Rowan (The Irish Wolves Book 3)

Chapter 21

Rowan was grinning like a lunatic while changing into her running gear. She felt different, light, and ridiculously happy. Mom always said that the best things in life were unexpected. Hugh was definitely unexpected.

Speaking of unexpected—Hugh had a big surprise waiting in the bathroom when he finally called her in. She could hear bathwater running and assumed he was getting things ready to soak in his huge clawfoot tub. She grabbed his t-shirt from the floor to throw on and pulled off the black band she wore around her wrist to put her hair in a bun before walking into the huge open bath.

She looked at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror—totally rocking the fresh from sweaty sex cardio class look. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a giant naked man standing to her left. She barely swallowed a scream—a clean-shaven Hugh O’Faolain was a shock to the system.

“Good Lord! You scared the heck out of me,” she gasped as she turned to fully face him, and then gasped again, almost tripping on her own feet when she really took him in. His beard had been sexy. Manly. A statement.

Beardless? She practically had to manually close her mouth…holy cow, the man would cause traffic accidents if he walked down a sidewalk without a mask. He was that gorgeous. His skin was smooth, flawless. His lips were soft and full without a trace of femininity. The beard had done a spectacular job of disguising his lean face, chiseled jaw, and…Jesus...cheekbones that were so sharp, hollows contoured below them.

Striking. He had been silently watching her with his dark eyes, waiting for the verdict. Putting her arms around his waist, she kissed his chest. “I loved your beard—like really, really loved it.” She kissed his chest again, running her hands across his wide shoulders before tracing the muscles down his arms. “Never grow one again.”

He chuckled at that, finally wrapping his arms around her. He lifted her then so she could wrap her legs around his waist—his preferred way of holding her, probably so he didn’t have to constantly bend to get to her level, she thought, smiling.

“I take it you like my face.” He grinned.

That grin, good Lord, as if he needed the added sex appeal. “You’ll need to work on not smiling in public, babe. Otherwise, you’ll need to hire some of Macgregor’s guards back. Women will be throwing themselves at you.”

He kissed her in between pulling his shirt over her head. They spent an hour soaking in the tub, talking and touching, discussing what their lives might look like going forward together. Hugh made the transition sound as easy as breathing. She would move her things from Matilda’s and bring them to his place. His home on the Muskogee compound was now their home. His Dublin flat was now their flat. Easy-peasy.

She had wondered aloud that they didn’t have to rush things. They could, in fact, try dating.

“We’ve sort of been dating for over a year,” he countered.

“Is that what you’d call that? Dysfunctional dating, maybe,” she snorted in humor.

“You were always mine. In my head. You are mine now,” he argued, “and I want you with me always.”

“Fine. We’ll do it your way…Daddy,” she added, grinning when he looked at her sharply. He really hated her calling him that, even in jest.

She screamed when he stood suddenly and grabbed her out of the tub. He threw a fluffy white towel on the bathroom counter and set her down on it, ripping a condom packet open that he had forethought to grab earlier and rolled it down his length.

He’d taken her on the counter. The mirrors everywhere had given them both several erotic angles with which to watch themselves. When she’d thrown her head back as a climax ripped through her body, Hugh palmed the back of her head as he brought his mouth crashing down to hers. He plundered her mouth as wildly as his sex thrust in and out of her body.

After they caught their breath and dressed, they ordered a late dinner and snuggled on the couch. Hugh showed her the initial plans for the distillery in Ireland. They each added notes, and he asked her to add some of her drawings to the margins for the architect and Tim.

Before they went to bed, she texted Matilda goodnight and let her know she was staying at her son’s. Matilda texted back a wink emoji, which made her laugh.

In the early morning hours, snuggly-spooned by Hugh’s body, she woke to him palming her breast and stroking his erection against her ass and lower back. She pushed her body back into the cradle of his thighs, eliciting a moan. He moved his hand from her breast and ran it down the length of her body, grasping her top leg and pulling it over his hips, opening her thighs to his fingers and shaft.

They made love soft and slow, a gradual burn building until they’d both burst into flames. Neither spoke a word, both drifting back to sleep, connected physically and mentally.

It wasn’t until she’d slipped out of bed and tiptoed into the bathroom to dress that she felt the stickiness between her legs. She froze, her mirrored reflection looking like a deer in headlights. No condom. Christ, have mercy.

She took a deep breath, shaking her head and sluffing off her freakout. It was one time. She was going to the doctor soon. She would talk to Hugh about it. He would probably have his own freakout, and then they would come up with a plan. Nothing to do about it now. She grabbed a bar of soap and did a quick washup in the cold bathwater that neither of them had bothered to drain last night. It was freezing, but her lady parts felt better for it.

She went through the process of putting on last night’s dress, braiding her hair, and splashing water on her face. She’d take a shower at Matilda’s after her run. All her things were there. She needed to check in with Angela after that, and then she planned on honoring the “Where I live, you live” edict by moving her stuff into Hugh’s place. Before she left, she found paper and a pen behind the bar and left a note for when the sleeping giant rolled out of bed.

So here she was, practically bouncing on her toes as she entered the hotel’s lobby. Ready for her run, her day, and life with Hugh. Her perma-grin was beginning to hurt her cheeks. Stepping off the elevator, she hit send, sending the message she’d written to her sisters in their group text.

We did it! For hours and in a million different ways. How in the hell did I ever live without Hugh’s D in my life? I just snuck out of his suite—he deserves to sleep in. ?? I’m going to change at Tillys and go for a run. Sore muscles. I’ll call you both after. PS. I hate condoms. PPS. We decided on Forever.

Exiting the hotel, she held on to the brick fa?ade to finish stretching before taking off down the sidewalk. At this time of morning there were quite a few people out running or power walking in groups. It was already hot and sunny. Oklahoma summers were brutal, but she didn’t feel the humidity or the sweat already making a trail down her spine and between her breasts—she felt Hugh, felt his touch, his breath, his mouth.

She stopped at a light only a quarter mile into her run. She was getting closer to the River Park trails, where, hopefully, the tree-lined paths would provide shade and drop the temperature by a few degrees. She was preparing to walk as the signal turned when she caught a glimpse of someone. She would swear it was the same man she’d seen outside the hotel when she was stretching. He quickly looked away when she made eye contact.

A zing of fear wound through her body, but she shook off the unease, knowing she was being paranoid. Delton was dead. For the love of God, how many times would she have to keep reminding herself? Stalkers weren’t a buy-one-get-one half-off deal. Delton was dead, and she refused to allow a dead psycho to make her see bad guys on every street corner.

One more stoplight later, Rowan jogged through the River Park parking lot and finally entered one of the many shaded trails. Her muscles already felt loose, so she veered off into a less traveled, rockier path. She smiled as Wheatus’ Teenage Dirtbad started rocking through her earbuds.

She felt her phone buzz in the side pocket of her joggers. Normally, she wouldn’t look at her phone until after her run, but it might be Hugh. Stopping by a decent sized boulder she took her phone out and used the big rock to stretch her calves while she opened her texts.

Why aren’t you in my bed?

I went for a run. I left you a note.

Why aren’t you in my bed?

“Stubborn man,” she said out loud, grinning at his grumpy antics.

I’ll work on that.

Do that. I finished cardio. About to start weights.

You’re up. So you did see my note.

I wanted you in my bed.

Rowan snorted in amusement. Work those V-lines extra hard. They frame something delicious.

Why you should be in my bed. Right now. Lunch?

She was in the middle of replying that he could help her move her stuff in, and then they could eat when someone grabbed her from behind and wrapped their hand tight across her mouth. Their other arm wrapped tight around her middle, pulling her body tight against a large frame.

Shock immobilized her until finally, her fight or flight kicked in. There would be no flight. Whoever held her was strong and much larger than she was. Fight then. She went from petrified to a rabid animal. Twisting and jerking and drumming her shoes against the person’s shins. Her backward headbutt was rewarded with a grunt.

She felt her phone slip from her hand. Not good.

“Fucking shoot her up already,” the man demanded. His deep voice telling her that it was definitely a male holding her.

Oh God, she thought, they were going to inject her with something. She kept struggling, but the man’s grip was crushing.

“Listen, lady, this will all be over soon enough if your boyfriend Stanton gives my boss what they want. If he doesn’t...well then, I imagine you’ll be an early holiday bonus for me.”

Rowan went completely still, stunned. Was this man insinuating he’d keep her if Will didn’t do what this guy’s boss asked? Was this truly happening because of William? What the hell had he gotten himself involved in? How would these people even known the two had dated? Moaning against her kidnapper’s hand as the ‘how’ came to her. The newspaper article.

Her body was shaking now as she realized she wasn’t getting out of this one on her own. Oh God, her sisters would panic. And Hugh…tears pricked her eyes at the same moment she felt a sting at her neck. The shot.

“Find a smaller trail back to the parking lot, G. No one can see me carrying a woman out of here. She’ll be knocked out in a few minutes.”

Less than that, she thought, as her body went limp.

Rowan cameto disoriented and very thirsty. She was hot and sweaty and had a hellacious headache, and…oh God, she’d been kidnapped. A moan escaped her taped mouth. She yanked at her tied hands and wiggled her bound feet.

Panic fully set in as she took in her surroundings. She was in the back of a van. There was no carpet beneath her cheek, just chipped paint. A work van? The windows were tinted, so it was hard to gauge the time of day. There were dim interior lights that, once her eyes adjusted, she could decently see. It was dark, but it could be evening or early morning, for all she knew.

She was able to squirm slightly sideways to see more of the front of the vehicle. The front proved fruitless. A metal divider was the only thing to see. There were a few plastic totes with hinged yellow lids and a folded extension ladder. There was no way of knowing how many people were upfront. Surely, not more than two if the cab was the normal two-seater work van most of the contractors she’d met drove. She then wiggled a bit more to get a better angle of the back, and if her mouth hadn’t been taped, she would have screamed.

There was another woman bound and lying limp amongst paint-splattered canvases and tarps. Her eyes were closed, but Rowan could see that her chest was moving...she was sleeping, or drugged like she’d been. She didn’t recognize the woman, but it was apparent from what Rowan could make out in the dim interior that her clothes were designer.

It was hard to tell her hair color, but it appeared to be shoulder length. Light brown, maybe. Her age was also something she couldn’t determine with black masking tape covering half of her face. She desperately wanted the woman to wake up, not that they could communicate, but so that Rowan wouldn’t feel so alone.

She could feel tears wanting to bead and fall. She ruthlessly shut them down. Tears would do nothing for her. Panic wouldn’t serve her. She had to stay alert and focused. She decided to mentally flip through the few things she did know. The man she’d seen outside the hotel and at the stoplight had definitely been one of her kidnappers. He’d been wearing khaki cargo pants, military-style boots, and a black t-shirt.

He was a big guy, which meant he was most likely the man who’d grabbed and held her. Military? Ex-military? A mercenary? From the millisecond they’d locked eyes, Rowan could definitively say he had a dark flattop. If there was a second man, she hadn’t noticed, but then she’d been busy poo-pooing her “overactive imagination.”

One of the men was called G. Short for George? Guy? Gregory? Gregor? Unimportant for the moment. The most important bit of information she had was why she’d been taken. Not the whole story, of course, but a partial explanation. The men’s boss believed she was William’s girlfriend, and that’s why she was taken. She was blackmail and insurance all rolled into one. Give them what they wanted, or he wouldn’t get her back. The other woman must be someone important to Will too.

Thinking back to the night of the Philbrook Museum event, William had been distracted and mentioned he was having an issue at work. A security breach…It had to be connected. It was clear she was a mistake. Not that that knowledge would help her now.

Hugh would be looking for her. He would find her. He was the fiercest man she knew. He wouldn’t rest until she was back in his arms. She blinked back more tears that wanted to fall, thinking of what her family must be going through. She’d been shot only a few months ago, but at least they’d known where she was.

The van hit a pothole in the road, bouncing both women’s bodies against the hard floor. The other woman’s eyes flew open, and terror-filled eyes met Rowan’s.