The bed smelled like him, a pleasant light cologne and something more primal. On some level, that comforted me last night as I tried to rest.
“Get it together, girl.” I can’t afford any more asthma attacks. Still, I don’t want to break the magic of this moment. The feeling of safety. Like I’m finally where Brooks can’t reach me.
But I’ve already stayed too long. I lean over and bury my face in Connor’s cool down pillows, taking in the scent of him one last time before climbing reluctantly out of bed. I touch the card he’d left on the nightstand.
God, was that really just last night?
Tugging the hem of the Red Sox shirt down, I crack open the bedroom door. Last night seems like a dream. But I clearly remember the beautiful apartment, which is more stunning in the daylight. Dark wood, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a very manly aesthetic fill the loft. I imagine Connor across the living room, sweaty in jeans and a T-shirt, up on a stepladder installing the track lighting. Who doesn’t admire a man who can build things with his own hands?
The heat rises to my face as I imagine Connor’s hands, when his breathing sounds from the couch. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and black boxers. That’s it. My mouth goes dry at the sight of his broad chest rising and falling.
His face looks relaxed in sleep. A different man from the intense, driven one I’d met last night. Now, Connor has a hint of that boyish charm his smile promised.
Every part of me is drawn to him – it’s a magnetic force - though my brain screams at me to stop, I slowly cross over to the couch. With trembling fingertips, I reach out and brush a lock of his dark hair back from his forehead.
His eyes pop open, flashing momentary confusion. I gasp as he grabs my arm hard and spins me onto the couch. In one move, he’s shifted and positioned his body over mine.
Shit.
The whole thing took just a few seconds, and I’m pinned there, his hard body hovering above me. My heart races and I press my hands against his chest.
“Connor.” My voice is a tentative whisper. Why didn’t I leave when I had the chance? Why did I touch a stranger, completely unprovoked and without his permission? I practically poked a sleeping tiger, and now I’m trapped between his hard body and the soft leather of his couch.
His face immediately softens when I say his name.
“Ava. I’m sorry. I’m not used to being woken up by a beautiful woman.” He voice is thick with sleep, but he gives me a real smile. That damn dimple taunts. He doesn’t seem like he’s in a hurry to move.
“Somehow I doubt that,” I manage to squeak. There’s no way this gorgeous man doesn’t have a parade of women in and out of his life.
Is there?
“You’re the first woman that’s spent the night here,” he says quietly, his body still pressed over mine.
Our eyes meet for a second and he looks surprised at the confession. My heart still pounds. His eyes rest on my forehead like he’s suddenly working hard not to make eye contact, to collect himself.
“Did you think I was one of your bad guys?” Talking to fill the space, to lighten the mood, but honestly I don’t even know what I’m saying.
My hands move up and slide up over his strong shoulders. His muscles are steel under my hands.
His face is unreadable for a moment that seems to stretch into eternity and suddenly I’m afraid I’ve done something wrong. His mouth tightens and the tension builds in his face. I start to tremble beneath him. God, what am I doing? His startling blue eyes finally meet mine.
“Fuck,” he says, his voice even deeper.
Something shifts in that moment.
I haven’t been touched by a man in a very long time, and I’ve never been this close to a man that I find so attractive. Brooks’s whiskey dick always kept things more chaste than he would’ve liked, though I never minded. His touch left me cold, where suddenly I’m totally alive. I shouldn’t want to take this further.
Men are nothing but trouble for me.
Yet every instinct tells me that this man is different, and I wonder if maybe, just maybe, I can claim a little moment of joy for myself before I have to go back to my real life. Even if it’s a mistake.
His body is rigid, and he’s leaning into self-control. It feels like he’s going to shift away.
“Connor,” my voice is rough.
I arch my back in invitation, causing the hem of the shirt to rise even further.
“God,” he curses, and inches his fingers up my leg until he reaches my hip. I’m not wearing anything underneath. Not like I was prepared for an overnight... He swears as he makes this discovery, and leans down to capture my lips with his.
He kisses me gently at first and then fiercely, possessively. I open up to him, his tongue sliding into my mouth. I feel his bulge press against my growing wetness, and suddenly it’s too much. I want Connor and it scares me. A whimper escapes my throat.
He pulls away from me.
His voice is rough with desire, but there’s concern in his eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Nothing’s wrong.
This moment, this man. I just want to lose myself in it. Don’t want to have to think about how I’m going to feel when I land hard back in the middle of the mess that is my life. Tracing the tattoo on his arm, I keep my eyes there. “This just isn’t what I expected.”
That huge grin spreads across his face, invoking those irresistible dimples. “Me neither, sweetheart.”
He kisses me again, more possessive and demanding this time. My body presses into him in response. He watches my face carefully as he strokes my breasts through the shirt fabric. His fingertips linger on my nipples, teasing them, and they harden under his touch.
Faintly, I become aware of a shrill beeping somewhere in the background.
“Jesus, Ava. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
He pushes himself up, and pulls me over until I’m sitting on his lap. He rests his forehead against mine for just a second, before letting me go. I blush, moving backwards until we’re no longer touching.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around my torso and casting my eyes down.
“Ava,” his voice is rough, but his touch gentle as he tips up my chin. “You have nothing to be sorry about. That’s my alarm just going off. I have a meeting in an hour.”
Those oceanic eyes are dark, and I keep my eyes on the stubble lining his rugged jaw.
Unexpectedly, I lean forward and kiss him lightly, tracing a hand along the muscles down his side toward the band on his boxers. My lips curve into a smile as he curses again under his breath. He hugs me tightly to his body for one second, before letting me go. The beeping gets louder.
“Fuck,” he growls at the alarm, releasing me. “Give me a few minutes to shower. I’ll take you home.”
Connor walks into the bathroom, and throws one last smoldering look in my direction. As he slips out of sight and the water turns on, it’s like I’ve been hit in the face with an icy splash.
Panic overtakes me as soon as the water starts. I have to get out of here, before he gets further embroiled in this mess. Or before the illusion of what this could be – of me somehow fitting into this man’s life - makes it harder to cope with reality.
Before I can think again, I rush into his room and pull on my black pants from last night. I can’t bring myself to put on my dirty shirt and underwear, so I roll them into a ball and stuff it in my bag. Grabbing a notepad embossed with a huge gold letter D on the nightstand, I scrawl him a note.
“Connor: Thank you for your help. And the shirt. I’ll wash it and get it back to you. I promise.”
For a long minute, I look at the business card and debate whether I should take it or not. Then, I stuff it into my pocket.
Tossing on my coat and grabbing my bag, I turn all the bolts to leave. The door swings open and I pause for a moment, afraid of leaving it unlocked given what Connor had said last night. Was he serious about the bad guys? Footsteps ring down the hallway, moving r
apidly in my direction.
“Connor! Your lazy ass up yet?”
The tall, handsome man wears an expensive-looking charcoal business suit and he’s moving quickly, his eyes on his phone. There are familiar contours to his face, and I realize he looks like Connor. He’s one of the brothers from the picture.
As he reaches the door and looks up from his phone, his face flashes surprise. Bright blue eyes look me up and down and then scan the apartment behind me, before he steadies his expression and meets my gaze with a frank appraising stare.
Maybe Connor had been telling the truth about not bringing women to his apartment.
“Excuse me,” he says, in a not unfriendly tone. “I was looking for my brother.”
He quirks an eyebrow at me, waiting for a response.
“He’s in the shower.” That doesn’t sound less incriminating than anything else I’d offer. “Excuse me.”
Taking the opening, I move fast down hallway to the elevators, grateful that he doesn’t follow. As the doors glide closed behind me, I press against the door and squeeze my eyes shut.
What have I gotten myself into now?
6
Connor
Goddamnit.
My fingers rake through my hair, scrubbing shampoo through it as steaming hot water pours down over me.
Exhaling hard, I turn my face up into the stream. I’m going to be late to meet Seamus, which is the least of my problems at the moment. I don’t have time to get tangled up with a woman, especially not one with a complicated history.
My history is too much on its own.
That overwhelming desire to protect her comes roaring back as I remember her green eyes widening with fear when she startled me awake this morning. I hate that the world, that Brooks fucking Stacy, made her so afraid.
It’d be pretty satisfying to kick his teeth in. But right now, I need to finish this shower. And I need to concentrate on something other than Ava’s nipples hardening for me and the sweet sound of her moans if I ever want to get pants on again.
Imagining rearranging Brooks’s pretty face is an effective hard-on killer. Sully got a nice head start on that last night.
While I’m not always anxious to jump into a brawl, I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. You can’t be squeamish in this line of work. And I will get involved personally when there’s a woman’s safety at stake. My dad would pull the shillelagh he’d brought from Ireland off the barroom wall and knock our skulls in if he thought for a minute that any of us ever hit a woman. Brooks’s sack of shit father obviously hadn’t taught him any manners.
Maybe I need to stop thinking about both Ava and Brooks so much.
Turning off the water, I wrap a blue towel around my waist as I exit the bathroom.
“I’m almost ready,” I call out, wanting to reassure Ava. As much as I don’t have time for complications, I want, no, need her to feel safe with me. Anger rises in my throat as I remember that son of a bitch dragging her around outside my club.
“About fucking time, Romeo.”
Seamus’s voice is not the one I expect—or want—to hear. As I walk out of the bedroom, I see him sitting at the same island I made sub-par scrambled eggs for Ava at last night. The toast had been pretty decent, though. My eyes sweep the familiar space of my apartment.
No Ava.
The need to keep her safe slams into me hard. I can’t do that if she’s not here. Fuck.
“Where is she?”
There’s more threat in my voice than I intended. Seamus doesn’t deserve that. But it’s taking everything I’ve got right now not to run down the hall in search of her in this damned towel, or wrap my hands around the nearest throat to demand where she’s gone.
“Your lady dashed off as I was coming to see if you were ready.”
He nods toward my kitchen counter.
“I made some coffee. Seems like you need it, though I can’t believe you drink this cheap shit.” He taps the mug for effect.
She’s not my lady, she’s just a woman who needed my help.
Except I can’t stop thinking of her body pinned beneath mine. I hear judgment in Seamus’s voice, and not just about the coffee. Maybe I’m just mad at myself for getting sucked into something that could go off the rails.
Seamus’s eyes are hard on my face when he says, “Look, Connor, she left. Walked right out in your favorite Sox jersey, onto the elevator and down. She was fine.”
Our cousin’s disappearance passes wordlessly between us. Seamus is too discerning to not understand.
Beats pass as my eyes bore into the door, before I force myself to relax. Fight down the possessive feeling that’s clawing its way up my throat. No matter how much I want to protect this woman – this woman that I just met, I remind myself sternly – I have no right to tell her what to do.
To keep her here, or anywhere. That makes me as bad as that asshole trying to control what’s she doing.
I pour myself a cup of coffee. The bitter smell helps me focus. Seamus watches expectantly, his fingers drumming on the cool marble island.
“She’s going to law school,” I say, finally, after swallowing a mouthful of dark bitter brew. “Suffolk.”
That seems to matter. Like the fact that she’s got big plans somehow erases the awkwardness of this moment.
“Ah,” Seamus replies, nodding. “With our beloved mayor’s son?”
“Not everyone can go to Harvard, brother.”
“Connor,” Seamus says, standing up. “I don’t want to tell you what to do.”
“There’s a first,” I shoot back.
“Don’t be an asshole.”
I stare defiantly at my brother. For some reason, he can always make me feel like the little brother even though I’m in my thirties. With him standing there in his Brooks Brothers suit, and me in my towel, I’m not exactly making a convincing case for myself.
“I told you I’ve got this, Seamus.” I slam back the last of my coffee.
Forcefully, I add, “You have to trust me. Now let me put some goddamn clothes on so we can get to the Kildare on time. You’re going to look ridiculous in that fucking suit.”
“She had your Red Sox shirt on,” Seamus reminds me as I walk back to the bedroom. He could never let anything go.
“Great observation skills, Seamus. It’s why you’re such a fine lawyer.” I slam the door behind me. Now if I could just stop thinking about Ava.
7
Connor
The DJ spins his latest mixes, expertly weaving together a mesmerizing soundtrack to tonight’s debauchery.
People squeeze onto the dance floor to undulate and grind, seeing, being seen. They’re leaving everything behind for a few hours in a haze of bodies and alcohol. Every table and available inch of floor space is packed, and a quick glance out the door shows me a line around the block of would-be partiers waiting to get in. It’s a record night for the club, and a quick check with my security guys shows everything’s running smoothly.
Exactly as it should be at Intrigue. Just the way I set it up.
So why the hell am I so on edge? Again. I pull out my phone and quickly check the screen.
Still nothing.
“Hey, boss.” It’s Sully, standing next to me. He’s vigilantly scanning the crowd and won’t make eye contact, but I can see an eyebrow raised. A shit-eating grin on his face.
“If she ain’t called yet, she’s probably not going to.”
“Fuck off, Sully.”
He’s right. It’s been over a week since I’ve seen Ava. Over a week since she ran out of my place. She took my card, so I know she has my number. She’ll call when she’s ready.
But maybe I’m not ready to wait any longer.
I don’t have her number, but I could get it. I know where she works, where she goes to school. It’d be easy enough to track her down. Check on her. Make sure she’s safe and if I’m honest with myself, just see her again.
But what would that make me? Another fucking stalker.
>
I don’t want to pressure her. And I don’t have time to take this further. I’ve got my own shit to deal with. If there’s ever a time I need to keep my head straight, it’s now.
The week has been full of meetings about the family business, and for the first time, I’m wrestling with my future in a real way. Intrigue’s one of the biggest money-makers in Doyle Enterprises. But do I want to run this club forever? Giving my head a sharp shake, I look around again. Not going to solve every issue tonight.
My mind goes back to Ava. Something tells me that it’s all in with this girl. If I start things up with Ava, it’s going to get serious fast.
Trying to refocus, my thoughts drift again to her sitting in my kitchen. Sitting in my lap. Sleeping in my bed. Jesus, Doyle, pull it together. I can’t remember the last time a woman had an effect on me like this. Not ever, if I’m honest.
A group of giggling, long-legged blondes head my way and make small talk, interrupting my thoughts. One in particular works to get my attention. It’s all I can do to keep my smile flashing and my tone mildly interested.
Time to get the fuck out of here.
A few minutes later, I’m out in the cool night air. It’s a relief from the pulsating energy of the club.
What are you doing here, Connor?
My body seems to know instinctively, leaving my car next to the club and heading in the general direction of Gus’s Diner. Time for some shitty diner food, and maybe some excellent company if I luck out.
As I walk briskly, the neighborhood gets bad just a few minutes away from the club. Drunks. A lot of vacant areas. It’s no problem for me. People move out of the way fast for a big bruiser in a suit.
But I don’t like the idea of Ava working here. Walking around at night, alone, unprotected.
Frustrated, I run a hand through my hair. Keep it together. You’re getting ahead of yourself, Doyle. Way ahead of yourself.
Grind: The Doyles, A Boston Irish Mafia Romance Page 4
