Chapter Twenty-Two

Meg felt blood rush to her face, but she refused to answer him. If they were going to hand out flyers she wanted to get it over with ASAP and get as far away from Michael Monaghan as possible. Laura had disappeared and Meg glanced around. She didn’t have to look far. Her friend was over admiring the stripper, along with the rest of his slobbering fan club, who were now taking it in turns to kiss Roger.

She glanced at Michael, who stood with arms folded, legs akimbo, and a damned stupid, self-confident grin plastered on his face. With what she hoped was a dismissive toss of her head she strode across the room.

She grabbed at Laura’s arm. “Are we handing out leaflets or not? Because if not, then I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

Laura glared at her. “Keep your pants on. Lighten up and enjoy yourself. You’re way too uptight. Get a drink, dance, mingle. If you don’t look like you belong, no one is going to want to take anything from you.”

A dull pain throbbed at the base of Meg’s skull, if she died from a blood clot on the brain she sure as hell didn’t want her exit on a gurney to be photographed, filmed, and discussed on the local news. What would her mother think? What would Sam think? She took a deep breath.

“Just put down the damn stripper and give me some flyers or you can hand them all out yourself.”

Laura dug in her bag and came out with a bunch of papers, shoving them in Meg’s direction. “For your information, talking to Chad is work. He’s offered to help hand out leaflets, once he gets his pants back on.”

Meg mumbled, “I bet that’s not all he offered to do.” If Laura heard, she chose to ignore her. She began to suspect the visit to the strip joint had more to do with Laura finding a more challenging place to pull men than with drumming up clients for Male Order.

No matter, the sooner she got rid of her pile of leaflets the sooner she could go home. Turning on her heels, she bumped into Michael hovering behind her. She moved her gaze from his semi naked chest to his dark eyes. His lips twitched with amusement, pushing her anger up another notch. Between clenched teeth she growled out, “Do you want to move?”

“Nope, I figured if Chad is helping Laura then I should offer to help you. After all, we’re all in this together.”

She stared at him, not sure she knew what he meant. “You what?”

“Didn’t Laura tell you the good news? I got the job. I’m your first employee.”

Meg shoved him aside, this was not happening, not now, not ever. There were hundreds of men who could do the job a million times better than him. Laura had only hired him in the hopes of riding his cock. Didn’t she know mixing business and pleasure was a terrible idea, especially if the pleasure involved the smug Irish bastard currently grinning at her like a Cheshire cat? After catching him half naked in their kitchen, Sam would be very unhappy if she got involved with Michael. Hiring him as an employee was the stupidest thing Laura had ever done, and she had done some dumb shit in her time. “Over my dead body!”

His deep throaty laughter accompanied her retreat. The way the pain was building inside her skull it might well be over her dead body. She needed a stiff drink before she began to work the women hanging at the back of the room. If she were at a strip joint for the show that’s where she would be sitting, too afraid and too frumpy to be seen close to the action. Yep, the back would be the place to find their future clients.

With a little difficulty, she elbowed her way to the bar and climbed onto a stool. A cute blond hunk wandered over to serve her. Determined to keep eye contact, she stared into his face. She felt dirty the poor guy had to humiliate himself by wearing something barely there to get a job. Mind you, apparently she was now selling Michael Monaghan for sex. What the fuck had she been thinking? She was a pimp—his pimp! Next she would be driving around in a Maserati wearing a fake fur coat and bling.

“What can I get for you?”

“Brandy, a double.”

“You want something with it?”

Meg shook her head. He placed the drink in front of her and she shoved some bills at him. She told him to keep the change and downed the drink in one large gulp.

The minute the fiery liquid hit her stomach it threatened to come back up. She swallowed furiously and her stomach settled. After taking a couple of minutes to suck in some air she decided to get to work. Pimp or not, the car payment was due next week, and there was no way she was sponging off Sam when it came time to pay the rent. She’d scour the want ads tomorrow in the hope someone was hiring washed up advertising gurus. Until then she had no choice but to stick with the business. Hopefully Laura wouldn’t take too long and then Meg could go home to her three favorite guys, and a large painkiller. She scrambled off the barstool, grabbing at the counter for balance. The room started to spin and the music faded in and out. Someone was calling her name, it echoed like he was calling her from a great distance. She desperately tried to focus on the face moving toward her, but it was impossible to make out the features through the fog that had invaded her brain.

* * * *

Something cold and wet pressed against Meg’s forehead and she tried to push it away.

“Shh, darlin’, don’t fret yourself. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

The warm Irish accent made her snap her eyes open. A groan escaped her when she came almost nose to nose with her arch nemesis, Michael Monaghan. He had lost the hat but still had the white open necked shirt showing a disconcerting hint of pecs and dark chest fluff. Shoving ineffectually at him, she struggled to sit up. His hands closed in on her shoulders, pushing her back down onto the soft cushioning that supported her. She glanced around the room in an attempt to get her bearings. Last thing she remembered was climbing off the barstool. The loud duff, duff through the wall indicated she was still at The Jolly Roger but clearly no longer in the bar. A large timber desk sat across the room, an expansive black leather chair behind it. She glanced down at what was supporting her, and realized she was lying on a red, crushed velvet couch, which matched the red and silver flock wallpaper adorning the walls. She struggled harder and Michael shook his head.

“Lie still, you crazy woman. You passed out cold in the bar. If you get up too quickly, you’ll do it again.”

Meg gave up and relaxed. He was probably right. “Where am I?”

“Fortunately, I caught you before you hit the floor and your head. I brought you to my office. I figured you would prefer I didn’t call the paramedics and cause a scene. You wouldn’t want your ma to discover you hang around with the likes of me in a place like this, now would you?”

He lifted the damp face cloth from her brow and touched her skin with the back of his fingers. “You seem to have cooled off, but the heat of the bar and one drink shouldn’t have dropped you to the floor. Do you feel sick at all?”

Oh, he was being nice to her and she hated it. She wanted to sucker punch him in the jaw, not feel any warmth toward him. “Who are you, the ship’s doctor?”

A chuckle escaped him and his dark eyes twinkled with amusement. “I see you’re still in a good mood. Now as much as you might hate me, I’m not letting you go until I know you’re alright. So, tell me are you sick at all? Had a tummy upset? Up the spout with little Sammy’s kid?”

Her rage was rising. How dare he? How dare he take the piss when she was unable to defend herself? Shoving him aside, she got to her feet and instantly regretted it as the world started to swim before her eyes. Michael wrapped his arms around her and she had no choice but to collapse against him, or fall like a lead weight to the floor.

Gradually her vision returned and she pushed at him. “Let me go.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around her middle. “No, not until I know you’re going to be alright. I shouldn’t have made the joke about you being pregnant, it was in poor taste.”

She glared up at him. “It was in poor taste. I might be fat but I’m not pregnant.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Now what makes you think you’re fat? You’re a fine woman. Real men like some curves to fondle and your curves are in all the right places.”

His hands moved from her waist and slid down over her backside, making heat rush to her cheeks. She grabbed his arms and dragged them back up her body, causing him to grin suggestively at her.

“But now you mention it, I think I have a clue about what caused you to pass out in my arms. There I was thinking you had finally given in to my charms, but I’m betting you’re starving yourself. When did you last eat?”

He had a point. Even though Sam said he liked her curves she had cut back a little, well okay, a lot. She had resisted the chocolate croissant calling to her from the fridge and had opted for carrot sticks for lunch. Breakfast had been a large latte, she figured she needed the calcium or she would end up hunched over with osteoporosis like Aunt Maud. Who had time for dinner when they had to get ready to go out? She planned to treat herself to some chocolate ice cream when she got home.

“Well?”

She shrugged. “I ate at lunchtime.”

“And exactly what did you eat?”

“Carrots.”

He shook his head. “No wonder you keep falling over. You need real food, like the meat and potatoes my ma used to make.” Letting her go, he gave her a gentle shove toward the sofa. “Sit down. You’re not going anywhere until you’ve had something decent to eat.”

She stood her ground. He was starting to get to her. Why couldn’t he just be his usual arrogant, bastard self? She needed to forget the caring individual in front of her and remember the one who had dropped his pants and forced himself on her in her own home. No…bad idea…that just brought a vision of his erect penis to mind. With the sex addiction she feared she had caught from Sam, a rampant cock was the last thing she needed to imagine. “If you make my apologies to Laura I can get a cab home.”

He put his fingers under her chin and tipped her face up. “Do you promise to eat when you get there?”

“I promise.”

His gaze moved from her eyes to her lips then back again. She couldn’t be certain in the poorly lit room but his pupils seemed to dilate, making his already hypnotic dark eyes even darker. When he dipped his face toward hers she should have ducked, or bobbed her head. She should have kneed him in the testicles, but instead she stood mute and unable to move.