Lachlan: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Dangerous Doms)

by Jane Henry

  I want to pull my eyes away from him, to hide from his brutal honesty, but I make myself hold his gaze. I swallow and nod.

  “Aye,” I say huskily. “Don’t I know it, Keenan.”

  “Do you, Lachlan?” he asks, his voice stern, the father of our Clan.

  Do I?

  “Christ, of course I do, Keenan. It’s the only reason I haven’t staked my claim over her. I haven’t touched her. I’ve done nothing but protect her all these years.”

  “Haven’t staked your bloody claim?” he asks, and there’s humor in his voice now. His eyes twinkle, and his lips twitch. “You haven’t claimed her the way a man of the Clan typically does, no.” He means I haven’t fucked her, put a ring on her finger, or put my baby in her. “You’ve too much honor for that. Too much respect for her. For Nolan and Sheena. But you’ve just asked me to fly our private jet over a bloody ocean so you can personally see to her safety and protection, Lach.”

  I shrug. “What of it?”

  He claps me on the shoulder. “All I’m saying is, be smart about it, Lach. The girl loves you.”

  I wince. “She’s barely a woman, Keenan. How can I?”

  He shakes his head with a sigh.

  “Sadly, lad, that isn’t the case, now, is it? Any girl who’s been through what she has lost her childhood long before she became a legal adult.”

  He speaks a truth I’ve suspected for years. She was a child when I met her, already bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders. She never dated the way her mates did. How could she? She’d already experienced more challenges, tragedy, and heartache than most adults.

  “Lachlan,” Keenan continues. “Use the brains God gave you. We’re men of the Clan. We don’t do things the traditional way.”

  I bloody well know it. Keenan took his wife Caitlin as his prisoner when they first met. Cormac’s wife Aileen was his as tribute, an arranged marriage to prevent war between clans. Hell, even Nolan imprisoned Sheena for spying on us, and Maeve, Keenan’s mother and the matriarch of our group, was wed to the late Seamus McCarthy when she was about the same age.

  “Doesn’t mean it’s right,” I tell him, but this time, he shakes his head.

  “And that’s where you’re fucking wrong.”

  “Come again?”

  “It’d be wrong if you didn’t claim her, Lach.”

  “Nolan would kill me.”

  Keenan strokes his chin, as if thinking about the possibility of a painful, brutal death at the hands of my Clan brother.

  “Maybe.”

  And that makes me laugh. “Such a casual response to such a violent way to die,” I say with a derisive snort.

  “Nolan loves you, and you know it,” he finally says. “As does Sheena. They’d have to be blind to not know how much you care for the girl.”

  Girl. A stark reminder of how old she is.

  I need to leave, so I don’t tell him the other doubts I have. How being wed to a man of the Clan limits her possibilities, how I want her to have a lifetime of dreams and hopes ahead of her, but I mull over his words as I get ready.

  Half an hour later I’ve got a bag of essentials slung over my back, my phone in my pocket, and I’m heading to Boston on the private jet. I have to do this. I fucking have to.

  The minutes turn into hours as we fly west, but I stay in touch with Tiernan the whole time. He’s made it to her hotel room. She’s alright. But no one’s found her guard.

  When I’m an hour away from landing, Tiernan sends me a text.

  We need to check on Aisling, but I won’t leave Fiona to do it.

  He bloody well won’t.

  Aisling’s not our concern.

  I know exactly who she is. Since she’s best friends with Fiona, I know every detail of her life. I’ve tracked her and her family for years.

  Tiernan texts back. She is if she’s affiliated with us and someone took down our guard.

  She isn’t our first priority.

  Of course not. Bloody hell, I wish we had the brotherhood closer.

  I know what he means. We’ve spent years surrounded in a sort of bubble, the protection of the Clan at our backs at all times. If one brother’s endangered, we sound the warning call. I’ve had an army of trained men at my back since I was a teen. It’s disconcerting not having that.

  My eyes are sandy with lack of sleep, but my body is tense when we finally land in a safe zone just minutes away from the Boston Harbor. I text Keenan.

  Landed. Going to get a ride to her hotel. Any word on the guard?

  Keenan: Nothing yet. I’ll let you know soon as I find out.

  This isn’t good. I know it. If a guard goes missing without any response to his superior, he’s likely dead. No guard would let more than five minutes pass between communicating with his boss. Any guard who made such an error without death as an excuse would be severely punished or summarily fired. Maybe both.

  Adrenaline courses through me when I see the hotel where she’s staying. I glance again at the tracker on my phone, blessedly relieved that the little dot showing her whereabouts is still right here, thank God.

  I take my bag, careful to conceal the bevy of weapons I’ve brought. I wear a jacket to cover up my tats, not wanting to reveal myself as Irish mob seconds after landing on American soil.

  I haven’t given much thought to my arrival, to seeing her, but as I draw nearer, my heartbeat races. God, I’ve missed her. The last phone conversation we had buried old wounds and brought us together again.

  Will she be angry I’ve come trailing after her? She hates when I’m overbearing, and nearly every fight we’ve ever had was for just that reason.

  Tiernan’s standing guard outside her room when I arrive.

  “Why are you out here?” I ask, frowning at him. He’s too far from her.

  “Gives me a better vantage point, and I didn’t want to wake her.”

  “Did you check in on her?”

  “Aye, of course. She’s fine. How’d you get here so fast?”

  “Private jet.”

  He raises his brows but doesn’t say anything in response.

  I nod, take the flat key he hands me to the door, and slide it against the locking mechanism. It clicks open, and I give him a nod. “I’ll take it from here.”

  He jerks his chin up in farewell. “Good to see you, brother,” he says with a smile, and I wonder if his choice of calling me brother right now is a reminder that she’s still his sister, and I better keep my fucking hands to myself. He’s younger than I am but nonetheless would attempt to kick my arse if I hurt his baby sister.

  “Good to see you, too,” I tell him. “Stay in touch.”

  I open the door to her room quietly, so I don’t wake her, and slowly click it shut behind me. I glance at the large bed, and my heart gives a great lurch in my chest.

  She isn’t wrapped up in the blankets. She’s wrapped up in my hoodie.

  I close my eyes for a moment, imprinting the image in my mind. I don’t ever want to forget how she looks, so innocent and gorgeous, my oversized hoodie dwarfing her small frame.

  Tiernan’s swept the place. I’ll do it myself again after I see her.

  I walk slowly to her and call her name as gently as I can. I don’t want to scare her.

  “Fiona.”

  She doesn’t stir. Is she okay? My heartbeat quickens.

  “Fiona?” I raise my voice, and this time she moves a little.

  Her eyelids flutter open, but she doesn’t startle. She just looks at me with her wide, beautiful eyes, then blinks and pushes herself up.

  “Lachlan?” she whispers. “Am I dreaming?”

  Bloody hell, I’m the one that’s dreaming. Relief floods me so fiercely when I see her safe, when I see her right here in front of me, I sit on the edge of the bed and reach out to her. The other night was the first time I’ve touched her, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind since.

  I gather her in my arms and draw her to my chest. I close my eyes and hold her to
me. Wordlessly, she lays her head on my chest and places her hand over my heart. It feels as if our heartbeats sync seamlessly, the pounding of one heart now, as I hold her.

  It isn’t awkward like it should be, two people intimately wrapped in each other’s arms who’ve never touched each other like this before. Maybe there’s something about the magic of early morning, or maybe somehow we know. We’re meant to be just like this.

  “Lachlan,” she says, so softly her voice is barely above a whisper. “When we spoke last night, where were you?”

  “Home.”

  She nods slowly. “I thought you were on an international mission.”

  “I was. Just got back from Madrid.”

  She raises her face to mine, her eyes lustrous and beautiful. “Oh,” she whispers. “And now… you’re here? How?”

  “I took the Clan private jet.”

  She blinks once, then twice, then closes her eyes and places her head back on my chest.

  “You came for me. You knew I might be in danger and you flew over an ocean for me.”

  “Well… when you put it that way…”

  She laughs, the most beautiful melodic sound, and it stirs my heart. How I’ve wanted to hold her like this.

  The clumsy bulk of the hoodie falls to the side, and I realize she’s dressed in only a t-shirt and thin cotton panties. I quickly look away.

  “You okay?” she asks. Of course, she’s oblivious to the fact that she’s nearly naked and I can’t look at her. Oh, God, if I look at her…

  I’m looking at her. I’m staring at her hungrily, with unabashed need and want, at the thin t-shirt that’s falling off her shoulder, and the tiny scrap of panties that barely covers the gorgeous fullness of her perfect bottom.

  Without a word, I bend and brush my lips to her shoulder. She shivers and sighs, then giggles.

  “Ack, Lach, that tickles.”

  “Tickles?”

  I roll her onto the bed and tweak her little button nose. Her t-shirt rides up and bares her belly, revealing a tiny silver navel ring. Now this I haven’t seen before.

  She likely sees the look on my face, because she reaches for her t-shirt and tries to yank it down. “Go away,” she says. “Lachlan…”

  But I easily push her hand away, then restrain her by capturing her wrists in my hand while I yank her t-shirt back up with the other.

  “Lachlan,” she repeats, barely stifling a moan.

  “When did you get that?”

  She bites her lip. “Few months ago.”

  “When.”

  “After I graduated.”

  Bloody hell.

  “You don’t like it?” she asks, tipping her head to the side so her pretty red hair falls onto the pillow.

  “Jesus, lass,” I groan, bending my mouth to her belly. “It’s hot.”

  I shouldn’t be doing this, and I know it, but I can’t help myself. The relief at knowing she’s okay, that she’s safe and with me now, makes my heart feel buoyant and the cares of the world so easy.

  “I ought to spank you properly for getting that.”

  My cock lengthens and my belly tightens with the thought of dragging her across my knees.

  She shivers, and her knees draw together. “Why?”

  I bring my mouth to her belly again and kiss the sweet, seductive dip of her navel. I don’t speak the words out loud. I don’t tell her why she should ask permission, because I’ve never told her how I feel.

  Because you belong to me.

  Then I realize what I’m doing. I release her wrists and yank her t-shirt back down.

  “I have to sweep the place, make sure you’re safe here.”

  “Tiernan already did.”

  “I know, but I still want to see.”

  I check the showers, the closets, the windows outside her room. I check for bugs or cameras or any signs of intrusion, but I see nothing. When I’m finally satisfied she’s alone, the exhaustion of the night settles in over me. I sit on the bed. “All clear.”

  She nods. “And Aisling?”

  Frowning, I pull out my phone and shoot Tiernan a text.

  “Tiernan’s checking on her.”

  “Lachlan, you look exhausted,” she says.

  “Haven’t slept yet.”

  “Oh, no,” she says sadly, then her voice firms. “Now, then, you must get some rest.” She pats the bed beside her. “Please. Just for a little while?”

  Keenan’s checking into her guard. Tiernan will check on Aisling. I’ve got my charge right here beside me.

  I kick off my shoes, then stand and yank off my t-shirt. I strip out of my trousers and head to the bed. I won’t touch her. I won’t take advantage of her. I just need some sleep.

  “Move over,” I say, and she giggles when I shove her halfway across the king-sized bed. “You stay on that side and I’ll stay on this side.”

  She sticks her tongue out at me, and without thinking, I give her a sharp but teasing smack to her arse. She gasps, her cheeks flush pink, then she rolls over on her side, miles away from me.

  I climb into bed and try to get comfortable. In the end, I yank her back over to me, spoon her sweet body from behind, and fall into a dreamless sleep with her tucked against me, skin to skin.

  Chapter 7

  Fiona

  He came for me.

  He came for me.

  I’m wide awake, basking in the warmth of this glow, his arms around me and his body to my back in this large, comfortable bed. Safe.

  So safe.

  I repeat the mantra over and over, because it makes me so happy I can hardly believe this is true.

  He came for me.

  I’m safe.

  He came for me.

  I relish every single detail. The strength of his body pressed up against mine. His masculine scent, clean and strong. His powerful arm wrapped around me, laced with Clan ink, the muscles evident even in sleep. Even his strong fingers that curl gently around me. His heavy breathing in slumber.

  The poor guy looked as if he hadn’t slept in days when he came to me, and now knowing I’m safe has put him to rest.

  It feels almost like a dream, Lachlan so close. Holding me, even as I wonder what danger brought him all the way from Ireland to America. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep for a while, nestled in the cocoon of his safety and protection. I open my eyes a short while later.

  I want to look at him. Slowly, so slowly so as not to wake him, I try to wriggle out of his grasp. First, I lift his hand while I try to move out from beneath him. I wriggle a bit, move his hand to my thigh, but the next second, his massive hand’s wrapped around me again and he pulls me even closer.

  Guess he’s awake.

  I try again, this time to lift his arm straight in the air, but he only tightens his hold.

  I try a third tactic. This time, I roll over on my side, not moving his arm, but clumsily flopping and flailing until I’ve fully turned over and can look at him.

  He opens one eye. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” His gravelly voice makes my nipples harden. My heart races at the sight of him. Basking in your beautiful masculine glory seems like a rather awkward response.

  “Looking at you,” I say simply. “I just want to look.”

  He closes his eye and furrows his brow, but I swear a corner of his lips twitch up.

  “Objectifying me, are you?”

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  “That’ll get you spanked, though.”

  My pulse spikes, as it always does when he threatens punishment. I can’t even imagine what it would be liked to be strewn over his strong, rugged thighs and spanked. Mortifying. A bit humbling. And very fucking hot.

  “Not if I do it silently in my head.” While his eyes are still closed, I run one finger along his forehead. He opens one eye again.

  “Fiona,” he warns.

  “What?”

  “Let me sleep, lass.”

  “You’re not asleep.”

  “I bloody well could sle
ep if you weren’t harassing me.”

  “Harassing you?” I wriggle a little and free my left hand, then scoot over closer and run the very tip of one finger down the center of his chest. I hold my breath. I tweak one of his nipples between my fingers.

  “That would be harassing you.”

  Now I’ve got his attention. He hisses out a breath as his eyes flash open and he grabs my wrist.

  “You naughty little brat.” His voice is affected, though, and I can see the outline of his hardened cock, stretched tight against his boxers. “Playing with fire, there, woman.”

  Woman. Oh, I like that.

  “Lach, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  Oh, lord, I am out of my mind, but I can’t help myself. We have a stolen moment of time, and I want him to pay attention.

  I won’t run again, but I won’t let him, either.

  And maybe a little part of me wants to see how he’ll handle things if I poke the bear.

  With my free hand, I reach out to touch the lower part of his back, running my finger along the elastic edge of his boxers, and when he reaches for my wrist, I grab his powerful arse and give him a good squeeze.

  For a half-asleep guy, he can move pretty fast. I find myself caught up in his arms as he sits up in bed and drags me straight over his lap.

  “Now, let’s not get carried away,” I say, my voice high-pitched and strained, but he doesn’t seem to be listening. He’s settling himself into the mass of pillows, his knees gently propped up in bed, as if arranging his body as a bench beneath my body. My heart is thundering so hard in my chest I’m dizzy at his nearness. He overpowers me so easily. My protests are almost laughable.

  “What did I tell you?” he demands.

  “About what?” I ask, breathless.

  “Provoking me.”

  “I’m not—I wasn’t—now, let’s talk this over!”

  “Sure,” he says easily, tipping his lap in such a way that I somehow lose my grip and flail helplessly about, as if he’s planned this. “You can talk in between your little squeals and shouts as I spank you.”

  I’m so wet between my legs at this point I’m afraid he’ll notice my damp knickers. Excitement skates through me, even as my cheeks flush pink from embarrassment.