He jumped up onto the ring, pulling her to him, and kissing her, deep and wild, just like she enjoyed.She pulled at his shirt, moaning into his mouth, and damn her for making his cock hard before he had to fight that bastard The Butcher.
“You came,” she breathed against his lips.
His hand slipped around her neck possessively.He was never letting her out of his sight again.She was going to get right tired of him.“Aye, I’ll always come for youa chuisle.”He kissed her again not giving a damn about the growing crowd.
“Well, I see we’ve been rescued!”a cheery voice said from beside Tavish and Florentia.
He released Florentia turning to face her friend.A tall slender Black woman, with hazel eyes and a teasing smiled, looked from Tavish to Florentia.
“Yes, we have, Lady Woodmere, please meet the Duke of Summerset,” Florentia said, looking down shyly, her cheeks reddening.
The woman gave him a knowing smile.“Your Grace.”
“Helloáilleacht,” Fionn said, jumping up onto the makeshift ring.
Tavish laughed at his younger brother, calling the bewildered woman,beauty.
“Oh…no,” she said, shaking her head.“Absolutely, not.”
“I knew taking the chit would have you running here like a bloody hero,” The Butcher said, walking to the center of the ring.
Ignoring The Butcher, he turned to his brothers.“Get them out of here.”He pushed Florentia toward Declan, who had climbed onto the ring with Fionn.
“No!”Florentina said fisting his waistcoat.“You can’t fight him.I-I just found you.”Her eyes watered with tears.
He cupped her cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips.He’d never seen her so vulnerable and scared.
“Aye, and you’re bloody stuck with me, Princess.”
He passed her to his brother, who pulled her and her friend out of the ring.Turning, Tavish faced The Butcher.
The ugly bastard stood, his chest out, a sneer on his lips.Tavish unbuttoned his waistcoat, removing it and passing it to Dutch.His shirt was next.
“Don’t fucking die,” he said, his usual parting to Tavish at every fight.
“Not today old man.”He swiped the air with four brisk punches.
It had been a fortnight since his brother came and retrieved him from Scotland.It felt more like a lifetime to Tavish.
He met The Butcher in the center of the ring, noticing the warehouse now filled with half of London Society all dressed in their ballgowns and top hats.
A referee met them in the middle.“Keep it clean.Irish Style, nine rounds, one minute between rounds?—”
“We know the fucking rules, just move him when he’s dead,” The Butcher spat out, his cloudy gaze on Tavish.
Tavish chuckled.“You’re going to fecking pay for putting your hands on her, you bastard.”
“When you’re dead, I’ll make her my whore.”He leaned forward his fist up and ready.
Rage, hot and deadly raced up his spine, but he didn’t react.That’s what the bloody bastard wanted.Instead, Tavish chuckled, “She’d kill you herself before that happens.”
It was true.Though Tavish had worried for her, he’d known that Florentia was the type of woman to do anything to save herself and those she loved.
He punched his fist to The Butcher’s, and the bell rang.
Right to the face.
Left to the jaw.
