Chapter 8
AOIFE
Ihave never needed a shower more. Dust from the concrete and container grease coats my leather pants along with random dots of powdered sugar from my Christmas tree pancakes.
My hair is grimy, my mascara clumpy, and my cheeks sore from the verbal sparring match Grayson and I seem to be in this morning.
More than that—someone is targeting crime family members, and all I can think about it how I’m going to protect mine. I couldn’t get my shipment of weapons in without them being hijacked. I can only hold my dad off for so long before he notices things aren’t as he left them.
Grayson finally pulls up to the front entrance of my building and lets out a low whistle.
“The St. Regis Residences. Never realized how close to the harbor it was. Don’t think I know anyone who lives here, so …
there’s that.” He inhales another drag of his cigarette, a habit that on anyone else would be disgusting, cause for me to break the fingers that hold said cancer stick.
But on him … it’s sexy. In a John Travolta from Grease sort of way.
I shake my head. I’m clearly exhausted. In a sugar-induced delirium between the pancakes, donuts, and coffee in the last eight hours. I can’t be held accountable for whatever comes out of my mouth. “Do you want to come up?”
Grayson’s gaze cuts to mine.
“To see the place. Inside. I wasn’t—”
“Yeah. Don’t think I’ve ever been in here.”
I press my lips together and nod, fumbling with my phone. I get out of the car and move toward the front. The butler opens the front door.
Grayson jogs to hurry, coming up behind me, and the heat of him is hypnotic. I blink. “Hey, Jerry. This is Detective Holtz. He’s leaving his car here. Tow it and I’ll kill you.” I wink at him.
Jerry dips his chin in his stoic, singular nod, and I smile, heading for the elevator. Grayson bumps me as we get on, and I mash the button for my condo.
“Jerry? Isn’t that the name of your bike?” he asks, one brow arched as his gaze flicks back toward the door and the butler on the other side of it.
I grin slowly. I know where this is going. “Yep.”
His mouth goes tight, almost a scowl. “You named your bike after your butler?”
“Sure did. He always shows up, there when I need him, never talks back, and is reliable.”
He mutters something under his breath, a flash of annoyance slipping past his composed squint at the penthouse light. I bite back a laugh at his irritated demeanor and at the thought I named my hunk of metal after another man, even though it’s just Jerry. It gets under his skin, and I grin wider.
We ride the rest of the way in silence, the odd tension making the air thick and the box we’re in stifling.
Grayson’s eyes flick toward me. I can’t decide if it’s the look that says I want to rip all your clothes off, or the look of I can’t stand you and you should be in jail.
It’s the same strain from the house this morning.
Since my dad passed this responsibility on to me, I haven’t thought about dating or men.
There hasn’t been time, and frankly, men are intimidated by my position or who I am.
I don’t have time to coddle them or make them feel secure in a relationship when I have an entire organization to worry about.
Any man who wants me needs to want my whole family, too. All of them.
The elevator dings, and I push past Grayson to step off. Two of my guards stand on either side of my door, and the one on the left reaches into his pocket to key in for me.
“Guards on your floor, but none in the lobby?” Grayson trails behind me as I walk through my front door, but my other guard halts him. He stands tall, several feet higher than Grayson. The man is bulky and intimidating. Grayson blinks at him.
“I need your weapon,” he says.
Grayson sighs, reaching for his holster and handing over his Glock while his gray eyes stay fixed on mine. “How am I supposed to defend myself against you?”
“You’re not defenseless, Detective.”
“I beg to differ,” he says, pulling his jacket taut back around the edge of his holster. He licks the corner of his lips, and I grip the doorframe harder as warmth sweeps low in my belly.
When Grayson steps inside, I shut the door, using it to lean against as I watch him scope out my place.
His dark hair and coat are striking in the pale natural afternoon light.
He strides to the wall of windows framing the Boston Harbor, checking out the balcony before he turns to me and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “It’s pretty epic up here.”
I nibble my lip. “I’m never home. Sleep, shower … you know.”
He raises his eyebrows as I walk into the kitchen. I drag my fingers over the creamy marble, outlining the blush and gold veining.
“Actually, I don’t,” he says, approaching me.
I brush my hair off my shoulder. Is it hot in here? “Do you want some water? I want some water.” Without letting him respond, I open the pearl-colored cabinets, searching for my glasses.
He chuckles. “You must not be home all that often.”
I smirk at him, finally opening the cabinet that has a few cups, and fill each one with ice and water. I hand him his, and he practically guzzles it down. We both do.
“Feels good to have something besides coffee in my system.” He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth—the faint scent of dark spices and smoke curling from him when his arm falls to his side. The intoxicating scent makes me sway, and I throw a hand down on the counter to stabilize myself.
“You must be tired.” He shifts forward, placing his glass in the sink, but—hell, he’s close.
Close enough that his towering form swallows mine.
His breath slides over the side of my face, warm against my skin.
I swallow, toes curling inside my boots.
So close, he’s so close, my mind chants.
His lips are right there, and … I want. Something twists inside me, not in my core, but in my chest. A needle-like ache pinpointing the desire to pull him in, touch him, test and tease him.
If I moved in another inch or two, we’d be chest to chest, mouth to mouth, and the temptation whispers to me.
I’ve only been with one man, boy really.
He was a college student from Harvard who rolled into O’Brien’s my first year out of high school.
The relationship was superficial at best and had too many parallels to my dad’s when he met my biological mother.
I didn’t want that, didn’t want anyone until now.
A gentle stroke grazes my knuckles, and I’m drawn to it. Grayson’s thumb caresses my hand so lightly it’s aggravating. “—get going.”
“What?” I missed what he said entirely.
He pulls his hand from mine, and I finally have the courage to look at his face.
Dark circles sit above his cheekbones, his thick black hair disheveled and greasy.
But when he smiles … the hard lines and somber expression he sports lift away.
“I said, I’m going to take off. Need to finalize my report and actually make it through the shower before I have to head back to the station. Thanks for showing me the place.”
I step back, embarrassed. Shit, Aoife. You barely know him. And this—me tagging along with him—is about justice for Finn.
Rays from the afternoon sun streak across the living room hardwood, and I gather myself, tucking away the sensations flooding me in a nice big box with a bow. “Of course.”
He walks around the island, pausing one last time to glance around the living room. He lands on a photo of my dad, Summer, and me on our trip to Italy two summers ago. He stares at it. “No tree?”
“No, what?” I ask, confused. He’s looking at the photo, and there’s not a tree in it. We’re in the vineyards in northern Italy.
“Christmas tree.” He gestures around my décor-less living room.
“Oh, typically, I just help with the one at my dad’s.”
“Huh.”
“Huh? What’s huh?” I bristle, moving to the photo and slapping it face down on the side table.
“Nothing. It’s just you decorate your office at O’Brien’s or with your parents, but not here. At your own place.”
I frown, sidestepping him and moving to the door. “I’m not here that much. What’s your point?”
My hand hovers on the door handle as he approaches. “And your dad is still The Boss in your phone. Aren’t you the boss now?”
I slap my hand on my thigh. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot every detective was an insufferable ass. Don’t reach for anything, Grayson. It’s not there.”
He shrugs. “Seems like you might be struggling to accept your new role in this—”
I open the door. “Detective Holtz is leaving now,” I announce. My lip curls as I fight the heat prickling behind my eyes.
Both my guards step inside, ushering Grayson out as I ignore his “goodbye, Aoife.”
When the door slams, I scowl at where he stood in the living room, all tall trench coat, dotted melted snow, and hands on his hips.
Judging my Christmas decorations, is he serious?
I take off toward my bedroom to shower, stripping off my stuck-on clothes as I go.
I can’t believe I wanted him to kiss me.
Damn law enforcement. They think they know something.
He thinks because he saw a minute glimpse into my life, he’s entitled to speak on it.
Screw him. I’m the leader of the Irish Mob.
Me. And I’m doing the best I can. I don’t want to burden my dad with questions. He deserves to be with Summer, happy.
I switch the shower on. The hot water covers the marble floor and steams the surrounding glass, and I step in.
Heat licks my skin and steals my breath.
I tilt my head under the spray and allow the searing water to cascade over my face.
It slides down my spine, pooling at my feet.
I’m so tired, but I don’t have the luxury of fantasizing about a world where I’m not in this alone.
You’re the boss now. “You are the boss, now,” I mumble over and over to myself, washing away the weight of it all.
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand what I deal with.
To him, this is all money, drugs, and everything he fights against. Grayson will never understand what it’s like.
The crushing weight of always being on. Being responsible for hundreds of families and their lives.
Knowing the exact moment to act but not overreact.
It’s worse when you’re female. A man gets mad, and he’s passionate.
A woman is being dramatic. So, I walk the edge, refusing to be vulnerable because I can’t be seen as weak.
But … but I desperately crave someone to settle into.
I crumple to the floor of the shower and clutch my knees into myself. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t want to accept I’m the Irish Mob leader because deep down, I know I wasn’t ready, not really, and I’m not sure I won’t humiliate my family name.