by Elle Kennedy
“I wanted to find out what he was up to,” she said defensively. “He pretended to be Oliver to get me into bed, Iz, and then he started calling and texting all the time, asking me to meet up so we could ‘talk.’ I didn’t trust him.”
“Fair enough.” Isabel looked amused now. “So what’d you find on your fact-finding mission?”
“Well, I saw how he gathers his intel, for one. He definitely uses that killer smile you mentioned and charms information out of his sources. But he also roughed a lot of them up.” She frowned. “Ollie told me once that Reillys solve problems with their fists. I don’t condone that.”
Her colleague hooted. “Says the contract killer.”
“Hey,” she protested, “the people I take out are scum.”
“And the people Sean hits up for intel are also scum. We live in a scummy world, Bailey.”
Their drinks arrived at the same time Liam’s voice filled Bailey’s ear.
“You ladies have an admirer,” he said softly.
At first she thought he was referring to their waiter, but the young man had already darted off. Bailey’s hand moved to activate her earpiece, but Isabel beat her to the punch. She’d forgotten that her colleague could hear Liam too.
“Does he have any friends?” Isabel kept her gaze on Bailey as she addressed Liam.
“Flying solo,” he reported. “But he’s armed, judging by the very obvious bulge under his shirt.”
Bailey was troubled by the update. She always sensed when someone was tailing her, which told her that the man on their tail had taken up his post only today. Made sense, though. This was the first time she and Sean had separated—Cillian must have told Flannery to put a guard on her.
“Recognize him?” she murmured to Liam.
“Nope, but I snapped a pic and e-mailed it to Paige. She’ll find out who he is and get back to us.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how bored are you right now?” Isabel teased him. “You must have drawn the short straw to get stuck with chick surveillance today.”
“Yeah, I’m stuck watching two beautiful women, darling. God, the torture.” His deep voice rippled with sensuality.
Bailey grinned at Isabel. “He’s loving every second of it.”
“Sully’s the one who has to stare at Reilly’s ugly mug all day,” Liam drawled. “So I definitely got the better gig. Show me some skin, ladies.”
Bailey didn’t know where he was positioned, but it must have been close enough for him to see them through the plate-glass window. She was tempted to give him a little wave, but she resisted the urge.
“Keep us posted about our friend,” Isabel said. “We’re cutting off the feed so we can resume our girl talk.”
“No, keep it on,” he begged. “I love sexy girl talk.”
“Nobody said it was sexy, you pervert.” Isabel touched her ear, then flashed Bailey a grin. “So, how was the sex?”
She instantly donned a casual look. “It was okay.”
“Just okay?”
One arch of Isabel’s brow, and Bailey caved like a broken roof. “Fine, it was good.”
Ha. More like incredible. Phenomenal. Mind-blowing. But she refused to give Sean the satisfaction of voicing any of those annoyingly accurate adjectives.
“Why are you fighting him so hard?” Isabel asked gently.
Bailey gulped some bourbon.
“Seriously, hon—why?”
The alcohol loosened not only the knot in her insides, but her tongue as well. “Because he’s everything that scares me in a man.”
That got her a sad smile from Isabel, who knew enough details about Bailey’s childhood to understand the meaning behind the confession. “We’ve all been hurt by our pasts, hon. It’s hard to put old traumas behind you.”
Hurt? The word didn’t come close to describing what she’d gone through. But Isabel was wrong—Bailey had put the past behind her. She didn’t wallow about it, or cry herself to sleep every night. Every grisly thing she’d experienced had shaped her into the person she was now. She’d learned from her past. It had showed her what she wanted out of life, who she wanted to be . . . and whom she didn’t want to be with.
God, she wished she could make sense of her feelings for Sean. She couldn’t deny that she was wildly attracted to him, but was it just a case of lust? Or was it something more?
No, it couldn’t be anything more than that. He was bossy and annoying and too damn cocky for his own good. She couldn’t possibly have actual feelings for the man.
So why did you come all the way to Dublin to help him?
Bailey swallowed another gulp of bourbon, unable to defend herself against the internal taunt. She couldn’t even use Oliver as an excuse for racing to Dublin, because she hadn’t learned he was in trouble until after she’d snuck into the bank.
Did a woman really go to this much trouble for a man she didn’t care about?
Damn it. She was so fucking confused.
“He’s too unpredictable, Iz,” she said. “I can’t open that door, okay? I just can’t.”
“I get it.” Isabel hesitated. “But you’re wrong about what you said before—he does love you.”
Ignoring the tight clench of her heart, Bailey picked up her glass and downed the rest of her bourbon. “I don’t care.”
* * *
There was nothing more uncomfortable than watching another man ejaculate. Well, unless you were into blokes. Then you’d love it. But Sean couldn’t say he was entirely comfortable seeing Patrick O’Neill orgasm ten feet from his face.
O’Neill groaned in ecstasy as the prostitute in his lap rode him like a bitch in heat. The bastard even had the nerve to wink when he caught Sean’s eye.
Sean lowered his gaze to his pint glass, wishing like hell he could get out of there. O’Hare’s was closed to the public for the private party. Or morale booster, as Cillian had referred to it. Only the younger men filled up the main room, though Quinn had apparently been in the mood for some fun, because he’d stuck around too and was in the process of getting blown in one of the back booths, fortunately hidden from view.
Sean was used to these kinds of raunchy scenes. The men on Rabbit’s crew had simple tastes—they liked to fight and drink and fuck. Especially the latter. When Sean was a teenager, he’d been more than happy to join in on the fun. Ollie, too, though they’d drawn the line at tag teaming women, no matter how many times a pretty girl tried to lure them into it. Apparently boning twins was a fantasy for a lot of chicks. For him and Ollie . . . not so much.
“You know, you’d do a better job of convincing the men if you dipped your wick in a pussy or two.”
Cillian’s low voice made him tense. The man stood next to Sean’s barstool, watching the sexual festivities in boredom.
“I have a girlfriend,” he mumbled.
“I’m sure she won’t mind.”
Sean glanced at the naked women littering the room, picturing the look on Bailey’s face if he admitted to “dipping his wick” in a prostie. “She’d rip my balls off,” he said dryly.
Cillian chuckled. “I envy you. There’s nothing hotter than a high-strung filly. Makes it all the more rewarding when you break her. When you show her who’s boss.”
Sean bristled. He had no desire to “break” Bailey. He liked her fire. He liked the way she challenged him, argued with him. Though sometimes he wished she didn’t argue so much. He wished she would . . . Fuck, he didn’t even know what he wanted anymore.
No, that wasn’t true. He wanted her. Just her.
But she refused to give that to him.
“I’ve actually got a filly waiting for me in the back,” Cillian told him. A dark eyebrow propped up. “If you want to join me.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself.”
As Cillian wandered off, Sean slid off his stool. Definitely his cue to leave. There was no reason to stick around now that Flannery’s trusted observer wasn’t watching his ass like a federal prosecutor.
He made his way to the door, only to get intercepted by two crew members he didn’t know well. They forced him into a conversation about football. The irony didn’t escape him—here they were chatting about the Red Devils while everyone else was screwing their brains out. But these boys were in their late teens, and clearly overwhelmed by the hedonistic activities happening around them.
They also knew exactly who Sean was, and he was uncomfortable with the way they looked at him. Like he was their idol or some shit. He knew his reputation, both as a lethal fighter and as a ladies’ man, was legendary around these parts, but he hated that these lads viewed him as some kind of superhero.
Still, he used the Manchester United discussion to sneak in a few barbed comments about Rabbit, which caused both lads to fidget awkwardly, as if they didn’t know how to respond. Hell, they were so damn young. They had no idea what they were even fighting for.
“Sorry, lads,” he said a short while later. “I have to go. My girl’s waiting for me at home.”
They grinned knowingly and drifted off, and Sean was two feet from the door when he realized he’d left his coat in the back when he’d been strategizing with the men earlier. Normally he’d say fuck it, but it was pouring buckets outside, and his already shitty mood would only get shittier if he went out there without a coat and got soaked to the bone.
Loud slapping noises met his ears when he approached the closed door at the end of the rear hallway. Lovely. Cillian and his filly had gotten started.
It took a second to register that he wasn’t hearing sex. The sharp slaps were not the sounds of flesh meeting flesh, of bodies coming together in a frantic fuck. Cillian was spanking the hell out of that woman.
Sean rapped his knuckles on the door, then strode through it without waiting for a response. He walked in just in time to see the hard strike of Cillian’s palm against a round backside.
Jesus. The woman’s ass was a shocking red contrast to her lily-white skin. Sean could even see the imprint of Cillian’s hand.
She was bent over the arm of the couch, but she whirled around in startled surprise at Sean’s entrance, and he didn’t miss the red marks on her breasts, as if Cillian had squeezed the hell out of them. He also didn’t miss the tears streaking down her pale cheeks.
“Everything all right in here?” he said roughly.
Cillian smirked. He was fully clothed, but a visible erection strained against his fly. “Ah, you decided to join us after all?”
“I forgot something.” Sean headed for the table with stiff strides and grabbed his jacket, then spared another glance at the prostitute, who’d draped herself over the couch again. “You all right, darling?” he repeated.
She nodded, a little too fervently.
“Amelia is just fine,” Cillian answered for her. “Isn’t that right, sweetness?”
Her head bobbed up and down again, but tears continued to slide down her face.
Sean hesitated before leaving. He supposed he could interfere, but the woman was a professional. Her specialty was probably catering to sick fucks like Cillian, who liked a side order of violence with their sex.
Christ, he just wanted to get out of there. He wanted to see Bailey.
Ignoring the smacking of flesh and the prostitute’s squeal of pain, Sean marched out of the room without looking back.
* * *
Sean was angry. Bailey sensed it the second he strode into the apartment, but he snubbed her completely, not even a look in her direction as he stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.
When the shower came on, she released a frustrated breath. Why should she care if he couldn’t be bothered to say hello to her? She was just his pretend girlfriend, after all.
Except . . . damn it . . . she did care. She hated being shut out, even though she knew damn well she was doing the same to him.
She marched into the bathroom without knocking, her pulse kicking up a notch from the sight of Sean’s naked body in the transparent shower stall.
His head turned, gaze locking with hers through the glass. “What do you want?”
Anger spiked in her blood as she threw open the door. Water slid down his muscular body in soapy rivulets, clinging to his pecs and abs, sliding lower, to his . . . no, she refused to glance south. No doubt he was sporting a raging hard-on. The man was virile and sexual and too damn tempting.
She raised her voice over the rush of water. “What happened tonight?”
“Nothing.” He glided the bar of soap lower, lathering the groin she was making a pointed effort not to look at.
“Is the bombing all set to go?” she said sarcastically.
“Yes.” He turned toward the spray to rinse off the soap, flashing her his bare ass.
Damn it, he had a great ass. Not one of those pancake butts you couldn’t grab onto, but round and taut and delicious. She could still feel those firm buttocks flexing beneath her fingers when he thrust inside her.
Focus.
Right, this was not the time to be ogling the man’s backside, no matter how spectacular it was.
“You’re really going through with it?” she demanded.
He kept his back turned and said, “Yes.” The tone of his voice brooked no argument.
Bailey spun on her heel and left the bathroom before she gave in to the urge to smack him.
A car bomb. He’d agreed to plant a damn car bomb and it didn’t faze him in the slightest.
She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and distracted herself by checking the screen, but Daniels hadn’t texted her back. Since she’d had time on her hands tonight, she’d spent hours poring over the copies of Flannery’s files, until she’d finally located the CIA’s potential rat. She’d sent Daniels the information and he’d said he would check it out, but the man was taking his time getting back to her.
Not that she cared. If it were up to her, she’d be just peachy never hearing from Isaac Daniels again. But she owed him for giving her the heads-up about Vanessa.
And talk about someone else taking their sweet-ass time—the director of her mother’s facility was dragging his heels on the transfer. Ironically, it was the security measures Bailey had implemented in the first place that were coming back to bite her in the ass. Dr. Levinson insisted she had to sign the permission papers in person, which she couldn’t exactly do at the moment. Luckily, there were three CIA agents watching the premises, and Flannery’s thug didn’t seem inclined to make a move, but she would feel better once Vanessa was off Flannery’s radar.
Sean reentered the living room a few minutes later. Buck naked. He’d dried off, but his hair was still wet, droplets clinging to the short blond strands and falling on his forehead.
When Bailey didn’t speak, a frustrated noise rumbled out of his mouth. “What the hell do you want me to say, Bailey? They’re going to plant that bomb whether or not I help them. Cillian’s watching me like a hawk and reporting everything I say back to Flannery. Rabbit’s watching me just as hard. So yeah, hard place, meet rock. That’s where I’m fucking at right now, okay?”
He sounded so upset that her anger thawed, replaced by a reluctant pang of sympathy. She supposed he didn’t want to be in this situation any more than she did.
“Oliver checked in earlier,” she told him. “He tracked down Flannery’s hush-hush Dublin address, a mansion in Dalkey. He’s trying to get his hands on the blueprints and security protocol.”
“Yeah, he texted me the same thing.”
Sean disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a glass of water. She watched his corded throat work as he drank, and then her gaze moved lower, resting on bare chest, and even lower, focusing on the long cock jutting from his groin.
“Are you going to put some clothes on?” she blurted out.
“No. Are you going to take yours off?”
“No.”
“Right. Of course not.”
His surly tone annoyed her. “What, you think I’m going to throw
myself into your arms and beg you to fuck me?”
“You won’t have to beg. Just say the word and I’ll be inside you again.” His hooded eyes roamed her body as if he could see right through her clothing. Hot and sultry and gleaming with promise.
Bailey gulped.
He shrugged. “It’s all right, luv. I know you won’t say it.”
“I just don’t see the point in having sex again when we both know this isn’t going anywhere.”
“If you say so.”
She clenched her teeth. “What do you care anyway? You wanted one night, remember? You wanted me to know who I was with,” she mimicked. “And I did. You got what you wanted.”
Something indecipherable crossed his eyes, but she couldn’t for the life of her interpret that cryptic look.
“What is it now?” she muttered.
Sean set down his glass and advanced on her like a predator. A very naked, very determined predator.
“I’m just wondering how long you’re going to keep lying to me. I mean, I know why you are, but I’m curious to see how far you’ll take it.”
“As usual, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
His mouth curved in a smile. “You knew who I was last year.”
Panic jolted through her, bringing a swift denial. “I didn’t—”
“You knew,” he interrupted. “You knew from the second I walked into your hotel room to the moment I came inside you.”
Before she could avert her eyes, he grasped her chin and forced her to look at him.
“You knew I wasn’t Oliver. You pretended to be shocked and horrified when I told you afterward, but you were faking it, weren’t you, Bailey?”
She could have tried to lie again. But what was the point? Sean had clearly figured out the truth, and he’d only keep pushing her if she didn’t own up to it.
“Yes.” She exhaled in a rush. “I knew.”
Triumph flared in his eyes. His thumbnail scraped the edge of her jaw, slow and sensual. “Don’t worry, luv. I’m not angry with you. I understand why you lied. You needed to give yourself an out.”
She tried to back away, but his fingers curled around the nape of her neck, rooting her in place.
