Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
"If you grip that gun any tighter, you'll break the fucking trigger," I murmur without turning around.
Conall stands three feet behind me in the Four Seasons lobby, radiating lethal energy. I feel his fury like flames licking at my spine. All because Valentin Petrov kissed my hand thirty seconds ago.
"He touched you," Conall growls, voice rough enough to scrape skin.
"He kissed my hand, not my ass." I smooth my emerald dress, the silk clinging to curves I chose this outfit to highlight. Heat pools between my thighs at the raw possession in his voice. "Relax before you start a war in the lobby."
Petrov approaches with predatory grace, expensive suit doing nothing to hide the killer underneath. Dark hair, brutal cheekbones, the kind of cold beauty that comes from generations of Russian aristocracy and violence.
"Ms. Kavanagh." His accent wraps around my name like velvet over steel. "Stunning, as expected."
Behind me, Conall makes a sound like a growling wolf. My nipples peak against silk at the barely leashed violence in that growl.
Petrov's gray eyes flick past my shoulder, reading the danger radiating from my bodyguard. "Your guard dog seems restless."
"Conall takes his job seriously."
"Does he?" Petrov's smile shows perfect teeth. "How seriously?"
The question hangs loaded with implication. I let my own smile turn sharp, arousal making me bold.
"Why don't you find out?"
The restaurant table puts me between two apex predators circling each other. Petrov cuts his steak with surgical precision while Conall looms by the wall like death waiting for an invitation. My pussy clenches every time I catch Conall's reflection in the window - jaw tight, eyes burning with fury.
"Your territory boundaries fascinate me," Petrov says, lifting wine to his lips. "The Murphy agreement last month - three dead, I heard. Efficient work."
My blood chills. That information cost lives to keep secret.
"Business requires firm negotiations," I reply, crossing my legs. The movement makes my dress ride higher, and I don't adjust it. In the window's reflection, Conall's gaze drops to my exposed thigh.
"Indeed. Your shipping routes through the harbor are particularly impressive. Direct Atlantic access, minimal authority interference." Petrov leans forward, voice dropping intimate. "I find capable women intoxicating."
Conall's chair scrapes against marble. The sound sends liquid heat rushing through my core.
"Careful," I tell Petrov softly, letting my tongue dart out to wet my lips. "Some men don't share well."
"Some men don't deserve what they're protecting." His fingers brush mine across the table. "Your eyes are extraordinary. Like emeralds touched by wildfire."
Behind me, Conall's breathing changes - rougher, harder. I squeeze my thighs together, already slick with want.
"You're very bold for someone in enemy territory," I say, though my attention stays fixed on Conall's reflection. His hand hovers near his gun, muscles coiled for violence.
"I prefer to think of it as opportunity." Petrov's thumb traces across my knuckles, and I let him, knowing it's driving Conall insane. "My organization seeks expansion into New England. Your family's cooperation would benefit everyone involved."
"Cooperation takes many forms." I shift in my seat, pressing my thighs together as arousal builds. Twenty years of wanting Conall, and all it takes is another man's touch to shatter his control.
"The most successful alliances in our world tend to be... traditional." His meaning couldn't be clearer. Marriage. Breeding rights. Ownership wrapped in ceremony.
I should pull my hand away. Instead, I let my fingers curl around his, watching Conall's face in the window glass. His jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscle jumping. My clit throbs in response.
"Traditional alliances require careful consideration," I breathe, my voice huskier than intended.
"Of course. Though meeting you makes the prospect far more appealing.
" Petrov lifts my hand to his mouth again, pressing lips to my palm.
His tongue darts out, tasting my skin. "I'd very much like to show you proper Russian hospitality.
Somewhere private. Somewhere I can properly. .. appreciate your assets."
The invitation makes my breath catch. Behind me, Conall goes statue-still, but I hear his harsh breathing.
I lean closer to Petrov, letting my dress gape just enough to show the swell of my breasts. "How private?"
"My penthouse overlooks the harbor. The view rivals anything in Europe." His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist while his eyes drop to my cleavage. "We could discuss terms more... intimately. I could show you exactly what a Russian alliance would feel like."
My panties are soaked. Not from his words, but from the barely contained violence radiating from Conall. I can practically feel him unraveling.
I stand abruptly, pulling my hand free. "I should go. This conversation requires more thought."
Petrov rises with fluid grace. "Of course. Though I hope you won't keep me waiting long. I'm not a patient man when I want something." His gaze rakes over my body. "And I want you very much."
"Neither is my security," I reply, gathering my purse. "You might want to remember that."
His laugh follows us across the restaurant. "Until next time, beautiful Saoirse. I'll be dreaming of those emerald eyes."
The elevator doors close, trapping us in steel and silence. My skin burns everywhere Petrov touched me, but not from desire for him. From the knowledge that Conall watched every second, every caress, every heated look.
"Interesting evening," I say casually, though my voice shakes.
He doesn't answer. His hands clench and unclench at his sides.
"He seems very... attentive."
Still nothing. But his breathing grows rougher.
"The penthouse invitation was bold. Harbor views, he said. Very romantic." I press my thighs together, so wet I'm afraid it'll show through my dress. "He wants to show me what a Russian alliance would feel like."
Conall spins toward me so fast I gasp. His hands slam against the elevator wall on either side of my head, caging me in heat and fury. His body presses close enough that I feel his hardness against my hip.
"You think this is a fucking game?" His voice scrapes raw. "He wants to own you. Breed you like a prize mare for his bloodline. Put his hands all over you, his mouth on your skin, his cock inside?—"
"Conall." My breath catches at the raw hunger in his voice.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me." His gaze drops to my mouth, pupils blown wide. "Sitting there, letting him touch you, knowing I'm watching. Knowing I want to rip his fucking hands off."
My pulse hammers against my throat. This close, I smell leather and whiskey and twenty years of want he won't admit. "Then why don't you?"
"Because—" His breathing turns ragged. He leans closer, close enough that his lips brush my ear. "Because once I touch you, I won't stop. I'll take everything. Every sound, every breath, every inch of skin."
Liquid heat floods my core. "Maybe I want you to."
For one perfect moment, I think he'll kiss me. Think twenty years of careful distance will shatter against elevator steel. His mouth hovers inches from mine, close enough to taste his breath. His hand moves toward my face?—
Then the doors open.
He jerks away like I burned him, stalking toward his car. I follow on unsteady legs, my entire body throbbing with need.
At the car, he yanks open my door with barely controlled violence. As I slide past him, his scent wraps around me like a drug. I deliberately let my breast brush his chest, and his sharp intake of breath makes my nipples peak harder.
"Conall."
He looks down, jaw clenched tight enough to crack. His gaze drops to where my nipples press against silk, and I see his hands tremble.
"Next time he touches me, are you going to do something about it?" I step closer, close enough to feel his heat. "Because he will touch me. He'll kiss me. He'll put his hands all over what you think you can't have."
His eyes darken to storm clouds. "Saoirse?—"
"He'll slide his hands under my dress. Kiss my neck. Maybe more." I place my palm against his chest, feeling his heart race. "Unless you stop pretending you don't want to fuck me."
The crude word makes him flinch. His hand covers mine, pressing my palm harder against his chest. "You don't know what you're asking."
"I know exactly what I'm asking." I can feel him trembling under my touch. "I'm asking you to take what's yours before someone else does."
For a heartbeat, his control wavers. His thumb strokes across my knuckles, and I see him glance at my mouth.
Then he steps back, face shuttering. "Get in the car."
I slide into the passenger seat, skin burning with frustrated need. He walks around to the driver's side, and I don't miss how he adjusts himself through his pants. The bulge is unmistakable.
He wants me. The knowledge burns through my veins like whiskey.
As we drive away, I cross my legs, letting my dress ride up. In my peripheral vision, I see his gaze flick to my exposed thigh.
"Conall?"
"What." His voice sounds strangled.
"When you finally break, I'll be ready."
His hands tighten on the steering wheel until his knuckles go white.
Whatever games Valentin Petrov thinks he's playing, whatever alliances he hopes to forge through marriage, he's already lost.
Because the only man I want is about to shatter.
And when he does, I'll make sure he takes me with him.