by Elle Kennedy
He didn’t want this. Any of it. He didn’t care about the Irish Dagger or their messed-up ideology. Let the bloody British have Northern Ireland. He didn’t give a shit.
Family was the only thing that mattered to him. His parents were dead, which meant Ollie was all he had. And he owed it to his brother to handle this Rabbit bullshit.
Fuck, he owed his twin a helluva lot more than Ollie even knew. He’d betrayed his brother when he’d slept with Bailey, and the guilt had been gnawing at him for a whole year. Sean had never kept secrets from his twin until that night, and he didn’t intend to keep this one forever. He would tell Ollie what he’d done. One of these days he really would come clean about it.
But the thought of Ollie being disappointed in him, or worse, not forgiving him . . . it tore his insides up.
The water muffled his anguished groan, and he forced himself to push away the guilt. He stepped out of the shower and dried off, then wrapped a towel around his waist and headed for the door. He wasn’t concerned about walking around the loft half-naked. Bailey had made it more than clear that she wasn’t interested in jumping his bones.
His phone beeped the second he stepped out of the loo, and his shoulders stiffened when he glanced at the message.
Bailey immediately shot off the couch. “Is that Rabbit? What did he say?”
Without a word, Sean tossed her the phone. A crease appeared in her forehead as she skimmed the message. He was so tempted to smooth it out with his fingers . . . his tongue . . . and the mere thought of putting his hands or mouth anywhere near her made his cock thicken beneath his towel.
“What does this mean?” Frowning, she read the text aloud. “‘Hot tonight. Might turn up the A/C. Hopefully it’ll cool down by tomorrow.’”
Sean sighed. “It means he won’t meet until tomorrow night. He wants to give it twenty-four hours for the heat to die down, in case the Garda is on my trail.”
“Fine. When and where will this meeting be?” she demanded.
“I guess we’ll find out when he texts back tomorrow.”
“So, what, we just wait around for a whole day?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” Sean was nowhere near as frustrated as she was. If anything, he felt relief. Oliver would remain safe, at least for the next twenty-four hours.
He strode to the closet on the other side of the loft, while Bailey trailed after him, still frowning deeply.
“Why don’t we just go in now? Do you know where he’s holding Ollie?”
Sean shrugged. “I could probably hazard a guess. Rabbit has dozens of safe houses in the city, and I know the locations of most of them.”
“Then why are we playing Rabbit’s waiting game? Let’s get Oliver, damn it.”
Her eagerness to rescue his twin raised Sean’s hackles. “Look, I understand that you’re worried about your boyfriend, but he’ll be fine. Rabbit wants the flash drive, and he won’t hurt Ollie before he gets it.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she muttered.
Sean’s hand froze on the closet door handle. He shifted around to look at her, his gaze unwittingly dropping to her chest. She was still wearing that skimpy top, and her bra must have been paper thin, because he could see her nipples. They were a dusky rose color against her pale flesh, like rich red wine on white satin sheets. His hands shook with the need to rip that shirt off her, his lips aching to take one of those nipples into his mouth, but he battled the wild urges.
“Right, he’s not your boyfriend. I guess that’s my fault, huh?” he said softly.
Her mouth pinched into a scowl. “Isn’t it? Because what you did that night pretty much guaranteed I wouldn’t be seeing Oliver again. But that was exactly what you wanted, right, Sean?”
His gut churned with guilt. Shame. Jealousy. Anger. Christ, he didn’t even know what he was feeling anymore. Bailey’s bitter expression sliced through him like a dull blade. She thought he was a selfish bastard, and she was right. He was.
Sean swallowed. “Are you ever going to let me apologize for that night?”
He could have sworn he saw a flash of panic in her eyes, but it disappeared before he could be sure. “You already did.” She shrugged. “I didn’t accept your apology.”
“You also didn’t let me explain.”
“What’s to explain? You put your ego ahead of your brother’s feelings. Ahead of my feelings.”
The accusation stung so badly he couldn’t even defend it.
“You’re not going to deny it? No, of course you aren’t. God, it must have driven you crazy that I kept turning you down.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “You just had to get your way, didn’t you, Sean? Because it’s always about the conquest for you.”
He managed to speak past the lump in his throat. “It wasn’t just about my ego.” He gulped. “I came to the hotel to give you Oliver’s message. He had to skip town for a last-minute job. I had every intention of telling you that when I showed up that night.”
“But you didn’t.”
No, because she’d answered the door in the sexiest dress he’d ever seen. A silky black thing and high heels and red lipstick, and he’d forgotten the reason he’d come there. She’d flicked off the light, ready to follow him out the door, and in that moment, the hunger he’d felt for her—four bloody years’ worth of it—had erupted like a dormant volcano, turning him into a ravenous animal. He’d wanted a kiss, just one kiss, but things had escalated so fast. So fucking fast, and the next thing he knew . . .
Yup, he was a selfish bastard, all right.
“It wasn’t a conquest for me.” His voice came out rough, and his pulse careened as the truth spilled out, the words he’d wanted to say for months now. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you, Bailey. You were beautiful and smart and so different from the women I’d been with in the past. Strong and elusive—”
“See, so it was about the conquest. The chase.”
“No, damn it! It was about you.”
She glared at him. “You pretended to be your twin brother to get me into bed. Do you honestly think I can forgive that?”
“No, but you can at least try to understand why I did it.” He reached out and touched her cheek. A part of him expected her to flinch, but she didn’t. She simply went still, silent, visibly uncomfortable as he gently traced the soft line of her jaw.
Her breath hitched. She didn’t lean into his touch, but she didn’t recoil from it either.
“I’m sorry for lying to you,” he said gruffly, “but I need you to know . . . that night meant something to me.” His chest went tight, achy. “I know I’m not Oliver—”
“Damn right you aren’t.” She stumbled backward, and his fingertips felt cold and empty without the warmth of her cheek beneath them. “And that night meant nothing, Sean.”
Her harsh words made his chest ache even harder, while her cruel dismissal of their night together sparked his anger. “You can’t deny it was good between us. No. It was fucking earth-shattering.”
Even as he spoke the words, he knew they’d have no effect on her. She’d slept with him thinking he was someone else, for Christ’s sake. If Bailey’s earth had moved that night, it was because she’d believed Oliver was the one moving it.
“Wow. You really are an arrogant bastard,” she snapped. “You want to hear what a great lay you are? Is that it? Then, fine. You’re a spectacular lay.”
His nostrils flared. “Bailey—”
“But guess what—I’m not sleeping with you again. I’m not sleeping with Oliver either, if that makes you feel better.”
“Bailey—”
She cut him off with another sardonic interjection. “But I can see how important it is for you to hear that the sex was good—sorry, earth-shattering—so here you go: it was awesome. You made me come so hard. You’re such a stud.”
Her taunting set his temper off like a lit fuse. “Go ahead, be as sarcastic as you want. But don’t you fucking pretend you didn’t like it. I remember the way you moaned when
I was buried inside you. The way your fingernails gouged my back when your pussy was squeezing the life out of my cock. I can still fucking hear your screams when you came.”
Her cheeks turned red. “If you say so, Sean.”
“Fuck that, Bailey. I might be a liar, but you aren’t. You wanted me that night.” His mouth twisted in a smirk. “You want me now.”
She took a step back. “Whatever helps you sleep better at night.”
Before she could retreat, he yanked her toward him and crashed his mouth over hers.
Chapter 7
Bailey was helpless to stop the kiss. And in the back of her mind, she knew she’d goaded Sean into it. You didn’t antagonize a man like Sean. You didn’t question his sexual prowess, not unless you were prepared to face the consequences.
And God, the consequences were terrifying.
He kissed her like he owned her, and in that moment, he did. The kiss was rough and punishing, his tongue forcing her lips open and sweeping into her mouth with greedy precision. Electricity raced up Bailey’s spine, red-hot and powerful, as powerful as the deep strokes of Sean’s tongue and his tight grip on her waist.
“You want me,” he muttered into her lips without breaking their mouths apart.
Oh God, she did. She craved him as badly as she had last year. She’d known it was Sean the second she’d opened that hotel room door, but he’d kissed her before she could speak, and then he’d pulled back without revealing his true identity. Pretending he was his brother, and goddamn it, but she’d let him. She’d played along because after just one second, she’d been dying for him to kiss her again. She’d wanted to experience the kind of passion she’d only ever read about.
The same uncontrollable passion swept through her now, as Sean’s tongue slicked against hers, drawing a desperate moan from her throat. She heard a soft rustling sound, realized his towel had dropped to the floor. He was naked, gloriously naked, and her hands moved of their own volition, roaming his rock-hard chest.
He growled when her fingernails scraped one flat nipple, deepening the kiss as he backed her into the closet door. He rotated his hips and his erection brushed her belly, teasing the top of her mound.
Stop this. Now.
No, not yet. She hadn’t gotten her fill yet. Her eyes were squeezed shut but she didn’t need them open to explore his warrior body. Her fingers ran over his hot flesh, encountering smooth planes and roped muscles, bumpy scars that reminded her of the violent life he led.
Sean’s teeth sank into her bottom lip, sending a jolt of excitement between her legs. She shamelessly rubbed up against him, sliding her tongue in his mouth as the kiss went from blistering hot to downright explosive.
Stop. This.
Common sense prevailed, penetrating her foggy mind. She wrenched her mouth away and staggered backward. Her breath came out in unsteady pants. Every inch of her trembled, sizzled with unquenched need.
Sean was breathing just as hard, lust burning in his green eyes, but when he spoke, it was with unmistakable regret. “Goddamn it. I lose my bloody head when I’m around you.”
His muscles flexed as he bent down to retrieve his towel. He hastily secured it around his waist, but the terry cloth couldn’t hide his thick ridge of arousal.
Bailey couldn’t even muster up any anger toward him. She’d challenged his restraint by provoking him, and it wasn’t fair to blame him for losing control.
“You’re right.” She could barely hear her shaky voice over the thudding of her heart. “The attraction is there.”
Surprise flitted across his face.
“I won’t pretend it’s not, okay?” A sigh slipped out. “But I won’t act on it either.”
Sean met her eyes. “I’m sorry I pretended to be him. I truly am.”
The earnest apology evoked a pang of guilt. It was wrong to let him apologize again. To let him think she’d been ignorant of what he’d done.
But admitting that she’d been onto his charade from moment one . . . that meant admitting she’d wanted him that night. It meant revealing her weakness. Exposing herself to a man she’d never intended to let get close to her.
She’d worked so damn hard to become the strong, capable woman she was now, but Sean Reilly made her feel weak. Not just with desire, but with the way he took control of every situation. Some women might like being bossed around, but Bailey wasn’t one of them. Sean treated her like she couldn’t take care of herself, and then he wondered why she resented him for it.
“You’re in love with Ollie. I get it.” His voice rippled with anguish. “I’m a shit for putting you in this position. You pushed Ollie away because of what I did, and that’s not right. What I did wasn’t right.”
Did he honestly believe she was in love with his brother?
Bailey swallowed, searched his face, and realized that, yes, he really did believe it. The need to correct him bit at her tongue, but she choked it back. Maybe it was better if he thought she loved Oliver. At least then he’d back off. Stop tempting her with . . . with everything. His potent masculinity. His seductive taunts. His addictive kisses.
“We need to stop going around in circles,” she said quietly. “Let’s just put the past behind us, okay? Right now we should be focusing on getting Oliver away from O’Hare.”
After a long beat, Sean nodded. “You’re right.”
“Look, if we’re not meeting O’Hare until tomorrow night, we may as well get some sleep.” She headed back to the couch, placing much-needed distance between them. “Oh, and I’ll send Paige an e-mail asking her to track down any of O’Hare’s safe houses that you don’t know about. We can do some recon in the morning.”
His features strained at her use of the word we. “I really don’t want you involved in this.”
“It’s too late for that.” She stretched out on the couch, reaching for the red-and-black afghan hanging over the edge. “And I’m really not in the mood to argue again.”
She covered herself with the blanket. It smelled like Sean. She tried hard not to breathe, but the spicy scent of him snaked into her system and sped up her pulse again.
“For fuck’s sake, luv, you can’t sleep on the couch. You can take the bed.”
“I’m already comfy,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “Night, Sean.”
She heard his aggravated expletive, followed by soft footsteps and the creak of the closet door opening. There was the rustle of clothing being slipped on, the telltale flick of a light switch, and then the mattress squeaked as Sean settled on the futon.
Bailey kept her eyes shut, refusing to look over at him, refusing to see that powerful body sprawled on the bed. She should be in England right now, snuggled up on the couch with her best friend. Instead, she’d spent the evening playing the part of bank hostage and was now having a slumber party with Sean fucking Reilly.
She had to sleep, regroup, and armor herself against the man. Most likely, tomorrow would be as strenuous as today had been, and she needed rest if she wanted to keep up with Sean.
It was weird being in his loft, his personal space, but Bailey was used to sleeping in worse, more dangerous places. Her years with the CIA had taught her to sleep with one eye open, to block out the lingering adrenaline and catch some shut-eye whenever and wherever she could get it.
She wasn’t sure how long she slept. Several hours, at least, and it would’ve been longer if not for the loud buzzing that awoke her.
Bailey flew into a sitting position, pistol in hand as her gaze instantly sought out Sean, who dove off the futon in a blur of motion.
The loft was shrouded with darkness, but she could see him racing to the security screens. She blinked when light flooded the room, and then she bolted to her feet.
“What’s that noise?” she said as she hurried over to Sean.
“Motion sensor went off.” He entered a sequence of numbers on the keyboard and the buzzing stopped, but the severe set of his shoulders didn’t ease. “We’ve got visitors.”
&nbs
p; Bailey glanced at the time stamp on the corner of the screen: 3:07. Then she shifted her gaze to the monitor Sean was staring at, which provided a clear view of the downstairs lobby. She couldn’t help but be impressed when she realized Sean must have left the loft at some point to fix the security panel she’d disengaged. She hadn’t heard him exit or reenter, but clearly he’d snuck past her because the keypad had been rearmed.
“Oh shit.” Her breath caught when a figure suddenly appeared on the screen. A narrow face, dark eyes gleaming with displeasure. “Who’s that?”
Sean looked over at her. “Ronan Flannery,” he said flatly.
Every muscle in her body coiled tight. Jesus. Flannery? As in the man whose flash drive Sean had stolen?
She studied the man on the screen. Angular features, reddish brown goatee, shaved head. She couldn’t see anything below his shoulders, but the thickness of his neck told her he wasn’t some puny Irishman you could easily take down.
Sean typed another series of numbers, then leaned into the microphone next to the keyboard.
To Bailey’s dismay, he addressed their late-night visitor.
“Yeah?” Sean said briskly.
A chuckle floated out of the speakers, and then a pleasant voice echoed in the loft. Pleasant . . . but only on the surface. The cold menace simmering beneath it was unmistakable.
“Good evening, lad,” Ronan Flannery said in greeting. “Why don’t you press your little button and let me in?” A deadly smile filled the screen. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
Chapter 8
Porto, Portugal
Sullivan had been dreading this reunion for weeks.
He’d known it would happen eventually. After all, he was still a member of Jim Morgan’s team. So was Liam. Which meant there was no way the two of them wouldn’t reconnect at some point.
But hell, he’d been hoping for more time. Time was a man’s best friend—it was the one infallible truth Sully had discovered over the years. Death, breakups, frickin’ food poisoning . . . you let enough time pass and you’d get over anything.
