Hooked: A Christmas Romance: The Doyles, Boston Irish Mafia Romance

by Sophie Austin

  There’s a kind of anonymity in larger groups if you want to lose yourself in a space, but that’s always been too depressing to me. It’s not how I choose to forget the hard stuff.

  Does Sia have hard things to forget? And if she does, what do they look like? Her interest in other people is genuine, but what’s her story?

  Maybe she doesn’t have one.

  Then I remember the flash of pain that passed between her and Danny and I feel guilty again.

  I zip up, wash my hands, and head back to the bar. I’m not surprised to see a group of townie dudes circling Sia and Kristi when I get back. My presence was the only thing keeping them at bay. No offense to Sven, of course.

  Really charming how some men only keep their distance from women they see as other men’s property.

  Kristi’s posture very clearly communicates “I am going to turn you into so much chum.”

  Since I generally don’t spend a lot of time talking, I’ve become a keen observer of body language and unspoken communication.

  A young woman has taken my seat, and she’s welcome to it. I don’t want to make assumptions about the help Kristi and Sia do or don’t need, but Sia looks as uncomfortable as Kristi looks mad. She’s hugging herself and smiling in that way women do when they’re afraid to piss off an aggressor.

  I’d seen that exact smile on several of my foster sisters.

  Which is why I learned how to fight.

  I prefer not to, and it’s not like I enjoyed getting whipped instead of my foster sisters, but I’ll be damned if I let some insecure loser abuse or intimidate women to feel big.

  I shoulder aside one of the men, coming to stand directly behind Sia and Kristi. “Excuse me.”

  Sia looks up at my baritone, and the controlled panic in her eyes is enough for me.

  “Vinny,” she says, her shoulders relaxing.

  “You ladies ready to go?” I ask.

  Sia looks at Kristi. She obviously doesn’t want to spoil her friend’s good time, even at her own expense.

  “Let’s bug out,” Kristi says. “It’s lame as fuck in here now.”

  “Do you want to say bye to Sven?” I ask.

  Kristi smiles at Sia. “Nah. Let’s go.”

  Shouldering in, I take up as much space as possible to allow them to slide off the barstools and slip into their coats without bumping into one of the desperate men. Clearly I haven’t made any friends, but obviously I don’t care. Moving in behind the women, we make our way to the front. If looks could kill, I’d be in the sewer system with Taco’s predecessor, Filet, who was given respectful burial-at-sea via the toilet not so long ago.

  We’re almost near the exit when a sloppy drunk grabs Sia’s arm.

  “Stop.” She swats at him. He releases her arm and grabs her hand instead. She hisses in pain.

  Kristi is ahead of Sia and hadn’t noticed the grab, or this dude would be dead before I got there.

  But it’s my lucky day.

  My hand wraps around his wrist before he realizes what’s happening. I know all about pressure points and squeeze until he releases Sia and sinks to his knees.

  “We don’t grab women,” I say, calmly. “We don’t grab anyone, but we certainly don’t grab women.”

  “Let me go, man,” he pleads. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was your girl.”

  “That’s irrelevant.” I didn’t need to clarify anything with this asshole. Let him think she’s with me if it offers her any kind of protection.

  Besides, it doesn’t hurt my ego any for people to think that the hottest woman in the bar is mine.

  “You shouldn’t grab women whether they have boyfriends or not,” I continue my lecture. Mostly because watching this dude squirm is satisfying. “Now will you do that again?”

  “No. Oh god, please let me go. You’re breaking my wrist.”

  “I’m not,” I say flatly. “But you didn’t seem concerned when you grabbed her. I’m just saying that maybe you should hold yourself to the same standards you hold others.” When I do let him go, it’s mostly because I can sense that Sia wants to get out, and now.

  He grabs his wrist and scurries away. I wrap my arm around Sia, helping her through the maze of people. She presses into me, and it feels great.

  When we get outside, I move my arm away, but she stays huddled against me.

  “Where’d you go?” Kristi asks. “I looked away for a minute and you weren’t behind me.”

  “Sorry,” Sia says, hugging herself. She’s clearly embarrassed, even though nothing that happened was her fault.

  “Some dude got too familiar with Sia and we had to have a conversation. He’s lucky you didn’t see it go down.” That’s not lip service either.

  “Are you serious?” Kristi asks. “Jesus Christ, the gall of some of these dudes. Ugly-ass motherfuckers who cheat on their wives, who deserve much better I might add, and then think they can measure up with her? No.”

  Sia’s shivering. I need to be careful here. But I drape my arm around her shoulder again. Too bad Sven isn’t watching.

  “Where are you parked?”

  We walk Kristi to her car, and once she’s taken off safely, Sia and I walk back to the house. I struggle to slow my pace. She’s so much shorter than I am, even with those incredible boots.

  She rambles on through chattering teeth, nervously trying to fill the space. Some people can’t handle silence.

  But she’s been through a lot the past two days, so I don’t interrupt. She goes on about her cousins, and how because of who they are, when she was a teenager guys would either avoid her out of fear or be a dick to her to prove some macho bullshit point.

  “Nothing more appealing than cowardice,” I say derisively.

  I haven’t said much since we left, so she pauses.

  “Did you get into a lot of fights?” She’s looking at my nose.

  Apparently I’m not the only one who’s observant. I’m not ashamed of my past, but when I talk about it, people decide who I am from that alone. I’m not some sad sack victim, and I won’t put up with pity. Usually I say nothing or try to make it so uncomfortable that the conversation stops.

  I’ll go with tactic two here.

  “One of my foster fathers. He was drunk. Hitting his wife. I intervened. I was twelve and I haven’t lost a fight since.” I tell it like a joke.

  We start walking again, and she’s tucked under my arm. I wait for her nervous chatter to fill the awkward silence I created.

  But she doesn’t say anything until we reach the front stairs of Danny’s house. She slides out from under my arm, moving up a step so she can be face-to-face with me.

  “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot,” she begins. “But you choose to help people anyway, even though you didn’t have that for yourself.”

  I want to shove past her. Past the earnest admiration in her voice. Who have I helped? The Coast Guard is a job, and humiliating bullies is its own satisfaction.

  She moves slightly closer and touches my shoulder again, the fire of it searing through me.

  “You deserve that care too, Vinny.”

  I can’t do this. Not here, not with her. Either I’m going to kiss her or tell her to mind her own goddamn business and stick with her silly party planning. I’m not sure which is the worse idea.

  Gently, I move her hand off my shoulder. Don’t want to hurt her. I slip around her and open the door.

  The silence of the front hall welcomes me. Sia follows, shutting and locking the door behind her. I don’t have time for whatever emotional reaction she’s fermenting right now. She heads up the stairs and relief floods me.

  “You know,” she says.

  Shit.

  I turn to face her.

  “If you ever do get invited to an ugly sweater contest, you should wear that. You’ll definitely win first prize.”

  What the hell?

  She’s smiling wickedly.

  “Goodnight, Vinny.”

  Damn.

&nbs
p; 9

  Sia

  I’m singing to myself as I make some tea. It’s one of my favorite Christmas songs—Merry Christmas Darling by the Carpenters. The melancholy of the song speaks to me: wanting to spend Christmas with the ones you love the most, but not always having that option.

  When I get to the part about logs on the fire filling me with desire, I hear Vinny’s heavy footsteps on the stairs and stop singing.

  The rated-R dream I had about him last night floods back. He may be a closed off loner with a difficult past. But he’s still sexy as hell, even in the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen, taking down that creep like it was nothing.

  I wrap my satin robe around me more tightly.

  “Morning,” he says. His hair sticks up every which way, and there’s an edge of sleep to his voice.

  Oh my god. My body thrums with desire and I want nothing more than to throw myself at this man right now and straddle his lap while I drag my tongue over his lips.

  Except he can barely tolerate me.

  I need to rein in my libido if I don’t want to embarrass myself.

  “Do you want some tea?”

  He yawns, shaking his head. “I’ll make some coffee in a bit, thanks.”

  I should eat something, but now I’m distracted. Vinny flips through the paper my uncle left on the table.

  Party logistics.

  Right.

  Kristi and I talked before Vinny showed up at the bar yesterday. She’ll arrange the liquor and Sven would bartend. I’ll pay him well enough to take Kristi out on a fabulous date. Kristi gave me the names of caterers, including a local bakery famous for its Christmas cookies which ship out worldwide.

  Maybe we could get some photos of the cookies hosted on their website. Good publicity for them, and for the inn. Keep making those connections. Keep my uncle busy and happy.

  I like baking myself, and plan on making some cookies, but just for the family Christmas gathering. Even with the scaled down version of the party, it’s too much to bake for both it and Christmas in such a short amount of time.

  I actually have an order out with the local grocery store for Christmas dinner already. Feeding all five of my Doyle cousins and their partners is no small feat. But they always help in the kitchen. Their dad had brought them up right.

  And he’s not well, so it’ll be good to have him here while we still can. He’d been like a second father to me, my own being too busy to care. Being welcomed into their clan had saved me from the kind of desolation I suspect Vinny experienced.

  Which is why I need this to be as warm and festive as possible. To remind us of what matters.

  Will Vinny join us?

  He’s holding the paper up to read it. Or to avoid looking at me.

  Fine then.

  The kettle’s steaming and I turn off the heat before it starts to shriek. I hate that noise, and it means the water is too hot for most teas anyway. I pour the water into the mug, and leave it on the table to steep, sitting across from Vinny.

  I flex my hands a few times. I’ve been using that ointment Kristi gave me to help my hands heal up, but a new bruise has blossomed where that asshole guy grabbed me.

  “How’s the hand?”

  Is the paper see-through?

  Wrapping my hands around the warm mug, I stare down into the dark liquid.

  “Okay. My left hand is pretty good, though, which is lucky.”

  He puts the paper down.

  “You’re a lefty?”

  “Yes. Me and Drew both were.”

  Oh. I guess he wouldn’t know who Drew is.

  “Drew was,” I pause, not sure how to continue.

  “Danny’s kid,” he says. He looks like he’s afraid I’m going to cry, and he’ll have to do something about it.

  But no. I won’t cry. I know what happens when I make people uncomfortable with my tough feelings. Better to deal with those myself. I find being the glue that holds people together more productive anyway.

  I need to get to work.

  “He was,” I reply, pushing my go-to chipper tone. “We were really close.” I’m about to push away from the table, but then Vinny folds the paper up, his expression shifting to curiosity.

  “I know he died. But Danny doesn’t really talk about it.”

  “No,” I interrupt. “None of the Fitzgeralds do. I guess that’s something you can understand.”

  He flinches. “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Shaking my head, I take and exhale a deep breath. Vinny doesn’t deserve to be the receptable of my frustration. “I didn’t mean it like that. I understand why people don’t want to talk about his death. It’s really painful.” I meant that he’s someone who understands not talking about painful things, even if I don’t. Carefully, I focus my eyes on the ceiling, looking up so any tears dry before they can form.

  “But he’s being erased because he made a few terrible decisions. And he was so much more than the last six months of his life. More than the overdose that killed him.”

  “I’m sure no one means to erase him,” Vinny offers. “It’s just hard sometimes.”

  “It is.” I sigh. “He was like a brother to me. We ran together and it didn’t matter then that I was invisible, because he saw me even when my own parents didn’t. And I did the same for him. Danny’s a good man now, but it took a while to get there. It wasn’t until Drew died and his wife soon after that he realized how important family was. More important than bridge games with the upper crust and specious connections to the Kennedys.”

  And the worst part is that I let Drew down. I saw him spiraling and didn’t do everything it took to help him.

  My mug miraculously doesn’t crack under the pressure from my hands. It hurts, but the pain grounds me.

  “I’m sorry, Sia.” Vinny’s voice is soft, tinged with a reluctance that instantly makes me ashamed.

  God, why am I whining at someone who got his face smashed in as child by an adult who was supposed to be caring for him?

  “No. I’m sorry—I must sound like such a brat after what you’ve been through.”

  I need to explain myself.

  “Drew was a good person, Vinny. And I miss him. And I hate that I can’t say that to my uncle, or any of the family left on his side.”

  “I think,” he says, “that you would be able to say it to Danny now. I’m not trying to tell you what to do—you’ve obviously tried before and it didn’t go well?”

  That is an understatement. There’s a reason my uncle hadn’t been to my holiday parties, and why I haven’t been back here until now. It’s difficult, but I finally pull my gaze from the ceiling and focus on Vinny. I expect pity, or fear, or maybe even disdain. But he just leans slightly forward, his chin resting on his hands.

  “He was a mess when I brought you here from the boat. When he realized he could’ve lost you too. It might be worth another try. When you’re ready.”

  Christ. The first time I’m able to talk about Drew in the house he grew up in, and it’s with this man.

  But I guess he’s had his fair share of loss too.

  Tentatively, I release my poor mug and touch his elbow. He flinches again, and I’m about to pull away when he unfolds his arms and takes my hand in his.

  “I’m a lefty too,” he says quietly, gently stroking the back of my hand with his thumb, stopping just under my scraped knuckles.

  Heat rises to my face as he turns my hand over as if checking for more injuries. He traces the lines of my palm, before stroking the underside of my wrist. A delicious shiver runs through my body, and those brown eyes of his spark with an intensity that thrills me. My breath catches in my throat. But I can’t forget that flinch, and why this, whatever this is, will never work.

  “Good morning, kids.” Uncle Danny’s voice cuts through the tension, and Vinny and I pull away from each other like we’ve been caught in bed together.

  Sweet Christ and all the saints. It’s time for me to go plan some décor. I push back from the
table, red-faced and far more turned on from a simple touch than I should be.

  I greet my uncle and flee, the intense desire in Vinny’s eyes searing my mind.

  10

  Vinny

  Danny sits across from me, yammering about something I can’t process right now. I’m hard as a rock, trapped here until I can leave without showing Danny how much I want his niece.

  The way she’d turned pink, goosebumps breaking out over her skin, just from a simple touch on her wrist? That silky robe of hers hid nothing, revealing how her nipples had responded too.

  I’d love to touch her there. Skim my fingers over those taut peaks. Tease her and find out what kinds of noises she makes when she’s fully aroused.

  But what happens when she wants more than just sex? Feelings I’m not equipped to deal with is what. No, this can’t happen.

  “It’s great that you two are getting along,” Danny says, sitting directly across from me.

  Would it be noticeable if I just used the newspaper like some kind of boner shield? Because I don’t want to have this conversation right now.

  “I know Sia brings a lot of energy,” he continues.

  I know a great way to channel that energy.

  Shit. Not helping.

  “It can be a lot for someone like yourself who prefers peace and quiet.”

  Oh, I like a lot of noise in certain situations.

  “But she’s got a big heart.”

  “Yeah,” I say, desperately needing the distraction. “I don’t get the whole party thing, but I appreciate that she’s spending locally at least.”

  “No, I know you’re not big on social events.” He sighs. “But she’s a breath of fresh air, and I didn’t always appreciate her when I should’ve.”

  Normally I wouldn’t ask. It’s not my place. But my curiosity about Sia overrides my better judgment. Plus I still have this goddamn erection.

  “What do you mean?” A simple enough question.

  He sighs. “She was a sensitive kid, you know? Smart, talented—took after my sister. Her middle name’s Kathleen. She was little when Kathleen passed, and no one else really had that sensitive artist’s soul. Other than your pal, Kieran, of course.”