The last thing Paddy wanted to do was get Delia hurt. That wasn't what he was there for. He didn't know the ins and outs of the rivalry between the gangs, and honestly, he didn't care. If he had his way, he'd one day be more powerful than both Fisher and Slater combined. This was a means to an end. He'd left Ireland because he hadn't wanted to fight for a cause that wasn't his own, and he wasn't about to do it here in England. So Delia really had no reason to be afraid. But, he couldn't exactly go off on a tangent now about all that, so he had to show her she wasn't in danger.
He really just wanted his clothes.
"Good girl..." He watched as she began to undo the shirt, slowly putting his own knife on the ground to show he meant no threat, taking a step forwards. His eyes feasted on her skin, the pale creaminess being revealed, bit by bit. She was so beautiful, and he'd die a happy man if he could have her in his bed regularly. Not that there was much chance of that, not at this rate. "Mmm..." He stepped forwards, giving into her silent wishes, one hand rising to her waist as the other trailed a finger slowly between her breasts. "Only claiming what's rightfully mine," He murmured, his lips finding her earlobe, sucking gently.