Connell (Carolina Reapers Book 3)

by Samantha Whiskey

  “Right,” I muttered, trying to understand what the hell just happened.

  Gregory and Carson walked out together, leaving Annabelle and me alone.

  “Why on earth should I have to supervise you?” She muttered.

  I stood slowly, choosing my words with care.

  “You know, lass, while I may have imagined you fucking me, I hadn’t exactly imagined you fucking me over.” I adjusted my sleeves again.

  “I...I didn’t mean for you to be with me. I have entirely too much to get done to babysit you.” Her chin rose a good two inches as I walked around the table, coming to a stop directly in front of her. Her chin rose even higher, trying to maintain eye contact.

  “Trust me, I’m not a child you have to sit.” My chest tightened in absolute frustration.

  “Well, maybe you’ll learn how to take something seriously for once.” She arched a dark brow.

  “Oh, trust me, lass. Considering you just cost me a summer at home in Scotland, I’ll be taking this very seriously. You’ll have one hundred percent of my attention.” I kept my eyes on hers even though I’d noticed the rapid rise and fall of those incredible breasts.

  “Well...okay then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” She swallowed. “City Hall, nine am?”

  “Monday,” I retorted. “I’ll be far too hungover tomorrow.” I turned and walked out of the courtroom before I said or did anything else that I’d regret.

  First off, I was going to have to call my mother, which was easily the worst part of this entire sentence. The woman was going to be sore with me.

  But more importantly, this was going to be a damned disaster. I was too attracted to the lass not to say something about it eventually, and I was known for getting exactly what I wanted. And her eyes? Her body language? I’d have bet all of that nine million that she wanted me, too. Problem was that neither of us could stand the other, and it wasn’t like I was a relationship guy, anyway.

  This was going to be bad. So, so, so bloody bad.

  An entire summer spent with Annabelle Clarke would end in one of two ways—homicide or heartbreak, and honestly, I think I preferred the first.

  2

  Annabelle

  “I thought City Hall would be more…official-looking,” Connell’s voice sounded behind me, and I whirled from my desk, playfully glaring at my assistant for not announcing the Scotsman’s arrival.

  “Mr. MacDhuibh is here,” Lacy said, all too late.

  “Thank you, Lacy,” I said as she hurried back to her desk and focused intently on her computer screen.

  “What do you mean?” I asked Connell, composing myself as I scanned him from head to toe. The man had worn a tight white T-shirt and Reaper athletic pants—he may as well have been a walking ad for wild sex, and that smirk on his face? Sweet mercy, it promised hours of side-splitting laughter after a proper roll in the sheets.

  He glanced around the building, his blue eyes trailing over the polished marble floors, the ancient sandstone walls adorned with framed blueprints and city plans from when Sweet Water was just an idea in the founders’ minds. He finished his appraisal by eyeing my assistant’s and my desks behind us, the rich maple wood sitting atop more marble, the room free of office equipment save our computers—we kept the copiers and records and such in a closed room as to not mar the beauty of the old building.

  “I expected more people, for one,” he said. “And definitely more officey stuff. Not a museum.”

  I bit my bottom lip to keep from chuckling. “Officey?” I asked. “Is that a Scottish term?”

  He tilted his head, his eyes now raking the length of my body. It took everything I had not to smooth the pink Chanel skirt and white blouse I’d picked out this morning. His stare was like a sizzling brand as he took in the curves of my hips, the fullness of my bust, and he lingered on the pink lipstick I’d selected to match the skirt.

  “It is,” he finally answered. “Now, what duties am I to perform for ye today?”

  A warm chill raced down my spine at the way his tongue curled around the words. Damn accent. Why did it make my knees wobble?

  I straightened my spine, tearing my eyes off the defined chest I could easily see through his white T-shirt and hustled to the supply closet down the hall from my office. “Here,” I said, shoving a bundle of fabric at him. “You’ll need to put this on first.”

  “Why?” He surveyed the brown jumpsuit like it was a rotten piece of fruit.

  “Because,” I said. “It marks you for what you are.”

  Connell took a step closer to me, and the hallway was suddenly very hot and very crowded. I didn’t lose his gaze, though. Didn’t break. Not for a second. “What am I, Annabelle?”

  Heat unfurled in my core at the sound of my name, and I cursed myself for letting the Scotsmen have such an effect on me.

  “You,” I said, slightly breathless. Damn him, he smelled carnal—like cedarwood and oakmoss—as if he were some ancient highlander who smelled delicious even drenched in sweat.

  “Aye,” Connell said, dragging out the word. “Me…”

  “You are a…” my tongue twisted, and I sucked in a sharp breath, waving my hands as I clicked by him. “You are the person who damaged a priceless statue and therefore are under my full control for the next six weeks.”

  I stopped in my office, spinning around to face him.

  He was smirking again. “Under your full control doesn’t sound that bad.”

  I pursed my lips and pointed behind him. “The facilities are to the left, third door down. You may change in there. I’ll have a list of tasks for you when you return.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” he said, and gave me a mock bow before turning out of my office and down the hall connected to it.

  I blew out a breath, my cheeks burning.

  This would be the longest six weeks of my life.

  Less than five minutes later, Connell rounded the corner, and lucky for me, I was already sitting down. Because sweet tea on a hot day, the man made the ugly brown jumpsuit look so damn good.

  “Seriously?” I grumbled under my breath, tearing my eyes away from the way he’d tied the top half around his waist, the thick brown pants bunching along his strong abdomen.

  “What?”

  I shook my head and flung a piece of paper at him. He caught it easily against his chest.

  “Mop the floors. Lubricate door hinges…” He cocked an eyebrow at me before continuing to read his list. “Clean the bathrooms. Clean basement which includes organizing back records.”

  I held my breath, waiting.

  For him to protest.

  To whine.

  To offer me a check in whatever number I wanted to make this all go away.

  “All right, then,” he said. “Where might I find a mop and bucket, boss?”

  I turned in my chair and gaped up at him.

  That half-smile shaped his lips again.

  I pointed toward the hallway connected to my office. “To the right, two doors down. You can get water from the facilities.”

  He nodded, pocketing the list as he headed the direction I indicated.

  Lacy whistled from her desk but kept her eyes trained on her computer. “I may need to call Dan up for a quickie on my lunch break because y’all are flinging that sexual tension all over the place.”

  I scoffed. “Oh please,” I said, waving her off. “Do what you want with your husband, but there is absolutely nothing flying between Connell and myself.”

  Lacy sucked her teeth. “I don’t know,” she said. “Sure as hell seems like it. Hell, feels like it. The way he was looking at you? Like you were a snack—”

  “Stop,” I said, shifting in my seat. “You’re seeing things.” Because I was most certainly not his type. I wasn’t a model, not even close. I had curves. My stomach was soft, not toned, and my thighs were thick. I loved my body, but I definitely didn’t want to be scrutinized by a celebrity athlete who was used to dating stick figures. Not that I’d looked him up or
anything.

  “Okay,” Lacy said, somewhat softer. “Whatever you say, boss,” she teased.

  Two hours later, Lacy had gone on her break, practically sprinting out the door and into her awaiting husband’s open arms. Newlyweds.

  I hunched over my desk, buried in the plans for my biggest city addition yet.

  “What’s an Ostrich Reserve?” Connell’s voice made me jump, and I dropped the papers I’d been reading all over the floor.

  I hurried to scoop them up, but Connell was faster, already on his knees gathering the loose sheets. My heart thudded rapidly in my chest from the sight of him on his knees before me, those crystal blue eyes glancing up to mine as he handed me the chaotic pile.

  I wet my lips and took the papers from him with slightly trembling fingers. “Thank you,” I said, and settled the paperwork back on my desk.

  “So,” he said, eyeing the stack. “What’s that?”

  I bit my lip, contemplating. My excitement outweighed my logic. “Can you keep a secret?”

  He grinned. “I love secrets.”

  I placed my palm on the papers. “I’m in the beginning stages of constructing an ostrich reserve.”

  “Aye,” he said, nodding. “I gathered that much from the text. But what of it?”

  “Well, as I’m sure you’ve gathered from running into our beloved Oliver statue with a four-wheeler, the bird is incredibly important to the town of Sweet Water.”

  “You don’t say!” Connell said sarcastically, winking at me.

  I pursed my lips at him. “As I mentioned before,” I said. “Ostrich Racing used to be the tourist attraction here in Sweet Water. It brought in the wealthiest from Charleston and all over South Carolina in the thirties.”

  “Racing.” Connell shoved his hands in his pockets. “On Ostriches. I still don’t get it.”

  “Well, yes,” I said, ignoring the way his blond hair fell just so over his forehead when he moved. “Obviously, I wouldn’t want to bring the exact races back—I’m humane, after all. But rescuing ostriches in need has always been a dream of mine, as well as bringing them back to Sweet Water as an attraction.”

  His eyebrows rose, but he nodded. “Ostriches. Important. Got it.” He grinned. “How many have ye got?”

  “How many what?”

  “Ostriches,” he laughed.

  “Oh,” I said, sighing. “I haven’t gotten any yet. I’ve only just started on the permits and potential properties.”

  “Well, if you need any help—”

  “From you?”

  He raised his arms to indicate the lack of anyone else standing in my office. “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “Didn’t figure you cared much about this community. Hence, the whole reason you’ve been sentenced to suffer six weeks with me.”

  He pressed his lips together, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

  “No,” I said, raising my hand. “Don’t misunderstand me,” I hurried to say. “I only meant with your career and traveling and everything. You don’t have much time to put down roots.”

  Connell cocked an eyebrow at me. “You don’t know much about me at all, sweet Annabelle,” he said, and I swallowed hard as he leaned down closer to me. “And until ye do, don’t make assumptions.” He braced his hands on either armrest of my chair, his nose an inch from mine. “Now, boss, where are these records?”

  I straightened in my chair before standing, breaking his grasp on the chair. The feel of his body against mine, even for the briefest of moments, burned hotter than a summer Sunday.

  “That job will take you the longest, I suspect,” I said, smoothing out my blouse as I headed down the hallway and to the set of connected stairs leading to the basement. He followed me down, and I flicked on the light to illuminate the massive space. “It’s been seriously neglected,” I said, my eyes roaming over the array of holiday decorations, extra tables and chairs, party props, and then the countless boxes of public records. “They date back nearly thirty years,” I said. “Court hearings, council meeting minutes, etcetera. I’ve done my best, but most of my time, and overtime, is used up on current events.” I sighed, exhaustion settling in my bones simply looking at this mess. “And we’ve just been waiting for the right man to do the job.” I tried to lighten the overwhelming assignment.

  Connell chuckled. “And you think I’m that man.”

  “Yes, I do.” I stepped closer to him, arching my neck to meet his eyes. “And I do know a little bit about you, Mr. MacDhuibh. If you so much as think of pulling a prank here and destroying these records, I will personally see to it that you never set foot in Sweet Water again.”

  He narrowed his gaze, his eyes churning with…offense? Worry? Regret?

  “I didn’t mean to harm your beloved statue,” he said, his voice low, raspy. “And I’m not trying to argue me way out of the chores you’re giving me. You can trust me, Annabelle.”

  A smile played on my lips at the sincerity in his words, but who was I kidding? I’m sure Connell was well versed in seducing women into believing anything that came out of that perfect, Scottish mouth of his.

  “Good,” I said, clearing my throat. “You’re free to go at four.” I nearly sprinted up the stairs, gulping down the air outside of the basement that wasn’t drenched in Connell’s scent.

  The rest of the afternoon was quiet save for the clicks of my keyboard as I resolved a variety of town matters and the slight rumblings of items as Connell worked in the basement beneath me. Sometimes I’d hear him hum some melody I couldn’t recognize, but it had a hauntingly beautiful quality to it. The deep tenor of his voice and the rumble from his chest as he hummed, painted images of rolling green hills and stone castles in my mind. I could almost taste the rain in the air, smell the lush grass, feel the ancient stone on my fingertips.

  “Boss?”

  I jolted at my desk, my eyes snapping open from their daydream state.

  “Sweet mercy, Connell,” I said, clutching my chest to slow my racing heart. “Tomorrow I believe I’ll attach a bell to that jumpsuit.”

  He laughed, the sound genuine and full and it caressed my skin. “I said your name twice. Were ye napping?”

  “No,” I snapped, straightening my desk. I spared a glance toward Lacy, who bit back her smile. “I was…just taking a moment to think. What can I do for you?”

  He jerked a thumb toward the large clock on the farthest wall in my office. “It’s four.”

  I nodded. “You can go.”

  “Aye,” he said. “You already said that.”

  “Then what—”

  “Do you need a ride to Scythe?”

  My lips parted, a breath rushing from them. “How did you know I was going to Scythe tonight?”

  “Everyone is going,” he said, shrugging. “Celebrate the start of summer vacation—the offseason.”

  “Oh, well, I…” I sucked in a sharp breath. “I have a few things to finish up here. Thank you for the offer. I’ll drive myself later.”

  Something like defeat flashed in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant. He nodded, backing out of my office. “See you round, then.” He turned his back to me and sauntered out of the building.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t take him up on that offer!” Lacy said the second he was out of earshot.

  “I have work to do,” I said, returning focus to my computer.

  “So! You always have work to do. You rarely stop working.”

  “Your point?”

  “If there was ever a time to stop working, it’s to take a ride with Connell freaking MacDhuibh!”

  I chuckled softly, shaking my head. “Lacy, he’s going to be working under me for the next six weeks. Not that there is anything there, but even if there was, it would be highly inappropriate to engage in such a relationship with a coworker.”

  Lacy smacked her hand on her desk, gaping at me. “He’s not technically your employee. Not like I am.”

  “He’s still under my charge.” I waved her off. “Not another w
ord on the matter, please,” I said and winked at her. “You can clock off early if you’d like.”

  She brightened at that. “Thanks, Annabelle.” She squeezed my shoulder as she walked past my desk. “And you know, six weeks isn’t that long of a time.”

  “Meaning?”

  She shrugged as she headed toward the exit. “Once he’s completed his service you two could—”

  “You’re impossible!” I laughed. “Go! Have fun tonight. Not everyone is drowning in newlywed lust like you are.”

  She laughed, shaking her head as she left.

  When the quiet settled over my office again, I let out a deep breath, the tension in my shoulders tightening from the workload I had ahead of me.

  And before I could stop myself, I started humming.

  Connell’s song.

  Scythe was crammed nearly wall-to-wall with Reapers, so much so it was almost impossible to squeeze my way to the bar Echo currently hustled behind.

  “Annabelle!” She said when she saw me. “Make room,” she said, eyeing a couple of Reaper rookies. They hurried off their stools and made their way to the pool tables in the back of the bar.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I said, taking the seat anyway.

  “Of course, I did,” she said. “They had their drinks anyway.” She shrugged and wiped some stray purple strands off her forehead.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, eyes trailing to her still-flat belly.

  “Morning sickness is a real bitch,” she said, smoothing a hand over her tummy. “But at least I can choose which shifts I work. Nights aren’t nearly as bad.”

  “You don’t have to work at all—”

  “Oh no you don’t,” she cut me off, wagging a finger at me. “Not you too. Sawyer has already brought it up a hundred times.”

  I raised my hands in defense. “We care about you.”

  “I know. And I’m not the first woman in the world to get pregnant. I’ll work until I feel like I can’t anymore. Nothing has changed.”

  I arched a brow at her.