Chapter 6
ROWAN
“Tick tock, Monaghan,” Frankie barks at me through his postnasal drip the moment we set foot on the dock. He has his gun out, waving it around like the tough guy he tries so hard and fails to be. His two backup thugs seem unimpressed by the display of toxic manliness.
“You have somewhere more important to be?” I respond. “And put your piece away.” This is the part of the evening where we enter our usual power struggle stare-down. He doesn’t like being told what to do by the “filthy Irish,” or by a woman, and probably by a tried-and-true lesbian who has shut down his advances more than once. But I’ve got what he needs. He has zero leverage and he’s well aware of it.
His shiny Colt glints in the wharf lights as he tucks it into his waistband. Subdued now, he gives Elisa a once-over and nods. “Hey, cuz. How ya doing?”
She purses her lips, not thrilled to see his messy ass, but she’s polite, nonetheless. “Hi. Doing fine.” Her smile seems effortless, though I recognize that it’s forced.
I have no patience for him, either. I want to get this the fuck over with ASAP. Of all the things I hate about my job—which would be all the things—handling drugs is number one on the list. “Where’s the cash?”
“Where’s the shit?”
I turn to Ben, give him the go-ahead. He lifts the metal briefcase he’s been lugging around all night and places it atop a blue plastic barrel, snaps the lock-clips, and pops it open. Frankie looks at the two perfectly wrapped kilo-bricks of blow like he’s found his soulmate. It’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen.
“What’s it cut with?”
“Do I look like I cooked it, you goombah? That’s not my job, I’m just the transporter.”
“Oh, you got jokes.” He sneers, pulls a switchblade from his pants pocket and releases the blade. He cuts a small, thin line into one of the wrappers and scoops out a sizable mound of white powder, shoves the stuff up his nose, then sniffles. “That’s nice.” He goes for a second scoop and offers it to me. “Bump?”
“No, thanks.” You’re the only braciola-for-brains on the pier tonight.
He shrugs like suit yourself. “Give her the money,” he says over his shoulder. The tall, bald guy in the navy-blue blazer comes forward. He plunges his giant hand into his jacket, fishes around inside, and pulls out a thick, folded yellow legal envelope.
Ben takes it from him, then undoes the clasped flap. “You don’t have to count it,” I tell him. His brow furrows. “Alfonso bankrolled it. We’re all good.”
“Pleasure doing business with you,” Frankie says as he closes the briefcase. “You want a ride home, El?” he asks her pointedly, as though he doesn’t trust me with her.
The nerve of this asshole. She’s safer with me than she is with him. I’m less reckless than his showy self could ever be—not that the cops would give either of us shit, our families have so many of them in our pockets. But if he’s willing to take her off my hands, I can ditch the guys and go back to the bar alone. “It’s cool with me if you want to leave with him.” I didn’t want to take her out tonight in the first place. It was my father arranging our dates, per usual. It’s always on nights like this one, when he’s got some hardcore criminal errand he needs me to run. He thinks it’ll be a bonding experience for Elisa and me if we share the culpability. And the guilt. All we have in common is the filthy lawless world we grew up in and he knows it.
There’s a glint of dejection in Elisa’s brown irises as she glares at me. I’m aware of how awful I am to her: I treat her like she’s a colossal waste of my time, and that’s by design. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll be enough to get us both out of this predetermined clusterfuck if she’s unhappy with me. She’s a daddy’s girl and regardless of how ambitious Alfonso may be, his daughter’s happiness will always come first. The trouble is she kind of likes me, despite my indifference toward her. I’ll have to try harder.
“Sure, Frankie,” she agrees, demure. “You can drive me home.” She steps closer to me, places the gentlest kiss on my left cheek. Reflex beats me at my own game, and I put my hand on her hip. She moves away, then runs her fingers through her long, jet-black hair. “Will you text me?” Her tone is so hopeful.
She’s not made for this world. She’s a wounded gazelle and I’m a ravenous lion. “Yeah.”
She nods, satisfied as always with what little I’ve given her.
I watch her and the rest of the Rossis disappear into the blackness, then unclip the carabiner from my beltloop, remove my gun from my holster, turn to Merrick and hand him both. “Take the Wrangler and do… I don’t care what, I need some me time.”
He glowers at me, knowing that I won’t be alone during “me time.” I only ever part with my piece when I’m with Jules. He doesn’t disapprove of her; he worries for me. It’s not just Patrick Calloway and most of his family, there are a lot of people in this city who hate me because I’m a Monaghan.
“Can you keep your phone on? Your dad almost murdered me the last time I told him I didn’t know where you were and he couldn’t get ahold of you.”
That’s classic Callum Monaghan, control-freak extraordinaire. If it were anyone but Merrick—my best friend on earth and the only person I really trust—asking me to remain reachable, I’d throw my iPhone into the goddamn harbor. “Yes.”
The guys depart and I’m finally on my own. I take out my phone, type a message to Jules.
My evening just freed up. I’ll get us a room if you can you give the henchmen the slip.
I receive her reply almost immediately.
Already done. And a whole night together! Yes, please. See you soon. :)
Clever girl. I can’t keep myself from smiling like a fool.
There’s a gentle knocking on the hotel room door. I open it to find Jules shuffling in place like a nervous six-year-old at her first sleepover—which is half true, for us. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hi.” She moves to give me a little wave but then thinks better of it, which makes me grin. I check myself, and then check the hallway to make sure she wasn’t followed.
“You gonna stand there ’til the sun comes up?”
She rolls her eyes as she steps through the threshold. I close the door behind her.
The very next second, she rushes me, slamming my back against the wall. She’s got me by the collar and her mouth is more demanding than it has ever been. She’s undoing the buttons of my shirt. My hands are on her ass, below her skirt. No. For the first time we have time, and we’re damn well going to take it.
“Whoa,” I say, still kissing her. I’ve never not wanted to kiss her before, but the inclination is too strong. I want it unhurried, the way she’s always deserved it. I pry my shirt from her hands.
She looks at me, dumbfounded, lips twisted in a frown.
“What’s the rush? For once we can afford to take it slow.”
The thought hadn’t dawned on her until I said it, but as it does her face lights with a quiet joy. “We can.”
“Yeah.” I push off the wall with my foot, usher her further into the suite. She’s expecting me to lead her to the enormous king bed or the Victorian-style red velvet settee, and seems confused when I don’t. I let go of her hands, strip off my shirt, and toss it on a chair, then undo my jeans and slip out of them. “Shower?”
“That sounds fabulous.”
“Come here.” I reach for her again, tug her toward me. She allows me the pleasure of undressing her and I do it methodically, my hands lingering on her skin longer than is necessary. When she’s naked, it’s my eyes’ turn to linger. If she isn’t the most exquisite of all God’s creatures. I chase the thought away as I unclasp my bra, slide it off. Then my panties.
The water is scalding, so hot it could sear the flesh right off my bones. That’s how I like it—painful, dangerous—as close to boiling as I can stand. I welcome the torrent as it rushes over me. But Jules is hesitant, standing at the open glass door, her nude frame somewhat obscured by thick steam. I must have a disapproving air about me, because she forces her doubt away and ventures in.
The stream hits her and her sensitive alabaster skin goes instantly red. She winces but doesn’t voice her discomfort. That won’t do. I face the twin nozzles, turn the one marked H. The temperature change is immediate. “Better?”
“Much. Thanks.”
I take her by the waist, wrench her fully under the water. Her blonde hair is soaked and spilling around her shoulders. I bunch it up, drape it down her back. “Don’t thank me, just tell me what you need and you’ve got it.”
Her eyes go wide at my words, as if she’s never been more caught off guard by anything in her life. She doesn’t speak, rather frames my face with her hands and kisses me gently.
Gentle. I don’t know how to do that. I never have before. It’s always been rough-and-tumble. Meaningless dalliances. I don’t make love, I fuck. But she makes me want to learn. I deepen the kiss without urgency, guide her backward to the wall. I have her pressed up against the warm, wet tile, the tip of my tongue hinting to her lips that it longs to be inside her mouth. She accepts, and it’s different from every other kiss we’ve had. Tender. More precious. I’m completely absorbed in her, like she is the only thing that exists in the world. Just her—her beautiful body and her beautiful soul.
With that I realize that I am well and truly fucked. Falling in love with her is going to be much too easy. I’ve already got one foot through the door.
I move my lips down her neck to her clavicle, savoring every inch of her skin. And then her breasts—each a perfect mouthful. I pick her up, support her slight frame with one arm and a bent knee, and it’s the first time I’ve noticed how much smaller than me she is. By comparison, I’m built like a linebacker—tall and broad. She’s… Fun Size.
She wraps her legs around my torso. My instinct is to get straight to the point, keep sucking on her tits, plunge my fingers into her, and work her pussy until she comes. It takes everything I have to fight against it.
I refocus on her mouth. She’s surprised; I can feel her lips hesitate against mine, though it passes in a millisecond. I don’t know what makes me do it, but I pull back. I need to see her.
“What?” she whispers.
Those eyes. “Nothing.” I kiss her cheek. “I want you, but in the bed.” I didn’t say anything profound, so I don’t understand why her expression looks otherwise.
“Then take me to the bed.”
I cradle her in my arms, full princess carry, and back out of the shower, careful to dry my feet on the bathmat. She glances at the crisp white towels dangling on the rack as we’re about to pass them. I think, Fuck it. I couldn’t give a shit if we drench the sheets—and we will, one way or another. I’m not putting her down anywhere but that mattress, but I do stop long enough for her to grab one.
She dabs herself with it and sniggers. “Thanks.” Then she kisses me again. It’s a good thing I’ve had so many random one night stands here. I know this suite so well I can concentrate on her without worrying about crashing into anything. I sidestep the bar, avoid the low glass coffee table. Finally, after what feels like miles and miles, we make it to our destination. I place her on the mattress. She tosses me the towel. I stand at the foot of the bed, drying myself as I watch her scoot closer to the ornate gold bedrail and plump a pillow under her head. How can someone be so sexy and so adorable at the same time? I want to devour her. But tonight isn’t just about me. Give her all of you. “What do you want?”
She’s concentrating so hard on me it’s almost as if she’s seeing beyond my body, beyond my sinew and bones, directly into my heart. “I want you to ride my face.”
It’s such a straightforward answer, I don’t know what to do with it. I’m usually the stallion, not the jockey, but I can’t find the words to protest and don’t feel like it, anyway.
I get on my knees, crawl up the bed, up her body—pause to kiss her before continuing on to straddle her shoulders.
She palms my ass and starts off slow, kissing and licking my inner thighs. The second her mouth moves into position, I’m electrified. Her tongue finds my clit and it’s all swift flicks. I inhale the sharpest breath I’ve ever taken and, instead of air, exhale a whimper. That’s all she needs to hear; she reads me like the Sunday Globe and starts to suck. I lurch forward, white-knuckle the metal headboard. It’s all I can do to maintain my balance.
The shift in position allows her an opportunity she seizes with startling expertise. She sneaks her small hand into the space between my body and her chin and glides two fingers into me. Her tongue and her fingers move in cadence. I’m sure this is the closest to heaven I’ll ever get. With every lick and stroke, my orgasm looms closer. I don’t know if I’m way too easy or if she’s way too good at this. Maybe it’s both.
I must be too quiet; dissatisfied with my desperate panting, she goes harder, increases her speed. The cries I let out are not sounds I’ve ever made, just a melody I’ve enjoyed from countless other women. “Fuck, baby, don’t stop,” I command as I lean back, slide my hand down her stomach and between her spread legs. “You’re so wet.” My words sound breathy, more a hiss than human speech. I use my middle finger to trace a circle on her clit. There’s something magical to the whole “coming together” thing. Now that I’ve experienced the high, I’ll be chasing it forever.
She flings her arm down, grabs my wrist. For a second, I think she’s going to pull my hand away. Rather, she presses me against her, asking for more pressure without speaking. Yeah, that mouth is busy. She’s moaning into me. I can feel her trying to concentrate on what she’s doing but faltering as her own climax builds. I don’t need her to work so hard; I’m almost there. I start to ride her in earnest, bucking her mouth. Suddenly, I can feel the universe expanding inside me, white-hot and limitless. “Juliet!” I come so ferociously I swear my soul is shaking. And beneath me, she’s quaking like her body is a fault line. I know she came, still I don’t want to stop. Now she does pull my hand away, the action accompanied by a muffled, “Nuh huh.”
“Guess you’re done.” I stifle a half-pant, half-laugh and try to dismount her with some modicum of grace, but my knees give way and I tumble sideways onto the bed. I’d be embarrassed if I had any energy left. I don’t, so I just let myself laugh. She’s attempting to ride out her quivering and catch her breath simultaneously. My crowing sends that effort straight to hell. She dissolves into a fit of her own. We’re still a bit wet from the shower—from each other—naked as the day we were born and dying of laughter. I was wrong: I’m not falling in love, I’ve plummeted headlong into it. It’s terrifying and wonderful all at once.
She wicks my wetness from her lips, then turns on her side to face me, still chuckling, and pushes my damp bangs out of my face. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you with your hair down.”
“No. That can’t be,” I reply as my tittering dies away.
“It is. You wear it in a ponytail most of the time, sometimes in a bun when you’ve been, um, working for your dad.”
She’s scary observant. “It’s harder to grab when it’s up. I learned after a couple nasty fights that that’s an occupational hazard.”
She runs a finger over the scar on my bicep that I got years ago from a shady motherfucker with a knife in Chinatown. There’s a subtle shift in her mood. She doesn’t like knowing that I’ve been hurt, or that it’s pretty much inevitable I’ll be hurt again. She’s overcome with a kind of misty, opaque sadness, so heavy that it thickens the air between us. I want to obliterate it with kisses, refuse to quit until I’m sure it’ll never distort her shimmer with its ugliness again. I go with my gut, sling my arm across her torso and pull her to me—kiss her until she’s radiating that custom Juliet warmth once more. When I’ve finished and she’s my Juliet again, I hold her. She presses her face into my cleavage, breathes me in. “Gerutwifme.”
“Huh?”
She lifts her head and repeats, “Go out with me.”
“Like, on a date?”
Her eyes narrow. “Yes, Rowan. Generally, when someone says, ‘go out with me,’ they’re referring to a date.”
It’s not a foreign concept, yet I stare at her, agape. I can see she’s starting to feel stupid for asking and wants to backtrack.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to.”
Shit. “Don’t be ridiculous. I want to. It’s just… Do you really think we could go anywhere in the fucking Commonwealth of Massachusetts without it getting back to our parents?”
She recognizes that I have a point. I recognize that she has a counterpoint. “Who said it has to be in Massachusetts?”
Ha! That mischievous little simper. “You’re kind of devious, aren’t you?”
“I know how to work my dad’s system.”
I contemplate it. “I could swing it. My father isn’t as protective of me as yours is of you. The real problem would be Teague. He’s so far up your ass it’s like he thinks he’s a puppeteer.”
Her hands fly up to her lips. “Oh my God, the accuracy,” she says into them. She’s chortling so hard that her eyes are watering.
I love her laugh. It’s more boisterous than it should be—a noise too big for such a tiny frame. I could listen to her laugh every day for the rest of my life. “Alright, evil genius. What do you have in mind?”
She settles herself, nestles her head against my collarbone. “Mmm. Maine. You and me in a tent on a beach in Maine for a weekend.”
“Oh, a weekend, huh? That’s a helluva date.”
Her cheeks go rosy. “Yeah, that was presumptuous of me.”
I’m not the outdoorsy type. And I’m surprised to find that she is. I’d never have guessed it by looking at her. But I like it, the sense of adventure I didn’t realize she had until right this moment. Anyway, I wouldn’t care where we went. If I get to be with her, I’m good. “Let’s do it.”
“Seriously?” Her big, blue eyes sparkle with enthusiasm.
“Yes.”
“When?”
Now—no. Dad has a shipment of who-the-hell-knows-what coming into the harbor tomorrow and I have to be at the marina to receive it, or I’ll get my ass handed to me. “This weekend. Will that be enough time for you to hatch an escape plan?”
She goes pfft. “Plenty.”
I feel a bud of excitement in my chest. Mostly because I want to spend time with her, but also because it’ll be nice to get away from the shitshow that is my life for a few days. “Cool.”
“Cool,” she echoes. Then yawns.
“You’re tired. Let’s go to sleep, okay?”
“Only if you keep holding me.”
“Deal.” I reach over and switch off the bedside lamp, then turn back to her. “Good night, Jules.”
“Good night.” She kisses my lips, then turns away from me and cuddles into my arms again, the perfect little spoon.