I’m not sure which of my missteps she’s talking about, but the comment is aimed at me as much as Eric. Being lumped in with that arrogant prick makes me clench my fists. I deserve her wrath for things I did in the past. Knowing she’s been messing with Eric off and on for the last ten years causes an ache in my chest. A relationship with him is nothing like what she talked about having—the opposite, actually.
With a final check around the area, I lead the way into the hotel. Jay slips the keys to the valet who comes out to greet us. I enter the building first, followed by Carys, and then Jay.
“You’re eating at the bar?” He nods at the big open space in front of us. Stools line the bar, and a few tables spot the perimeter. Off to the right is a dimly lit restaurant. Bright bar. Dim restaurant. The wise choice is lit up, a neon sign. Lights. Less atmosphere. Business versus pleasure.
“We’ll eat in there.” I gesture to the restaurant. Who doesn’t enjoy living on the edge? With Jay in mind, I scan the bar, I say, “You eat—”
“Table right there.” He points to one straddling the main hotel entrance and the door to the restaurant.
“Table right there,” I confirm.
Carys rocks on her heels, her purse clutched in front of her, tapping her knees.
“Hungry?” I take in her hot pink skirt and her fluttering black shirt again. My fingers itch to remove the tight bun at the base of her neck, flick my tongue across the spot below her ear that always makes her moan.
“Starving.” She doesn’t head toward the restaurant, and she doesn’t make eye contact.
Is she cataloging the ways we used to find satisfaction in each other? The longer I spend with her, the more my willpower slips. The more I convince myself I could take the next few days, weeks, or months fucking her and still walk away.
I did it once. Seventeen years ago, my world began and ended with her. Leaving her a second time can’t be any harder. “Let’s eat.” I rest my palm on the small of her back, guiding her toward the restaurant.
Her deep breath is audible before she moves forward. Through her thin shirt, my hand is seared by the contact. I fight the urge to sweep her into my arms, carry her to my room, and have an entirely different meal.
Sleeping with her would ease the aching in my pants and in my chest. Sex would make my worry for her justified, more immediate instead of a residual thing from days past. We don’t know each other anymore. These emotions are a reflex, instinct, a lack of closure. My thirst for her is endless. That’s all. A relationship would never work. We’re not meant to be more than this naked desire.
We’re shown to a secluded table, and I slide in across from Carys. I’m aware of our reality. I’m the guy she fucks in an alley when she thinks nobody is watching. The guy she gets drunk enough to screw and regret. I’m not her final destination. I’m her pitstop.
The waiter flips open the menus and passes one to us both. Over the top, I watch Carys tuck a tendril of her hair behind her ear. She peeks up and our gazes connect, the moment pulses with recognition.
Everything I’ve thought is true, and the energy between us is unmistakable. Tonight I’ll be the one who slips inside her in a Russian hotel room, who brings her to climax over and over, knowing I might be who she wants, but I’ll never be who she needs.
Chapter Sixteen
Carys
Finn orders a burger and a beer. I get a salad and mineral water. I’m tempted to feign a trip to the bathroom to have my drink changed to vodka and soda. He’d never suspect unless he got close enough to smell my breath. A personalized breathalyzer is entirely possible. Since the lobby, he’s been looking at me like he could devour me instead of the burger.
“Well,” I place my phone on the table, “you wanted me sober. What were you hoping to discuss?”
Finn smirks. “I didn’t need you sober for the conversation portion of the evening.” He turns his hand as though he’s flipping an imaginary object over. “Only for what comes next.”
His eyes are ice chips as they sweep over me. Ice isn’t what’s running through my veins. Heat. So much heat I want to fan myself. Instead I squeeze my thighs together and pray for the server to have understood mineral water meant vodka.
Clearing my throat, I’m grateful when the waiter puts our drinks in front of us. “I should have asked before. Thoughtless of me, really. Is there anyone in Boston you need me to contact to let them know you’re okay?”
“You mean besides my backstabbing fucker of a brother? No.” He raises his beer and takes a long pull. “Not a fan of attachments.”
“Right. Yeah. I guess that’s always been the case.”
He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Not always.” He skims the restaurant before focusing his intense gaze on me again. “What about you? Seventeen years ago you were marriage, kids, white picket fence.”
I was so naïve. That’s what I want to say. How often does anyone’s life turn out how they expect? First, my heart couldn’t quite master marriage, and then my body wouldn’t let me carry a child. He doesn’t need to be told those things, though. Why would he care? “Marriage. Kids. Both liabilities. Loving anyone more than you love yourself makes you weak.”
He chuckles and sits forward, scanning the room in an exaggerated fashion. “Where’s Carys? Who the fuck are you?”
I shake my head. “I’m serious.”
“No, you’re not. That’s a bullshit line people like you use to cover up their oh so tender heart.”
“Well, if you’re so smart, you tell me why I didn’t end up married with kids.”
Our food arrives, and I twirl my fork in my hand before stabbing my lettuce. His perceptiveness is annoying, even if it’s probably what’s kept him alive all these years.
“You got shitty taste in men.”
“Genius. Why didn’t I think of that?” I stuff a forkful of lettuce into my mouth.
He laughs and picks up his burger. “All right then. Tell me the real reason.”
I slow my angry chewing and try to give off a carefree air. “It didn’t work out. I don’t know.”
“You used to light up whenever you talked about the future.” He watches me as he takes a bite.
A sad smile plays at the corners of my lips. “I must have scared the shit out of you.”
He chuckles. “Nah. You never gave me the impression I was your first choice to fulfill those duties.”
I angle the fork into another piece of lettuce and stare at my plate for a minute, letting his words sink in. “Didn’t I?” I search my memory for those moments when I might have made it clear, but he was so wild, untamed, and I worried I’d spook him. “You never wanted to settle down? Have kids?”
His cool gaze scans my face as he bites into his burger, contemplating my question. “Why would anyone want that with me? I’d get them killed.” He flicks his finger to where my scar lies under my shirt. “You’re the proof of that prophecy.”
“I didn’t die.”
“Took that as a warning.”
“Strings of women were what you were used to, anyway. You never had trouble attracting them.”
“Your tone of voice makes that sound less complimentary than I’d like.”
I give him a wry smile. “Oh, does it?” I pick up my glass of water and take a sip. “Marriage is archaic. I grew up with a deeply unhappy mother and a philandering father. Men aren’t capable of being faithful.”
He chews for a moment, eyes narrowed, and sets his burger on his plate. “You lumping me in with those men?”
“You’re a man, aren’t you?”
“With a capital M.” He winks.
“Then, yeah, I am. Whatever. We screwed around for the better part of three years. I never expected you weren’t doing whoever else on the side.”
His eyes become slits. “You wondered if I was sleeping with other people?”
I shrug. He’d never given me a sense either way. We did what we did, and we didn’t talk about what it meant, or where it
was headed, or even, most of the time, what we were doing.
“I was a shitty boyfriend.”
“Probably most men are shitty boyfriends between twenty and twenty-three. I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself. Besides, were you my boyfriend? Fuck buddy, maybe.”
“Why didn’t you ever ask?”
“I wasn’t going to be one of those needy girls.”
He picks up a French fry and sweeps it through mayonnaise before popping it into his mouth. As he chews, he stares at me. I want to raise my hand for the waiter and ask for some alcohol. Having this conversation sober is torture.
“I came to the hospital.”
I refocus on him and frown. “What?”
“When you were stabbed. Before my father had me tossed on a plane, I came to see you.”
“Oh.”
“I told you that night in Boston. It was after we’d had quite a few more drinks. Figured you were too drunk to remember it.”
“I always thought—”
“You said. But it’s not true. I came. Christ, I’m not sure anything coulda stopped me from making sure you were alive.”
My heart squeezes at his words, at the intensity on his face. “You didn’t see me, though.”
“No.”
“Why not?” His appearance would have changed everything. To know he’d come, that I meant something to him.
His mouth quirks up, but there’s bitterness in his expression. “Charles and I had a heart to heart in the hall. He wasn’t wrong. Staying with me woulda been a death sentence for you.”
“I should have been given the choice.”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m glad I wasn’t given a choice either. Without even thinking too hard, I can come up with at least five instances where you might have died because of my foolishness.”
Part of me doesn’t care. A life with him, however short, would have been better than the one I’ve led so far. “I had seven miscarriages and then I found out he’d been cheating on me the whole time. Got one of his side pieces pregnant and paid for her abortion.” The words leave my mouth almost before I can consider them. I can’t look at Finn—don’t want to witness whatever emotion crosses his face. Pity, probably. Maybe anger because I let Eric humiliate me.
His burger rattles his plate when he throws it. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”
I don’t respond and instead continue eating my salad. He was right. I created a false narrative to tell people, strangers, friends, business acquaintances, to protect myself. “Since we’re giving each other the truth, that’s mine. I wanted it. I wanted that future so badly. But I just couldn’t get that version of my life to stick. It wasn’t supposed to be mine.”
Tension radiates off Finn from across the table. He takes a long drink from his beer and avoids eye contact. His silence speaks volumes.
“Sometimes,” I say. “No matter how much you want something, it just isn’t meant to be. And now, well, now it’s too late.”
Chapter Seventeen
Finn
Rage courses through me, an old friend. Last time I felt this surge, I shot an FBI agent. I’d love to shoot someone again.
Eric.
I take another bite of my burger and chew without saying a word to her. She’s eating her salad in silence, an air of grief around her causing a corresponding ache in my chest. I hate that fucking pressure bearing on me. I do pretty much everything in my power to never experience regret and longing. Since she rescued me, they’re constant fucking companions. Whenever they rear their heads, I tell myself, that’s the stab wound or that Goddamned gunshot just reopened.
I’ve never been a fixer. Lorcan is, Carys is, but me? I’m usually the guy creating the chaos. My mind churns with ways to fix this feeling in me, in her. The best I can come up with involves going upstairs and using our bodies to forget, to remember, to fucking drown in each other. There’s only one other solution which would satisfy me. Catch a plane to Chicago and take care of Eric. FBI watchlist be damned.
When I look over, she tucks the stray strand of blonde hair that’s popped out of her bun behind her ear again. In a sense, I get why she clung to him. She’s never been good at giving up on people. I didn’t think she could find a guy worse than me. I should have known better. She’s an overachiever.
I place my plate to the side. Even with a healthy dollop of mayonnaise, the french fries taste like cardboard. “Why are you still letting him touch you, Carys? Why are you allowing him to lay a single whoring hand on you?”
She sets her fork aside. “Because nothing matters anymore. The sex is good—who cares if he’s giving it out to everyone else as well? All men are Charles or Eric or—”
“Me.”
When she insinuated the comparison earlier, I didn’t feel like setting her straight.
She shrugs but doesn’t meet my gaze.
“The least you can do is look at me when you’re making shitty accusations.”
Carys crosses her arms. “Am I wrong? Let’s not bullshit each other.”
She was so guarded when we were younger. Everything between us had to be a secret, and I went along with it because from the moment she let me slide into her, I was a goner. Hell, I was probably gone long before that. I kept tabs on her throughout my teenage years, jerked off so many times with her name on my lips I sometimes wondered if I’d call out Carys at the wrong time, with the wrong person.
Once we were together, she could have asked me for anything, and I would have done it. But she never did. So I thought I was temporary—the frog she kissed before she found her prince.
Being around her, hearing her side, the reality my twenty-some-odd self couldn’t see is staring me down, impossible to ignore. My anger subsides as I catalog her face, save the tiniest details for later. This was never just lust between us.
Maybe I should tell her the truth—that I never slept with another woman in the three years we were together. Never even considered it once I had her. Or I let her continue to think the worst of me.
“Yeah,” I say. “You’ve got me pegged.”
Honesty does nothing but give her false hope. Whether I loved her then or I love her now isn’t the point. I’m not good for her; she’d never survive me. I don’t save people or fix them. I ruin them. Maybe I am like Eric, like Charles but not in the manner she thinks.
Carys shakes her head and purses her lips. “Acting offended, just to admit I’m right.” When the waiter approaches, she piles her cutlery on the plate and lets him take it. “I don’t know why everything has to be a battle with you.”
I chuckle and lean across the table toward her. “You want me to be easy?”
“Do you have any idea what easy looks like?” Carys raises an eyebrow as she pays the bill.
A surge of annoyance goes through me because she’s picking up the tab again. I need to prioritize access to my money. Or find another means to pay her.
I stare at her for a moment. I should leave her comment alone. Impulse control isn’t a strength. “I can recognize easy.” She glances up at me and our eyes lock. “Easy is me, going back to your hotel room, sliding off those shoes, pushing up your skirt, tugging your panties to the floor. Easy is me, trailing my lips from your ankles up to your inner thighs, spreading your legs and flicking my tongue across your clit until you can’t decide what you’re begging for. Do you want the release, or do you want to stay in that state forever?”
Her breathing is shallow, and I’m sure if I could put my finger on her pulse, I’d find it racing with desire. Her panties will be wet, so wet when I yank them off it’ll be all I can do to stop myself from sinking into her, the warmth and wetness surrounding me.
“Finn.” Her voice is breathy, filled with longing.
Later her breathiness will be in my ear, echoing around me, smothered by my mouth covering hers.
I should have suggested room service.
Her phone beeps.
She presses her fingers to her forehead and breaks our eye contact
as though she’s remembered something important, like she’s coming out of a trance. She snatches the phone off the table with one hand while the other circles her bun and squeezes. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty shade of pink.
“Jay has news.” She braces herself against the table before stooping to grab her purse from the floor.
Before I rise, I adjust myself. My pants are so fucking tight they’re almost painful.
Her hand shakes as she swings her bag onto her shoulder. Even still, she leads the way out of the restaurant with remarkable poise. Will her pupils have returned to size when we exit?
Jay meets us in the foyer. “Here, or...?”
“Upstairs.” She gives the lobby a visual sweep. “Who knows what ears are listening.”
She’s flustered in the elevator and selects the wrong floor button. She mumbles something incoherent before hitting the right number. Jay slides an amused glance in my direction, and I smirk. He knows I caused her misstep.
We stop outside her room, and Jay enters first to sweep for bugs or anything else that might cause us trouble. While he’s gone, she stands with her legs crossed at the ankle, her phone clutched in her hand, avoiding me.
“Did you enjoy my example?” I say. “Did it seem apt?”
“Shut up.” She types a message, avoiding me. “Don’t be an ass.”
“You used to like my ass. In fact, I remember—”
Jay pops his head out the door. “All clear.”
She expels her breath in a whoosh, her shoulders dropping. She grabs the door from him and enters the room. I follow behind her and sink into the closest chair while she leans on the king-sized bed.
“Well?” she says.
“My contact said a private jet went out late last night with an incomplete passenger list. Not uncommon from this airport, as you know. Followed the flight up at the port of entry—Belfast. Any guess who was on that plane?”
“Valeriya.” She sighs.
“Bingo.”
“In Ireland.” Carys frowns. “She must have googled you, Finn.”
Resurrection Page 10
