sweltering heat and through the doorway leading further into the manor house.
I’m standing at the end of a long, dark hallway. Light comes from the other end, and I move toward it, coming out into a large entryway. Twin curved staircases lead to the second-floor landing. Laughter from the garden spills in through the open windows, but there’s not a soul in sight. Where did she go?
Footsteps come from above me, and I look upward, but there’s no one there. I keep my eyes locked on the second floor, and I start up the stairs, my hand gliding along the shining surface of the bannister. Two hallways branch off the landing in opposite directions. Damn it. Left or right? Taking a chance, I finally choose to head down the right one.
Three doors line the length of the wall, each spaced about ten feet apart. The hallway ends at a final fourth door. It stands open, and I catch another flash of green from inside the room. Bingo. With my destination so close, I should be able to take my time, but some force drives me to walk quickly.
I reach the room and stand in the doorway, my eyes scanning the space. The only thing in here is ghostly outlines of what appears to be furniture covered in white sheets; possibly several couches, a tall cabinet, and several more box-shaped items. My face wrinkles in confusion. Where did she go? She can’t be some ghost or a figment of my imagination. The Irish are a superstitious lot, but I’ve never fed into any of that.
Soft humming comes through the open glass doors across the room—ones that face the front side of the manor, not the garden where the reception is being held. Is she meeting someone up here? I stride across the hardwood floor toward the balcony, stopping just at the threshold.
Her back is to me, and my gaze travels over the dipped in waist that flares into wide hips. Her ass is thick and juicy. Just the way I love. The humming stops, and she lets out a loud sigh.
“Why can’t you just let me have a few minutes to myself?” she says, her voice a sexy rasp.
Instantly, I imagine silk sheets and hot, sweaty bodies pleasuring each other. Her voice is raspy and pure sex.
“My apologies,” I say, stepping completely out onto the small balcony to join her.
She whirls, her hand to her chest, and stares at me with her perfect pink lips gaping open.
“Who are you?” she breathes out.
I bow with exaggerated flourish. “Jack Donnelly.”
There isn’t any recognition on her face.
“Brenna’s brother,” I add.
Those gorgeous lips of hers form an “O” and her cheeks darken. “Mrs. Ricci.”
“The one and only. And you are?”
She bites her bottom lip, and I barely hold back my groan. My cock goes semi-hard. “I’d rather not say.”
I grin. “Ah, a lady of mystery. Should I try and guess?” I’ve used this smile to seduce more than one woman into my bed.
“I won’t tell you,” she says pertly.
“Then I’ll have to make one up for you. How about Aisling?”
Her head tilts charmingly. “Why that name?”
“It means dream, and I’m sure I’ll be dreaming of you tonight.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I doubt that. You don’t even know me.”
“I’d like to,” I say.
My mystery woman rolls her eyes. “No you don’t. Not really.” Her expression shifts. Is that a flicker of sadness? It disappears before I can tell. “No one wants has any interest in knowing me.”
Taken aback, I study her more closely. For the briefest moment, I feel a genuine camaraderie with this woman. To everyone, I’m Jack Donnelly, eldest grandson of Colm Donnelly, one of the richest Irishman in Brooklyn. I belong to a powerful family. A wealthy family. That’s what the women see anyway. All they care about. Where did that come from? I shake off the maudlin thought and focus back on the beauty standing close by.
“I’d love to get to know you,” I say in my most flirtation tone.
She ignores me, something I’m not used to. “I take it you’re up here to escape someone?” I ask.
There’s a pause before her shoulders sag and she turns to face forward again. “My father.” I move to stand next to her and lean my forearms on the railing, my gaze taking in the scene before us. A stone fountain sits in the center of another well-manicured and bright green yard that reminds me of the hills of Ireland. The circle drive is lined with expensive-looking cars and SUVs. Beyond that, there are only trees. It’s peaceful and quiet up here. No wonder she sought out the privacy it offers.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m escaping my mother.” I pivot to lean on a single elbow and take in my mystery woman’s profile. A pleasant fragrance of lemon surrounds me.
Her lips tip up in amusement before she smothers the expression. “Is she trying to marry you off, too?” She bites the bottom lip as though regretting letting the question slip from them.
I smother my chuckle, because there’s a seriousness to her that makes me think she won’t appreciate my humor. “Not yet, but I expect it to start soon. I’ll be thirty in a few years, so I’m unenthusiastically waiting for the not-so-vague comments. Is that what your father wants to do? Marry you off?”
She nods, but doesn’t speak, her eyes still focused on the landscape. Sadness surrounds her.
I’m not sure she’d be what most people consider classically beautiful. Her nose is a little on the large side and her chin juts out, but they go together. My gaze travels downward, pausing at the breasts that would certainly overflow my palm, before it continues along the slight swell of her belly.
“I don’t envy you women,” I tell her.
She turns to me, her eyes widened in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“You know that my sister’s marriage was arranged to Emilio. Luckily, he’s a decent bloke. I expect not every man that some women has to marry is. From what I understand, though, the Italians tend to respect their wives and aren’t usually unfaithful.”
The irony isn’t lost on me that we just attended the wedding of Emilio’s illegitimate half-brother.
“But what if those men are old enough to be your grandfather?” she asks with a shudder.
“Well, now, that’s a pickle. Is that who your intended is? A grand-da?”
She turns and leans back against the balcony. “He doesn’t even look at me when he’s talking. Like I’m not important. He just speaks at me. I’m nothing but a decorative doll that he can display on his arm.”
I wince, because that sounds terrible. A woman like her shouldn’t be sold off to some old geezer who won’t appreciate all her soft curves and that husky sex-dripped voice. Old man probably can’t even keep it up long enough to satisfy her like she deserves. I shift closer until the heat of her body radiates against mine. She startles and takes a small step away from me.
“What are you doing?” she yelps.
I close the short distance she managed to create between us until my chest nearly brushes against her. Brown eyes widen and the seam of that gorgeous mouth parts.
What will a little kiss hurt?
I dip my head and press my lips to hers. She freezes beneath me, but then sags against my chest. Her arms go to my shoulders, and I deepen the kiss, my tongue begging for entry. She opens farther. Triumph surges through me. She tastes like buttercream, as though she stole a nibble of frosting from the wedding cake.
Either way, she’s sweet and sugary. One taste of her won’t be enough. I circle her waist with my hand and tug her close so she’s flush against me. My cock is hard against her stomach. For the briefest moment, pure arousal makes it twitch, and then a white light explodes behind my eyes as the most excruciating pain hits me right in the nuts.
I loosen my grip on her and my entire body folds in half as I try not to puke from the agony of having a knee rammed straight into my dick. What the fuck? I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, willing the nausea away. Mumbled words reach my ears and footsteps grow faint, but my focus is elsewhere.
Finally, the pain becomes manageable. I rise up, taking my time, my cock still spasming and throbbing. My gaze roams. She’s gone. Of course she is. Nearly unmanned me and then ran away. With a few uneasy steps, I head back through the empty room and then rest of the house before returning to the garden, my eyes peeled and scanning every person I pass.
I find Paddy. “Have you seen a lush, dark-haired woman wearing a green dress wandering around out here?”
“Where the feck have you been?” He gripes, ignoring my question. “Mother cornered me and started pointing out all the eligible young women here. For Christ’s sake, I’m only twenty-four. You’re the one she should be pushing towards some unlucky dove to shackle yourself to.”
Completely ignoring my brother’s bitching, my gaze travels around the crowd—searching—but there are too many damn people here. Maybe Francesca knows who she is. Leaving a still whining Paddy, I locate the bride and groom under the tent talking to Pierce and Mila.
“Jack,” Giovanni greets me with a handshake. Impatience roars through me as the small group all has to get in their hellos until finally I’m able to speak.
“Do you by chance know of a young woman wearing a green dress, here with her father? I assume she’s some relative of yours,” I say. I leave out the married to the old man part.
Francesca thinks for a moment, but shakes her head. “I’m sorry. It could be anyone, really. All the families are here, some from out of state, and I don’t know them all. Why?”
Not wanting to go into details, I wave off my request with my hand. “I was just trying to place her.”
Pierce studies me with those cold, knowing eyes of his, but he doesn’t say anything. I change the topic and the five of us chat for a while until I excuse myself to wander through all the people. I run into Paddy again, then my mother—who tries to engage me in the same conversation about the eligible women here—until she gives up and leaves me alone.
Hours pass, and the guests dwindle in number. My mystery woman is nowhere to be found. It’s time to give it up. She’s gone, and I may never know who she is.
But later that night, my fingers remember the way her soft curves felt, and my lips remember her sweet sugar flavor. The light scent of lemon lingers in my nose. I never got her name, but I don’t expect her to leave my mind for some time.
Thank you for reading THE BEAST I CAN’T TAME. I hope you enjoyed it. I’d greatly appreciate a review on the platform of your choice. Reviews are so important!
Remember that red dress from Francesca’s closet? She finally gets to wear it!
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As you can tell, we’re moving to Brenna’s side of the family and watching Jack, Padraig, Nathan, and Caitlín fall in love!
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