Once again, we’ve arrived at midweek. Around here, that means a snippet based on a theme gleaned from #1lineWed. The controllers over there seem to still be on the lazy side giving us **THIS** as a prompt. That said, this did prompt new words about a couple in the Boston Wolves book that haven’t been mentioned much. A tiny bit of background. Declan Donahue is the Harvard-educated lawyer for the Borus. Maggie O’Brien is the pretty nurse who inherited the townhouse next door. And there ya go…
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“What are you going on about, Maggie?” Declan worked to keep his voice even.

“This!” She twirled in a circle, waving her arms to indicate the whole room. “Everything.”

Dipping his chin to his chest, he scratched the back of his neck. Glancing up without raising his head, he waited for further explanation. He didn’t get one so finally admitted, “I’m confused, love.”

“This house. Your car. Your…job.”

Still clueless, he ventured back into the conversation. “I’m a lawyer.”

“For the frickin’ mob!” That brought his head up but before he could say anything in his own defense, she barreled on. “They shot you, for God’s sake. I found you bleeding out on my front stoop. From. A. Gunshot wound.”

“And I survived.”

“Normal lawyers don’t get shot. Normal lawyers don’t dodge the police.”

“Says who?” He stepped toward her but kept his hands down at his sides. What he really wanted to do was grab her, give her a good shake and then kiss her. Hard. “I know plenty of crooked lawyers, Maggie. Including the one sitting in the District Attorney’s office. And he’ll be lucky, given the company he keeps, to avoid ending up on a slab in the morgue.”

“Which is where you’re headed!” Her voice rose and he caught a whiff of both burnt toast and ammonia. She was angry and afraid. Of him, he wondered, or for him? Before he could move, she crowded into his space and thumped a tight fist against his chest. “You can’t make me care about you and then do this stupid stuff. Like get yourself killed!”

He might be slow when it came to figuring out the woman destined to be his mate, but he wasn’t stupid. “This is about Callum and Sophie.”

She whirled away and spat, “Idiot. It has nothing to do with them.”

He gently griped her shoulder and tugged so she’d turn to face him. “Aye, love, I think it does. Sophie isn’t you. Sophie has her own family baggage. Did’ja know her father offered her sister to Ronan to make a deal?” Maggie’s eyes rounded as her mouth formed an “o”. “Ya know she has nothing to do with them, yeah?”

Nodding, Maggie said, “Yes. She hasn’t said much other than her father’s a royal SOB and her sister’s a spoiled society princess.”

“In this instance, ya really are safer not knowin’.” She narrowed her eyes and he bent to snatch a quick kiss. “But I’ll be tellin’ ya what ya need to know. Harold McNamara comes by his moniker honestly. He’s called Dirty Harry. He thinks he’s a major player in the Boston underworld. He isn’t. He’s been tryin’ to back Ronan into a corner for months. That’s not happening. He’s used Sophie as a pawn and planned to do the same with Callum but…” He sighed. “Well, we’re kinda hard to catch and kill.”

She waggled a finger at him. “Speaking of corners, are you aware that your Irish comes out when you get backed into one?” She rose on tiptoes, curled her arms around his neck, and kissed him so hard she robbed his breath.

“I’ll be keepin’ that in mind, cailín.”
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They have a few scenes together so far, and there will be more. This is not the last by any means. Writers, any **THIS** you want to share? Readers, needy writer here. What did you think about **THIS**? 😉