15. Eoghan
Chapter fifteen
Eoghan
“ T hat was an…interesting touch,” Nikolai says when he calls to let me know how our little mission went the other night. “The families were certainly in for a shock when they opened the crates with my father standing there. I don't know that I’ve seen the man so angry. It was everything I could do not to laugh.” His chuckle is strange to hear through the phone. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever heard Nikolai Petrov laugh. I guess planning his father’s demise brings out his humor. “A little heads-up would have been nice.”
“It was a last-minute decision.” A smile stretches across my face, imagining that fuck Viktor looking like an incompetent asshole in front of the Italians he’s been trying to form alliances with.
“Tell your brother to wait on moving the guns. My father will be keeping an eye on the major players to see if he can suss out who stole the crates.”
“Finn’s in no hurry. Let us know if we can be of service again.”
“Of course. The sooner we get my father out of the way, the better we’ll all sleep at night.”
That’s the damn truth. Though Gemma says she’s doing okay with everything that’s been happening, I see the dark circles under her eyes and hear when she wakes suddenly from a nightmare. It doesn't matter how thoroughly I tire her out before her head hits the pillow. Since Viktor showed up at her place, she isn’t sleeping. Every night, she leaves her bedside light on. It’s something I know she did before I started spending the night, but with me here, she shuts it off because she feels safe. Even though I’ve told her we’re handling the Petrov situation, there’s a part of her that needs it for an extra layer of perceived protection. If she feels better having it on, she can keep the entire apartment lit up all night like Fenway Park, as far as I’m concerned.
“Amen to that.”
Nikolai says goodbye and the call disconnects. For the last two days, Gemma has been doting on me, even taking Monday off from work. Hell, if I knew all I had to do was come home with busted knuckles and bruised ribs, I would’ve had one of my guys rough me up weeks ago. I insisted she go to work today, though. As much as she doesn’t want to feel like a burden, I don’t want her fussing over me when she’s been so busy at work. If Gemma considers us long term, then she needs to know I don’t expect her to drop everything anytime I have a night like the other one. Chances are, there’s going to be more like it, maybe even worse. Her career is far too important to her—and, by extension, to me—for her to put it on the back burner for my sake. I’ve never carried the expectation that a woman needs to take care of me, and I sure as hell would never expect it of the blonde vixen who has gotten so far under my damn skin I can’t imagine what it would be like to not have her there.
I’m in love with the woman.
Have I told her that?
Of course not. Gemma gets as skittish as a damn alley cat if things move any faster than a snail's pace. Until she comes to the realization for herself, we’ll move at her speed. Call me optimistic or overconfident—hell, even a cocky son of a bitch—but I know damn well she feels the same.
I’ve been working from her apartment today, making phone calls and placing orders for our four bars. But that only lasted a couple hours. Now, I’m sitting on her chenille couch, remembering the night we had when I made her come twice on it.
Fuck, I must be turning into one hell of a needy asshole because I miss her. A thought starts forming in my head. We pretty much went from combative flirting, as I like to call it, to sleeping together secretly, to being thrown into this shit with her father and brother. But so far, I haven’t had a chance to really wine and dine her. Jesus, I’m a right prick for not thinking of it sooner. She’s used to going on actual dates, not just watching some underground fights in a bar and getting fucked til she passes out.
Tonight that needs to change.
Me: What are you wearing?
I figure it’s as good as hello.
Gemma: You saw me leave this morning. Do you think I change when I get here or something?
Me: Maybe I forgot. Why don’t you spell it out for me. I’m most interested in what you
have on underneath that tight as hell skirt you left the apartment in.
God, she looked good this morning in that silky blush button-down shirt and a black high-waisted, knee-length skirt. I don’t know how she walks around in those heels of hers, but I was having some very naughty fantasies of her with that skirt lifted to her hips and those heels digging into my back…
Gemma: You’re an idiot.
Me: That’s not an answer.
Gemma: Is that why you’re texting me?
Me: I mean no…but I wouldn’t be opposed to a picture.
Gemma: What do you want??
When I picture her mouth pinching in that adorable, irritated scowl she’s been known to wear around me so often, a smile spreads across my lips.
Me: A picture of your tits.
What can I say? Fucking with her is the highlight of my day, as I’m sure it is for her as well.
Gemma: I swear to fucking Christ, Eoghan.
Me: Okay, okay. I was wondering if you had plans tonight?
Gemma: No…
Eoghan: Good. I’m taking you out.
Gemma: I thought we talked about the proper way to ask me out on a date .
Eoghan: You’re right. Gemma, will you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to dinner, ply you with wine, then give you several orgasms before the end of the evening?
Gemma: You don’t have to get me drunk to give me orgasms, but I’ll be happy to take you up on dinner and drinks.
Eoghan: I know, but I was hoping if I get you relaxed enough, you’d let me fuck your ass tonight.
Gemma: For God’s sake, Eoghan!!!
I laugh outright at her response, picturing her sitting behind a desk and getting more and more annoyed with my texts.
Me: That’s not a no…
Gemma: It’s pretty fucking far from a yes.
Me: So I have a shot?
Gemma: I need to get back to work if you’re taking me out tonight.
Still not a no. Interesting.
Eoghan: Okay. I’ll see you tonight. Prepare to be wined and dined, Ms. Dalton.
Gemma: I’ll be home by six.
Eoghan: See you then, blondie.
Looking at the clock on my phone, I realize I only have a couple hours to run out and get a few things for our date tonight. As I’m grabbing my keys and am about to walk out the door, my phone dings with an incoming text. It’s a photo from Gemma, and when I open it, my mouth instantly waters. She undid several buttons of her shirt, and her tits stare back at me, encased in one of her sexy-as-hell pale-pink bras. Her finger grazes the edge of the material as though she’s going to pull the lace away and let me see her perfect rosy nipple underneath.
Damn blonde temptress. Now I’m going to have to get in my car with a raging hard-on.
When Gemma walks in the door, I greet her with a chilled glass of her favorite sauvignon blanc.
“I could get used to this,” she says, taking the glass from my hand.
I grab her briefcase and bag as she removes her shoes and walks over to the couch, eying the vase of flowers I picked up from a neighborhood florist my dad visits regularly.
“Wine and flowers? You must really be gunning for anal tonight.”
I laugh and grab my beer from the kitchen, then have a seat next to her. Gemma is leaning back into the cushions, practically melting into the plush sofa. I lift her feet and set them on my lap, massaging her arches.
“Fuck, keep doing that and you can have whatever you want.” She lets out a loud groan as my fingers dig in, hitting a spot that sends shivers through her entire body.
“If you’re too tired, we can stay in. I’ll order takeout.”
Her eyes meet mine and she gives me her soft smile. “No, I want to see what you have up your sleeve.”
“I thought I’d take you out for that steak I promised you. Afterward, I’m going to take you to one of our bars. There’s a band playing that I think you’ll like.”
Something I discovered about Gemma is her love of Irish folk music mixed with a little rock. She plays it when she’s working from home or cooking dinner. Her TV is rarely on when I’m here, but there’s always music.
Her eyes light up when I tell her my plan. “Sounds perfect.”
When she finally emerges from the bedroom, I’m so damn hungry I could eat an entire cow by myself. I take a long look at her and can say without a shadow of a doubt, the wait was worth it. Her hair is in long, messy waves down her back, and she’s changed into a loose low-cut tank top and a pair of jeans that make her ass look absolutely edible. She traded the heels that I love for a pair of black motorcycle boots, and she did that smoky thing with her eye makeup that makes the light blue of her irises even more shocking.
I let out a low whistle and she smiles. “Damn, blondie. I’m about to say screw going out.” I walk up to her and help her into a light leather jacket before nuzzling into her neck.
“Not on your life. I’m fucking starving.”
When I pull away, my wide grin matches hers. “Then let's get you fed.”
We drive a bit out of Boston. There’s a dive bar on the outskirts that serves the best damn steaks I’ve ever had. A hell of a lot better than any of the fancy restaurants I’ve been to in the city limits. Not that I go to many.
I open the door for her, like the gentleman my mom tried to raise me to be, and we’re met with some old rock playing from an ancient jukebox as we make our way to a table in the low-lit bar. Gemma slides into the circular red vinyl booth first, and I follow, throwing my arm around the back. When the waitress comes over, I order my usual beer and Gemma orders a glass of red wine. When the waitress drops off the drinks, she takes our order and Gemma settles into the cushioned back of the booth.
She sips her wine and smiles at me. “Mmm, this is delicious. Not what I’d expect in a dive bar.” She eyes me with a knowing gaze.
“I may have dropped off a bottle that I know you like.”
“I usually drink white.”
“Oh, I brought that too. I wasn’t sure which one you would have picked, but this is the same red my mom served at Alessia’s birthday party that you liked.”
Gemma blinks at me a few times with a blank face. I’m not sure how to read her reaction, and to be honest, it’s making me a bit nervous.
“So let me get this straight. You went out today and bought me flowers, picked up my favorite bottle of white wine, then picked up two extra bottles so they would have it where we were going to dinner?”
“Yes?” Shit. Should I not have?
“Goddamn, Eoghan Monaghan. You surprise me at every turn.” She leans over and gives me a completely inappropriate kiss not meant for public consumption. Not that I’m complaining.
“So, I did good?”
“You’ve set the bar so damn high; I don’t think anyone else will ever come close.”
“That’s the point. I want you so enamored with me that you’ll never feel the need to look anywhere else.”
“I don’t.” She looks into my eyes as though she wants me to understand exactly what she’s saying without actually putting words to what she’s feeling. “I won’t look anywhere else, Eoghan.”
It’s not an enthusiastic I love you , but it’s as close as she’s ready for, and that’s fine with me.
“How did you get so good at this, anyways?”
I chuckle and take a sip of my beer. “Watching my dad with my mom. He always made sure to show her how much he cared in the little things he did. He’d show up on random Tuesdays with a bouquet of flowers for her just because. Then, of course, there’s my brother. When he met Alessia, he was smitten from the gate. It took him a minute, but he’s come up with some pretty good dates himself.”
“They hated each other at first,” she says with a laugh.
“Hmm, sounds familiar.”
Gemma rolls her eyes. “Tell me about your day.”
I go into the boring details about the calls I made, then mention the conversation with her brother before the waitress drops off our steaks.
“So everything is going according to plan?” she asks, cutting the perfectly cooked meat in front of her.
“So far, so good. Though I wish I would’ve been there to see the asshole’s face.”
“I’m sure opening that shipping container to find it empty threw him for a loop.”
“Oh, it wasn’t empty,” I say with a grin on my face as I chew my food.
“I thought you went there to steal the shipment.”
“We did. But we left something in its place.”
Her brow quirks in question, waiting for me to elaborate
“You kind of inspired me.”
“Oh, Jesus. What did you leave?” she asks, bringing the glass of red to her lips.
“Crates filled with sex toys.”
Gemma chokes midsip, and it takes a moment to compose herself. “What the hell?”
A laugh bubbles from my chest at her reaction. “Nikolai called me the day after I saw you using one, which I would love to catch you doing again in the very near future, and I don’t know, rather than open the shipping container to find it empty, I thought this would be more fitting. You know, like a big go fuck yourself.”
“You’re really something else, Eoghan.”
“Thank you,” I reply with a shit-eating grin spread across my face.
“I’m not sure it was a compliment.”
I shrug. “I can live with that.”
We finish our steaks and enjoy another drink before it’s time to head to The Celtic Cross, one of the other pubs my family owns. This isn’t one we have fight nights at, but we bring in a pretty penny with live music. And being that it’s a cash-only establishment, it’s a prime business for us to clean some of the money we make by less than legal means.
When we walk in, I greet a few of the regulars and introduce them to Gemma. Of course, a couple of the old-timers take it as an opportunity to flirt with my girl, which she takes in stride, even tossing them a playful wink when they tell her if I’m not treating her right to come find them, and they’ll straighten me out right away.
Fucking tossers.
The place is starting to fill up as the band sets up on the stage against the far wall. Gemma and I grab two chairs at the bar since I don’t really have a table here, unlike at Clovers, where I spend most of my time. We order a couple drinks from Lilah, my bar manager, and I notice one of the bartenders that was scheduled isn’t here yet.
“Where’s Brenda?” I ask Lilah.
“Kid’s sick again. I told her not to worry about it.”
Brenda’s son has terrible asthma. I covered one of her shifts last week when her son was having a bad day. This time of year, when everything is blooming and the weather is starting to get humid, is tough on him. I’ll have to remember to put a little something in her paycheck to help her with medical stuff since she’s a proud-as-hell woman and wouldn’t take a handout from anyone.
I nod in thanks when she hands us our drinks and Gemma is staring at me.
“What?” I ask, handing her the glass of wine she ordered.
“It’s so different seeing you here. It’s almost like here you aren’t Eoghan Monaghan, Irish mobster. Here, you’re just Eoghan, who runs a bar and laughs with the regulars.”
“I am that man. And the other. Just like you’re Gemma Dalton, the badass creative director who fought tooth and nail for everything she has, and Gemma, who gives me a hard time but is really a softy underneath all that prickly.” I shoot her a wink.
“Not many people see the soft.”
“I see everything, blondie. And I really fucking like it all.”
“Me too.”
We’re startled out of the moment by the lead singer of the band, who begins his guitar intro, and the crowd starts cheering. Gemma leans in for a kiss before turning her attention to the stage and begins cheering along with the crowd. Fuck, this woman is stunning. And so far out of my league, I have half a mind to pinch myself every time she turns that breathtaking smile toward me. For the first time in my life, I can imagine lazy Saturdays spent in bed and Sundays spent with my family. I imagine the day when she lets me slide a ring on her finger and her belly swollen with our child. Instead of breaking out in proverbial hives, like I would if anyone mentioned those things before Gemma, I allow my mind to wander to the future that’s becoming more and more clear, and fuck me if it doesn’t feel perfectly right.