IRISH: a Bad Boy Fighter Romance by Olivia Hawthorne, Olivia Long Page B

impossible.
    He fumbled with the front door key in the lock until it swept open and Sylvie the housekeeper found us entwined on the front steps.
    “Sir, I tried to call you,” she said in a frantic voice. “Please, she barged in and I didn’t know what to do.”
    “What’s going on?” Knox asked, suddenly serious. “Who barged in?”
    I straightened out my tee shirt and skirt and smoothed my hair as Sylvie continued. “I don’t know her, I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
    “What is she talking about, Knox?” I asked, the nerves jumping under my skin making me feel like a cat in a room full of dogs.
    “She’s talking ‘bout me I figure,” said a woman’s voice from the entrance way. “Ain’t that right, love?”
    I glanced past Sylvie and saw a tall, willowy red headed woman with an Irish accent and an attitude to match her fiery hair standing in the hallway, watching us with a smirk on her face.
    “Who are you?” I demanded angrily and stepped inside the house.
    “Oh, Knox, ain’t ye gonna be polite now and introduce me to yer guest?” the woman said.
    Knox was silent, I looked back at him and almost gasped at the evil glare on his face. His usually bright eyes were dark with anger and his mouth was twisted in a mean grimace.
    “Why if yer not gonna do it, I will,” the woman said stepping towards me and extending her hand. I didn’t take it and she laughed. “I’m Sabrina O’Connor…Knox’s wife.”
     

Chapter Twenty Six
    Lennon
     
    “Knox,” I said in a high-pitched strained voice without looking back at him, “what the hell is she talking about?”
    “Oh did he never mention me then?” Sabrina asked with a wide, nasty grin. “We’ve been married for almost ten years now, ain’t that right, love?”
    “Our marriage was annulled,” Knox growled, “and you god damned well know it was a sham to begin with.”
    “Ain’t ye gonna tell yer girl about it?” Sabrina laughed. “Tis a good tale, full of love and heartbreak and criminal activities.”
    Sylvie looked increasingly distressed and I felt sorry for her. She had done no wrong, this Sabrina seemed like the kind of woman who would never take no for an answer. She had probably barged in against Sylvie’s wishes.
    I decided to let her off the hook.
    “It’s quite all right, Sylvie. You can go to bed, we’ve got this,” I told her with a smile.
    “Oh Miss, I feel so awful,” she replied, wringing her hands and scrunching her face up.
    “It’s not your fault,” I reassured her. “Go home or sleep here, but you need some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    “Tis quite all right, Sylvie,” Knox agreed. He stepped forward and put his hand on my shoulder to offer me support. “It ain’t yer fault.”
    “Thank you,” Sylvie said and dashed off out of the entrance foyer.
    “So ye got servants now, do ye?” Sabrina laughed. “A street urchin like ye ordering folks around like dat. Did he ever tell ye about his upbringing?”
    I shook my head. “We haven’t had much time to get to know each other, but whatever he’s done is in the past and I love him for it and in spite of it.”
    “So if ye found out he was bombin’ up churches and schools, it would na bother ye?” Sabrina smirked.
    I glanced at Knox who still had that mask of anger that made my own stomach watery and flip flop in fear. I didn’t know how Sabrina could look at him like that and not back down.
    “I had nothin to do with that,” Knox growled. “I was out of the group by the time ye started blowing up wee kids and such.”
    “What group?” I asked, alarmed.
    “The IRA,” Sabrina replied with a triumphant grin. “Yer lover was part of a terrorist organization. Still is, really, being married to me.”
    “He’s a good man, that’s all that matters,” I said defiantly and placed my hand on Knox’s chest. “And he’s mine in spite of whatever shit you might bring to our doorstep.”
    “Tis not shite, tis legal paperwork,”