The Love Destroyers (Unlucky in Love #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

EMMA

My brother Anthony is getting married tomorrow, on New Year’s Eve. He seems to really like his fiancée, so I decide to do him a favor and slip out of the rehearsal dinner for some fresh—i.e. arctic—December air. I don’t want to destroy his happy buzz by saying any of the things running through my head.

Like, love is for suckers.

Or, are you sure about this? You’re both great, but everything you know about each other would fit onto a one-sided sheet of paper. With large font. Five-inch margins.

It’s all true, but you wouldn’t know it to look at them. They’ve been giving each other heart eyes over the appetizers. It’s enough to make a person lose their appetite.

I head out through the back of the restaurant, because my mother would have something to say if she caught me, but almost immediately regret it. It’s dark, cold, and there’s an oversized dumpster that smells like the carton of takeout I accidentally left at the back of my refrigerator for a month last summer. It had grown a colony of mold that probably hosted lifeforms more intelligent than my ex-boss.

Let it never be said I’m afraid of a challenge. Scrunching my nose, I turn the corner, nearly trip over an evergreen shrub covered in suspiciously colored snow, and keep on walking until the smell dissipates. Then I lean against the rough brick wall and suck in a couple of deep breaths. A chill seeps in through my coat, and I feel a bit better—for about two seconds. Because I hear heavy footsteps turning the corner from the trash area.

I bristle and reach into my purse for my pepper spray. If some weird guy was masturbating behind the dumpster, waiting for an unsuspecting woman to come along, he’s going to learn that I don’t know the meaning of unsuspecting.

You know what? I almost hope Happy Feet back there is a pervert on a mission of sin, because it would feel immensely gratifying to whale on someone who deserves it.

A dark figure—tall and rangy—comes into view, and the air puffs out of my lungs. There’s not much of a moon tonight, but there’s enough ambient light streaming through the windows of the restaurant for me to recognize him.

Seamus James.

My brother’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. He nods to me without saying anything, and for a second, I think he’s going to walk right past me—his long legs carrying him off into the night, the devil only knows where. Then he stops beside me, about six inches separating us. He says nothing as he leans against the brick wall beside me.

I angle my neck slightly to look up at him. My future sister-in-law, Rosie, is almost painfully adorable, from her blond hair, streaked with purple, to her sunshine personality that’s cast light on all of my brother’s dark places. Her eldest brother, Declan, is a thoughtful, silent hulk of a man who makes his living as a landscaper. And then here’s this middle brother…

Seamus is the kind of guy who looks like he’d be the cause for a divorce—with a haircut like Fonzie’s, a perpetual leather jacket, and tattoos you can sometimes see a hint of through his clothes. In other words, he’s a man who’s trouble and has decided to advertise it. He’s a bit sleazy. He reminds me of the Marlboro man on a case of old cigarettes.

As if he can hear my thought and wants to underline the likeness for me, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

I snort.

“Something funny?” he says, lifting his eyebrows as he sticks the end of the cigarette in his mouth. Goddammit, that shouldn’t be hot.

He pulls a silver lighter from his pocket and lifts it, flicking it to life with his thumb. The dancing flame illuminates his face for half a second—his eyes are a flinty brown, surrounded by eyelashes that make him almost pretty.

I clear my throat pointedly, and he grins as he blows smoke away from me.

“I can still smell it,” I point out.

“Want me to go away?” he asks, his voice deep and husky.

“If I said yes, would you?”

He gives me a sidelong glance, his body still precisely half a foot away from me against the wall. I suppress a shiver, not wanting him to see weakness.

“Care to find out?” he asks.

It sounds an awful lot like a challenge, and I’m a woman who finds it hard to walk away from challenges. At the same time, I don’t necessarily want to be alone out here, stuck in unhappy thought spirals.

“What do you give their chances?” I ask, knowing he’ll understand exactly what I mean.

My brother needed someone to marry him by New Year’s so he could fulfill the demands of his trust fund. Strange? Assuredly. But my father enjoyed controlling all of us when he was alive, so it’s in character that he decided to give everyone one final heart attack from beyond the grave. My brother was supposed to marry another woman—an awful, conniving gold digger—but she dumped him a couple of months ago, leaving him with only two months to find a wife. Hence his decision to marry a woman he barely knows. It’s beyond lucky, and somewhat beyond belief, that he managed to fall in love under those circumstances.

Sweet but, like I said, also kind of sickening.

Seamus laughs, low in his throat, then takes another drag from his cigarette, blowing the plume of smoke away from me, so at least he’s not a total dickhead. “You’re the former divorce attorney, aren’t you?”

Ouch. As if I needed to be reminded of my current unemployment status. Still, I’m feeling generous, so I give him what he asked for. “I’m guessing 60/40.”

It’s a generous estimation. After all, Rosie and Anthony have only known each other for a month.

He gives another low, throaty laugh. “Brutal. I’m not a relationship kind of guy, so I get where you’re coming from, but don’t you want it to work out?”

“Sure. And if karma really meant anything, then it would. My brother deserves something good, and your sister’s a ray of sunshine, but good deeds are punished and bad deeds are rewarded. Karma’s a fairy tale people tell themselves so they don’t have to deal with how screwed up the world is.”

Oops. I didn’t mean to unleash the full power of my bitterness on the Marlboro Man.

He gives me a long, assessing look.

“What?”

His mouth tips into a slow, lazy grin, the cigarette hanging from it, and I feel an unwilling pulse of attraction that’s all about my body and not a single bit about my brain. “Just wondering who fucked you over and what you did to them for it.”

A laugh coughs its way out of me. I shoot an accusatory look at the cigarette. He shakes his head slightly, another smile building on his mouth, then rubs the cigarette out against the side of the building. I’m prepared for him to drop it, proving he is a litterer on top of everything, but he doesn’t. He just keeps it in his fingers—his hold surprisingly delicate.

“Why do you figure I did something to them?” I ask after my laughter dies down, leaving a strange feeling in its wake. Inappropriate lust, maybe. Sadness, surely.

He nods at me, a twinkle in his eye. “You’ve got all the marks of a ball buster.”

“I take that as a compliment, you know.”

He pockets the cigarette. “You were meant to. Because you still haven’t told me your story, and I’m bored. I’d like to butter you up enough that you’ll share it.”

“You’re bored?” I say with a snort. “Was it all that talk of love and devotion in there?”

“I’ve only ever felt that way about a car,” he says, with a smirk that hides plenty. “But Rachel was one hell of a hatchback.”

“I believe you’ve only felt that way about a car,” I tell him pointedly, “but not that it was a hatchback. Hatchbacks don’t inspire that level of devotion. Especially from a car guy.”

I know he is one. Rosie told me he works at a garage in New York City. She showed me photos of some of the old cars he’s restored. The only thing I know about cars is that it’s time to take mine to the shop when the oil light goes on, but I can tell the cars in the photos would be coveted by people who know more about motor vehicles than I do.

“I did notice you drove one here,” he says with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“So you were watching me, huh? Good to know.”

“I was watching the hatchback.”

Laughter spurts out of me. “Yeah, well, you can romance her on your own time. Just don’t stick your dick in the tailpipe unless you like to roll the dice. I haven’t gone to the carwash in months.”

He laughs through his nose. “I knew you were a ball buster.”

I give him a sidelong glance, lingering more this time. Nothing’s changed. He’s a man who looks like trouble. A man who likes trouble. He’s the last person I should confide in.

He raises his eyebrows and pulls a flask out of his other pocket. Offers it to me.

I shake my head. “No Rohypnol for me, thanks.”

Rolling his eyes, he opens the flask and takes a swig before offering it to me again.

“Now, it’s the saliva I object to,” I say, but I accept it from him anyway and take a long swig. Whiskey. Good whiskey.

A sigh escapes me, and I go in for another swig before handing it back. “I appreciate that you like the good stuff.”

“I definitely do,” he says, giving me a long, sizzling look that makes me laugh again, because I’m wearing a long coat that conceals me from head to toe.

“What?” he asks, making an amused sound that’s not quite a laugh. He pauses to take another swig of the whiskey before tucking it away again in his leather coat. “You’ve injured me.”

“I doubt it. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to hit on your sister’s in-laws?”

He makes another not-quite-a-laugh. “Now you tell me. I was about to have something really special with your mother.”

I fake a gagging sound.

“Anyway,” he adds. “Who says I’m hitting on you? I talk to everyone like this.”

“But you’re especially nice to hatchbacks.”

His lips curl into a grin. “What can I say? I like a big ass.”

I laugh again, easing into it—and into this probably inappropriate conversation. “Of course you do. You have a flat one. Everyone looks for what they don’t have in a sexual partner.”

I’m just messing with him. He has a nice ass, truth be told, not that I should have noticed.

His eyes sparkle in the near dark as he pushes off from the wall and pointedly turns in a circle in front of me, showing off the goods. Yes, definitely a nice ass, and he’s wearing jeans that show the right kind of wear. I feel a swell of awareness that I squash down.

“You’re telling me that’s not one fine ass?” he asks finally before propping himself against the wall again.

“I take the fifth,” I tell him pointedly.

“Sounds like a yes.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Only a yes means yes.”

“I’m familiar with the definition. So what did this guy do to you? I’m assuming it was a guy.”

I huff out a breath that fills the air with white mist. “What didn’t he do?”

“Way to get me on the hook.” His voice sounds amused. “You told me nothing but in an interesting way.”

“Who says I want you on the hook?” I ask, turning toward him slightly and raising my eyebrows.

A frigid breeze blows a pinecone toward me, but I don’t have the slightest interest in going inside. Because there’s that twinkle in Seamus’s eyes again, as if he’s up to no good. It’s obnoxious, and also sexy.

What would happen if I suggested giving him a lift back to his hotel room, or whatever, in my scandalous hatchback?

I smush the thought like a bug and ignore the awareness dancing across my skin as he shifts slightly closer, cutting the six inches between us to four, and faces me more fully.

He watches me for three seconds—I count—and then says, “Maybe you just want to punch every guy you meet in the nuts.”

“Not every guy.” I hold his gaze. “Are you offering yourself as tribute? I might accept.”

His mouth hitches up on one side, humor lines bunching around his eyes. “Not tribute for a blow to the nuts. But if you want to punch me in the chest or the arm, I’d take it.”

“You’re trying to trick me into hurting my hand,” I say. Because he may be rangy and more stretched out than his brother, but there’s no denying he’s fit. It would hurt to punch him. Not that I truly have any intention of doing such a thing.

He holds my gaze. Another challenge.

A sigh gusts out of me, because I know I’m going to tell him everything. Maybe I need to tell someone. My brother and my mother know a little, but they don’t know the full story. I can’t share it with them, because I don’t want to hear any Oh, Emma s or for them to look at me like I’m a victim. I refuse to be a victim. I don’t think Seamus will do either of those things, if only because he probably doesn’t give a shit. I also don’t think he’d tell anyone.

“My boss was embezzling from clients…” I start.

He doesn’t comment, he just pulls the flask out again and opens it, taking a sip before passing it to me, his brow cocked. I take a long pull, painfully aware of the phantom impression of his lips, right beneath where mine are pressed, before handing it back.

“And you called him on it?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. I asked him a question about some numbers that weren’t adding up, and the next thing I know, he refers this new client to me. This woman was a nightmare. Her name’s Ellie Reed.”

He doesn’t react whatsoever, so I continue, “She’s this big social media star with this pet rabbit named Carrot.”

“Carrot?” he says with a snort.

“Carrot,” I repeat. “Creative, she is not. Anyway…she was eating up all of my time, even though her marriage had lasted about five minutes. I was getting calls from her ten times a day. I wanted to drop her, but Jeffrey, that’s my ex—”

“Your ex?” he asks pointedly.

I hold my hand out. Without needing to ask what I want, he pulls out the flask and hands it to me. I take another swig before returning it. “Yeah, my boss is my ex, although we were together at the time.”

The words have a bitter mouth feel, but they want to come out. I’m not the ball buster he thinks I am. Not anymore. The knowledge of my defeat is soul-crushing. I’ve always had a hard time losing, but it’s worse now, after a career of bringing in wins for other people. I swallow nothing, giving myself a few seconds, then clear my throat and continue, “He did more general practice, and I handled most of the divorce cases. No need to tell me it was stupid to get involved with him.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. You already know I like to get handsy with the hatchbacks. How old is this guy?”

I shake my head slightly, at myself as much as him. “Fifty-two.” I shouldn’t be telling him any of this. But at the same time…I don’t want to stop. It’s like I can’t .

He wings his brows up but doesn’t comment.

“He looks younger.”

A snort escapes him. “Sure he does. I’ll bet he even gets carded by people who want a good tip.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t want to defend that asshole—just the poor decision-making that led to this lifetime low. “Anyway, he wouldn’t let me drop her as a client. It seemed a little weird, but he insisted it would be bad for our public profile. I didn’t think too much of it until I figured out they were sleeping together.”

He whistles. “Jeffrey and Rabbit Lady?”

“Yeah,” I say through a dry throat. “After I found out, I confronted them at the office. And they…”

“Were fucking like rabbits?” he suggests after a moment.

My laughter is bitter—like a pill you try to swallow but crunch between your molars instead. “I didn’t see it happening, thank God. But I saw enough. It was a setup all along,” I say. “She got me yelling at him on camera. He wanted to attack my image so no one would believe me about the embezzling. But I didn’t figure it out until it was too late. No one knew he and I were together, so he pretended I was an obsessed employee. Inappropriate. Unprofessional. He didn’t press charges, but he fired me and made a professional complaint against me.” I reach back and rub the tips of my fingers against the brick wall, needing to feel the rough burn against my skin. “The accountant, who I thought was my friend, backed him up. Probably because she didn’t want to be in deep shit for not catching it herself. There’ll be a disciplinary hearing before the state bar in a few months, and I could lose my license to practice law. Permanently. And then there’s a restraining order.”

I take a deep breath of frigid air, still tinged with smoke and back-alley trash. That and the brush of my fingers against the bricks helps ground me in the present, but I still feel the pull of what I’m telling him. The horror of knowing it’s not over.

I’ve always valued my ability to discern the truth, but I trusted a man who gleefully destroyed me. I’d thought Jeffrey and I were partners, equals, but he’d been making a fool of me behind my back in more ways than one.

That’s the kind of realization that makes a person question themselves. It’s kept me up at night, wandering the halls of my mother’s house like a lost ghost. I’ve been drinking too much, sleeping too little, and the worst of it is the feeling of helplessness. Of not being able to change the tide and turn this loss into a win.

I glance at Seamus and see he’s frowning at me.

“What, you’re afraid I’m going to hit you in the balls after all?” I quip, even though I suspect the frown has more to do with his changing assessment of me. Maybe he sees me as weak now.

I steel my spine and add, “If I didn’t hit him, I won’t hit you. Physical violence doesn’t solve anything.”

He shrugs, his eyes on mine. “It can. But that’s the extreme option.”

My lips part in surprise. “Uh…I’m already in deep enough shit, thank you very much.”

“Who’s the restraining order for?”

“ It’s from him, against me . He didn’t want me getting anywhere near the office.”

“Couldn’t you prove you were a couple?”

I force a sardonic smile. “He was always so careful about secrecy. We used a private messaging app, and I regularly deleted the history. He said he did too, but…” I shrugged. “He cherry-picked texts to make it look like I’d been harassing him.”

“Brutal,” he says, lifting his eyebrows.

“It’s already been weeks, so I’m guessing every hint of evidence at the office has gone through the shredder. There’d be nothing to find if I could get in. He’s backed me into a corner.”

Haven’t I spent many of those sleepless nights trying to find a way out? But every person I’ve reached out to has stonewalled me and refused to help.

“Well…” He takes out the flask for another sip, his expression thoughtful. Then he leans back again, one leg propped against the wall behind him in a pose that’s so effortlessly sexy I’m immediately suspicious he practiced it.

“Well, what?” I ask.

“It’s certainly not a boring story.”

My laughter is so fake it might as well be canned. “It’s certainly not about love and devotion.”

He sets his other foot down, watching me intently, in a way I feel everywhere. “You’re interesting.”

“I’d repay the compliment, but you haven’t told me any stories, boring or otherwise.” I glance toward the front of the restaurant, which is bright compared with this side alley. “Maybe we should get out of here. They’re so happy they probably won’t even notice.”

Damn, I shouldn’t have said that, but I don’t regret it. Maybe I need to have some mindless fun. Make some bad decisions that’ll give me something else to regret for a change.

Seamus grins at me, then removes the stubbed-out cigarette from his pocket and sticks the filter into the side of his mouth. “I only tell stories to women I’m trying to sleep with. And you’re right, you know. It would be pretty stupid of me to try to fuck my sister’s sister-in-law.”

I’m not sure what I expected from him, but his response feels like a slap to the face. A bucket of cold water poured over my head.

“Smoking is disgusting,” I comment coldly.

“I know.” He watches me, his eyes lingering on my mouth before chasing downward to my very well-covered chest. “Are you disappointed I’m not trying to sleep with you, Emma?” He purrs my name in a way that quakes through me.

“No,” I scoff, trying to act unaffected. And then I say something that’s a bold-faced lie: “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man alive.”

“I guess not,” he says, with that lazy grin. “You like to call them daddy.”

Rage tears through me, but he’d probably get off on it if I slapped him. No, if he wants to tease me, he deserves to be repaid in kind.

I step closer to him and run my fingers lightly over the zipper of his jacket, taking in the way his pupils dilate as he watches me. Then I press my hand to the black thermal shirt he’s wearing beneath it, trying not to notice the definition I feel under it. He angles his head to the side, almost in question, and I give him a flirtatious smile. Right before I reach in quickly and snatch the flask out of his inner pocket. He doesn’t try to stop me, or do anything but watch me with that cocky look on his face.

For half a second, I imagine splashing the whiskey on him, but why waste good whiskey? I slip it into my purse and head toward the front of the restaurant to rejoin the party, leaving Seamus out with the trash.

I can hear him chuckling as I walk away.