This was not soft or gentle. It was raw and intense. Fierce. Exactly what I needed.
Pleasure rolled and wrapped around every part of me as my chest tightened and need grabbed hold of me—spectators be damned.
I groaned against his mouth when his tongue slipped between my lips.
Yes. This. This was what I needed for my birthday. A moment of truth only found in the honesty of such a passionate kiss. You can’t hide from a kiss like that.
“You’re . . . different,” he said after easing his lips from mine a few heartbeats later. “There’s something about you.”
Yeah, you have no idea.
Our eyes connected, our faces still close enough to lean in for another one of those delicious kisses.
I looked left and then right, realizing we were too out in the open. Sebastian may not have been in the casino, but that didn’t mean my father hadn’t sent one of his men to watch over me. “You want to go to my suite? We can have a drink and talk there.” And hopefully I didn’t read you wrong, and you were sent to kill me.
“I don’t normally hesitate to go to a beautiful woman’s room . . .” He shook his head and briefly closed one eye. “Well, that came out bloody wrong.”
“Are you turning me down?” A surprised but playful smile touched my mouth.
He scratched the back of his head, another wave of discomfort crossing his face. “I just—”
“You just what?” I asked, captivated by this handsome man becoming tongue-tied.
“Like I said,” he began while reaching for my hand, “you’re different, and I think you deserve more than whatever I can give you.”
I splayed my palm on his firm chest, noticing how my short, blood-red nails stood out against the stark white of his dress shirt. “And what can you give me, Clooney?”
His hand reached around my body and landed on the small of my back. “Multiple orgasms.”
I wet my lips. “What’s wrong with that?” I was a bit dizzy from the bright lights, the way-too-cheerful holiday music, and the heady desire pouring through me.
“I’m heading to Dublin in the morning. And I have the distinct feeling that if I go to your room, I won’t want to leave. And I’ll want a name and number. And I don’t do the after stuff or the numbers.”
I didn’t even care that he’d just admitted he was a player. Wasn’t I one, too? I didn’t have boyfriends, and I certainly didn’t draw hearts around men’s names while waiting for them to send me flowers and chocolates.
I scared him, didn’t I?
He felt the same thing I was feeling. That strange, hypnotic lure I couldn’t explain.
And it terrified him because it chipped away at his fear of intimacy and attachment.
I wasn’t so much afraid of those things as I knew they weren’t in the cards for me anytime soon, especially since I was about to follow in my father’s footsteps and own my birthright, but I could understand his desire for walls. After all, I was the one who didn’t want to share my name.
“I promise you I won’t give you my number even if you ask.” Why would I? Why subject anyone to the darkness of my world? Once that door opened, once someone saw what really went on in the world, they’d never be able to unsee it. Sometimes ignorance was bliss. Papà made sacrifices, along with other League members, so men like Clooney wouldn’t be subjected to the true darkness of the world. It was a powerfully heavy burden and one I was destined to carry.
His attention went to the floor, his jaw tightening. He was fighting an internal war, one I knew so well. When he redirected those gorgeous blue eyes back on me, I realized he was going to give in to desire. “Julia and Clooney, huh?”
“Yes,” I mouthed, wishing for one night where I could close that door and forget everything I’d witnessed in my life. Shut it all out. Just tonight.
In one fast movement, he pulled me against him and crushed his mouth to mine as if the Titans or gods themselves couldn’t keep him away.
We broke apart at the ding from the nearby lift doors opening. And thank God it was empty because he pulled me inside and had my back to the wall in an instant. I let go of my clutch when Clooney took hold of my wrists, raised my arms, and trapped them above my head. Holding both wrists with one large hand, he used the other to cup my chin, then moved in for another searing kiss.
Once we arrived at my floor and exited the lift, I sputtered in a hurry while snatching my clutch, “My suite is this way.” Our clasped palms felt somehow as intimate as when our bodies had been fitted together moments ago.
He released my hand when I stopped in front of my door and indicated I needed to search for my keycard. But as soon as I retrieved it, he hoisted me up and had my legs wrapped around his hips, my back to the wall next to the door, and he held me there as our tongues dueled.
The need had taken over.
It was otherworldly.
I felt it, too.
But . . .
Something was wrong. That knot of concern in the pit of my stomach that’d bothered me in the arena earlier came back, and when I shifted my ear to the wall, I heard indistinct sounds coming from within my suite. And it sure as hell didn’t sound like Chanel having sex, either.
I lowered my red heels to the floor. “One second,” I told him as he brought a hand over his mouth, covering my smeared lipstick around his lips.
I swiped the card as quietly as possible, then slowly peeked my head into the room.
Oh God. My eyes connected with a man towering over a motionless body lying on the floor, a knife in his hand, blood dripping onto the tan and maroon patterned carpet. He looked up, relief in his eyes at the sight of me.
Sebastian was in Vegas. And now there was a dead guy in my hotel room.
A hitman? I quickly slammed the door shut and spun around to face Clooney in the hall. “You have to go. Now.” Fear constricted my throat.
“Oh.” He stepped back, blinking in surprise.
“The, um, person I was with tonight, she’s inside and sick, and I-I need to be with her.” The lie rolled clumsily from my tongue. I was worried Sebastian would open the door any second. “I’m sorry. But maybe you were right—this shouldn’t happen.”
I wanted to grab his shirt. Fist the material and kiss him goodbye. But the dead body inside stopped me. The fact Papà had sent Sebastian, the most dangerous of all League fixers to Vegas, stopped me.
“Goodbye, Clooney,” I said, the words feeling like shards of glass and sounding painfully broken as they caught in my throat. “Thank you for the birthday kiss.” It would have been a perfect night.
His fingers twitched at his sides as if he were itching to reach for me. “I guess it’s goodbye, then, Julia.” His brows dipped inward, and it had my stomach sinking. He was a stranger. It shouldn’t feel this sad to walk away from him.
But what choice did I have? A dead body and a powerful League fixer waited on the other side of the door.
I finally willed myself to turn away so I could confront another Irishman.
My shoulders collapsed in defeat once I was inside my suite, not finding Sebastian anywhere in sight. I tossed my clutch and maneuvered around the dead body staining the carpet. We’d need to call a special team to remove it and all evidence of what happened.
Sebastian exited the downstairs bedroom and stalked my way with purposeful strides.
“What’s going on? Who is this guy?” I pointed to the dead man ruining the carpets.
Sebastian reached for my shoulders when my focus moved to the bedroom door he’d closed. “Your father and I have been trying to reach you all day. We got word there’d be an attempt on your life tonight.” He kept hold of my shoulders but sealed his eyes tight. “Why were you with the daughter of Simon Laurent tonight? Her family is Alliance, Emilia,” he seethed. “What were you thinking? And why in God’s name was she in your suite?”
“Was?” My stomach roiled when pain stabbed me every which way. Terror clawed and scratched. “Where’s Chanel?” I tried to mo
ve around him to get to the bedroom, but he was tall and a dominating force. When his eyes met mine once again, I saw the kind of worry there a man like Sebastian didn’t often display.
“Don’t make me drop you to your ass,” I warned.
Sebastian may have helped train me, but I would get around him one way or another.
“I can’t let you go in there,” he said in a throaty voice as he continued restraining me.
I stopped fighting him, knowing the horrible truth as to why he didn’t want me in that room. Chanel must have come back to the suite while I was off with Clooney.
“No.” Tears welled in my eyes, and I sank to my knees. “No, no, no.”
“I’m so sorry. I think they assumed it was you in the room, and then I showed up.” He lowered to his knees before me and urged me to look his way. “Emilia, it’s time to come home.”
Chapter One
Sean
Dublin, Ireland – Present Day (December 2021)
Leave it to Emilia to return to the city by making an entrance impressive enough for an action film. Her black hair, pulled into a ponytail, whipped behind her as she ran, chasing down the target. It looked like she planned on “hunting” tonight based on the quiver of arrows strapped to her back. Most likely, a sidearm and knife on her as well.
Lamp posts dotted the park emitting their hazy yellow glow in the late hour, lighting up my path and allowing me to see clearly.
She was ridiculously fast. I was on my Ducati, a gift I bought myself a few weeks ago, tearing up the dirt trails in the old park, and yet, Emilia was running. Well, now, she was jumping. She stepped up onto a worn-out wrought-iron bench and leaped over a spread of tall bushes.
“Get on,” I yelled, keeping pace with her as she pumped her arms, continuing her pursuit of the two men who were racing toward the middle of the park on their bikes. Did she really think she could outrun motorcycles?
“About time you showed up.” She veered my way, and I stopped only long enough for her to climb on behind me.
I hated how much I loved the feel of her pressed tight to me, one arm slung around my chest over my black leather jacket and the other most likely reaching for some type of weapon.
“You didn’t give me much warning,” I hollered over the noise of the engine as we chased down the two men.
“What? Too busy having sex with some petite blonde at two in the morning?”
Blonde, huh? “Not funny,” I bit out, doing my best not to let the past two years of craving this woman to no avail crowd my head and distract me from the task at hand. “I didn’t even know you were in town.” Not until she called me about twenty minutes ago sounding a bit out of breath as she quickly asked if I had time to assist her in taking down some gun runners who were making a swap in the park about five kilometers from my flat. Based on the sound of painful groaning in the background, it’d been clear she’d already gotten into it with them. By the time I’d arrived, the men had split up, and she couldn’t cover all of the park on her own.
“Well, you know now.” She pointed with her free hand, and by free, I meant the one now holding a bow. They made everything small and travel size these days, didn’t they?
The men on bikes did a one-eighty and swerved around to face us.
Thankfully, the park appeared empty except for us. Most people out here at this hour were either homeless or not on the up-and-up. Otherwise, the noise we were making tearing through the place would have had the police there by now.
“Oh, they want to play chicken,” Emilia said, a hint of excitement in her tone. The woman got off on this, didn’t she? And maybe I didn’t blame her. After diving into action during the last twenty-plus months, I was beginning to live off the adrenaline, the rush of such vigilante-type moments, too.
Most League leaders didn’t handle business themselves, much less go after criminals at two in the morning.
Emilia was more hands-on than her father had been as leader of La Lega dei Fratelli in Italy. When she took over for him after his death, she’d become the first woman leader in its history. And La Lega dei Fratelli, The League of Brothers, officially became known as La Lega, The League. There was no question she was qualified for the powerful position—this woman was hell on wheels. Literally.
I stopped and set my booted feet on the ground on each side of the Ducati as I waited for the men to charge us. This was a fight they wouldn’t win.
We were closing in on two years since I joined the Irish League. I’d trained with the best in The League, Emilia included, ever since. Fifteen families from fifteen different countries, each set to share equal power within the organization.
I took over as leader, along with my cousin Cole, his wife, Alessia, and Alessia’s brother, Sebastian Renaud. Sebastian had once been the only leader of Ireland after swapping his role as a fixer for more power when he’d inherited money from Alessia and a wealthy father he’d never known. To be a leader, you had to be rich. Billionaire-type wealth.
My family members were businessmen and women, not crime fighters. But when my twin, Adam, got himself mixed up in underground fighting for a man with ties to The Alliance, we found ourselves in the middle of a feud between two powerful organizations. To put it simply, The League was on the side of good, and The Alliance was on the side of evil. The League had worked tirelessly to protect its cities from their criminal activities while attempting to take them down permanently.
And now here I was, a bike between my legs and a sword-like dagger sheathed at my back while helping a gorgeous and strong woman do just that. Adam and I had pretended to be pirates as kids in the halls at Trinity College while Ma was a professor there, but never in my wildest dreams did I picture this life was in my future. It was insane.
CEO of a multibillion-dollar company by day, and by night . . . this.
A few years back, the French League leader arbitrated a truce between the two organizations in hopes The Alliance would back down some. Sebastian had insisted a group like The Alliance couldn’t be trusted, and he was correct. Their offenses became even more egregious. And now we were bringing war to The Alliance—they just didn’t know it yet.
I focused back on Emilia as she hopped off the bike as the two men came speeding toward us, their bright headlights in our eyes.
I’d seen her in action a few times, and I never grew any less spellbound or impressed witnessing her up close and personal as she did her thing. I’d barely seen her since October, though, when we fought side by side to take down a criminal known as The Italian.
During that battle, she’d defeated multiple enemy targets while her castle-like home in Sicily was riddled with bullets.
Emilia pushed the nock of the arrow onto the string, preparing herself for the shot. I moved the bike alongside her, readying myself as the men rushed us.
“You set?” she asked, her voice calm and casual.
“Yeah.” I revved the engine, reached for the sword at my back, and then moved like lightning toward target two. I kept the wicked gleam of the blade low as Emilia’s arrow took flight, nailing the first man in the chest. The man opposite me must’ve spotted the danger because he took a too-sharp turn to veer away and slid on the damp dirt path, careening into a nearby bench.
I parked my bike, sheathed the weapon, and went for the 9mm at my side. The second man pulled his leg out from beneath the bike, but he’d gone for his gun while cursing in another language as I stalked his way.
Emilia appeared before I had a chance to react. I glanced over as she drew back the bow with her index finger. She snapped out a shot, sending the arrow into the man’s shoulder. He yelled out, letting go of his gun.
“You’re welcome,” she tossed out while brushing past me and toward the man she’d just shot, her bow now stowed.
“I had it,” I grumbled.
“Who are you?” he asked, eyes pinned on Emilia as she crouched before him.
“I’m Emilia Calibrisi, daughter of the late Signore Calibrisi, and now leader
of The League of Italy.” Her voice was smooth like silk, confidence flowing through her words. “Go back to your boss and tell him I’m coming for him.” Emilia pushed back up to her booted feet and brought a mobile to her ear. “I need a cleanup crew.” She turned to face the man she’d first shot in the chest, now groaning on the ground and scrambling to get up. “And transit for prisoners. Four wounded.”
The guy with the shoulder injury moaned and tried to stand while the other man hopped back onto a bike after removing the arrow.
“I guess your friend will be the messenger,” Emilia responded, letting the man leave on his motorcycle. “You’ll go to one of our prisons with your friends who are hanging by a thread back there.”
Emilia had already tied up three men before I’d arrived. All unconscious, but they had pulses. Clearly, they’d put up a fight.
The man cursed in his native tongue, maybe Dutch, as I walked around to secure him to his downed bike.
“Welcome back to Dublin,” I said once back on my feet, my gaze positioned on Emilia standing in her black jeans, boots, and dark jacket, looking every bit as fierce as I’m sure she intended.
She had her back to me, her eyes on the dark, cloudy sky.
I strode to stand next to her since we’d have to wait for the crew to clean up the mess and handle the men. But she didn’t turn to look at me as I expected her to. She was always so damn distant when we were alone together, and it was rare we were ever alone these days. If we weren’t working together or training, she was out of sight. The woman made me absolutely crazy, though, so maybe it was better this way.
Feck. What was I thinking? I was crazy because I couldn’t have her. And only for that reason.
I’d swear, balancing board meetings and vigilantism was easier than dealing with this woman at times.
“Please, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I tore my hands through my hair, not much to claw at since it was short on the sides and only slightly longer on the top.
Also, I had not been sleeping with anyone when she’d called, but I wasn’t about to tell her that since she only said shite like that to get under my skin. It’d become an art form for her. Ways to piss off Sean McGregor was probably a to-do list saved in her mobile.
The Final Hour (Dublin Nights Book 5) Page 3
