Page 12 of Desperate Measures

I almost asked Maggie who the fuck she was with when that was taken, but I bit my tongue.

That was crazy, even for me.

But the truth was Michaela had grown into a stunning woman, gorgeously curved and plump in all the right places.

She still had the same dark, bewitching eyes and that pouty little mouth that begged to be kissed. But she was older. Not forbidden. In fact, she was in the next room.

Waiting for me.

My cock twitched at the idea, and I cleared my throat, refusing to get a boner in front of my sister.

“Well?” Maggie said, and I knew her patience was running thin.

I stared down at the screen, flipping back to the image of Michaela’s profile.

From what I recalled, she was a serious girl.

Studious.

Hardworking.

I imagined she had something to prove. And I could respect that.

There was no way I would have ever looked at her twice back when I worked for the Volkovs. She was the boss’ daughter. Underaged and off fucking limits.

Too green.

Too innocent.

But not anymore.

She was an adult now, playing adult games.

If Michaela owed my sister, then yeah, I could use that to my advantage.

This union could be the merger the O’Doyle’s needed to cement our legacy. It could change everything for me.

For us, I corrected myself and saw a gleam twinkle in my sister’s eye once she realized I was resigned to my fate.

“Okay. I’ll marry her,” I said impulsively.

Chapter 3-Michaela

Flashback. Six years ago.

The Wilted Wallflowerwas the hottest club in Manhattan, but I still crinkled my nose at the cloying stink of perfume and cologne as I walked inside.

The bass was bumping, and the strobe lights were blinking so brightly they stung my eyes. I blinked twice before my eyes adjusted.

“Micky Baby! Where you been?” Shelly screeched and pulled me in for a bear hug.

I grinned, hugging her back. Shelly was still my best friend. Even though we’d spent our college years apart, we managed to stay in touch. Tonight was for her.

She’d just been offered an internship at her top choice hospital in Manhattan, and I was so damn proud of her.

Shelly—or maybe I should call her Dr. Michelle Davis—worked damn hard to get where she was, and I couldn’t be happier for her.

I’d recently graduated from Stevens Institute of Technology with a master’s degree in computer science and was also in the mood for celebrating.