Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
SEAMUS
“I don’t need your coat,” Emma says, watching me closely in the dark. “My dress has long sleeves.”
As if I’d notice a thing like that when she’s been pushing up the loose, flowing bottom all night to access my flask, held to her shapely thigh by the sexiest black lace garter I’ve ever seen. I take a longer look at the dress now, noticing the way it fits across her chest.
Holding her gaze, I say, “It’s too thin for you to be out here without anything over it.”
“How do you know that?” she asks, giving me an imperious look.
“I can see your nipples through your bra.”
I half expect her to slap me or splash one of the flutes of champagne in my face, but instead she gushes surprised laughter. “Who says I’m wearing one?”
A smile washes across my face, but I shake my head. “I’d be able to see them better if you weren’t.”
“It’s the closest you’ll ever get to them.”
“So I might as well enjoy it,” I say, letting my gaze linger, because fuck, it’s a sweet sight.
“I guess you can take my second glass of champagne,” she says, shoving it at me.
I accept it, my fingers slipping against hers. “Gladly, but if you think this makes up for stealing my whiskey, you’re wrong. It’s like grape soda, and that’s a fine whiskey I put in that flask.”
She snorts and slips one of her arms into the sleeve of the coat, shifting the champagne between her hands, and then slides on the other. I feel something stir inside of me at the sight of her wrapped up in my coat, her nipples pointing up at me as if to say hello. She’s something else, this woman. A mixture of curves and hard edges that makes me want to get drunk on her.
She turned Chuck away earlier, which I resent, but it is the day of her brother’s wedding. Maybe she wasn’t prepared to talk shop.
“You’re a Philistine,” she comments.
“You probably don’t think I know what that means,” I comment, “but you’d be wrong. I may not have given half a shit about school, but I like to read.”
“Is that the pickup line you use when you go to the grad school bars in New York City?”
I shake my head, amused by her, but also bone-deep tired. “What’re you doing out here?”
She came to find me. I know it. She knows it. My dick sure as hell knows it. She’s been sneaking glances at me all night, tormenting me by continually hiking up that dress to flash me the garter belt holding up my flask. She’s a temptress, a tease, and she’s made it very clear that she enjoys tormenting me. Making me hard for her.
Maybe it’s time to do something about that. Sure, we’ll have to run into each other at family events, but who cares?
She doesn’t say anything, just watches me, her bottom lip trembling slightly. It looks soft and pretty, maybe the softest part of her, and I want to grip it in my teeth.
Inside the house, I can hear the faintest echo of the D.J. screaming, “Who’s ready for the countdown?”
“Did you come out here to be kissed, Emma?” I ask, my eyes glued to hers.
“Maybe. It is a New Year’s tradition.”
Fuck it. I throw the flute of champagne, watching her eyes widen as she sees it bounce off a patch of snow, and to my surprise she repeats the gesture with hers.
Laughter escapes her as she says, “I was hoping they would shatter.”
“I’ll step on them if that’s what does it for you.”
She laughs harder, her head tipped back, the line of her neck tempting me to bite it.
A split second later, I’m backing her into the wall of her mother’s house, and her laughter trails off.
Inside, I can hear the D.J. scream “Nine, eight, seven…”
Emma’s eyes are heavy-lidded as she watches me, and I wrap my hand around her chin so I can get a better look at her. Her lips are parted, and she’s breathing heavily. Her eyes are dilated. I’m almost certainly going to regret this at some point, but right now I feel nothing but the need to kiss her. She tips her head up for me, and something inside of me that was slack goes taut.
So I lean in, and as the D.J. counts down to one, I claim her smart, pretty mouth. She opens for me like a good girl. She tastes like my whiskey, and her tongue moves with mine in a way that instantly makes me feral. I back her farther into the wall, reaching down to hike up her bridesmaid’s dress. Her legs feel cold, which I don’t like, and smooth, which I very much do. I move my hand up over her perfectly rounded thighs, my fingers skimming the lacy garter—and in one quick, unplanned motion, I grab the flask and yank it away. She gasps into my mouth and then sinks her teeth into my bottom lip so hard it hurts.
I pull back, laughing, and stick the flask into my back pocket before raising my palms to her in an I come in peace gesture. “So, you bite.”
“You’re an asshole,” she says, her words breathy, but she doesn’t reach for the flask. Pity.
“You’re the one who’s been flaunting your theft all evening. Are you going to take it back? Because I wouldn’t mind having your hands all over my ass.” It’s a game we’ve been playing, and I don’t mind admitting I’d like more of it.
“Is this your way of saying Happy New Year?” she asks, and as I take her in—back to the wall, my jacket splayed over her, her lips a darker shade because I’ve been sucking on them.
“Yeah, I guess so. Did you like it?”
I know she did. I see it in her eyes and in the pulse point on her neck, hammering hard for me. Damn. This woman is something else.
“You taste like an ashtray.”
I laugh, not the least bit surprised she’s giving me shit. “Sure,” I say. “And you taste like a bar, but you didn’t hear me complaining.”
I’ve surprised a wicked smile out of her, and I’m tempted to lean in again and see what this one tastes like. But she angles her head and asks me, “You know who Nicole is?” The change of subject is so unexpected it gives my dick whiplash.
“Uh, yeah.”
Nicole is Claire’s half-sister.
She and her husband are private investigators, so I’ve been careful to keep my distance. They’re part of the reason why I’ve stayed away from Asheville after both Dec and Rosie made the move.
“Well, she knows what your real last name is,” Emma says in a gush, watching me. “O’Malley. She knows a lot about you. I get the sense that she’s been watching you.”
I swear under my breath as a cold breeze sinks its teeth into the back of my neck. The shirt I’m wearing is probably more expensive than anything else in my wardrobe, given Anthony bought the suits for all the groomsmen, but it’s not thick enough to stand up against a late January night. “You know this how?”
She raises her eyebrows and tucks her hand into the pockets of my coat, grimacing. Probably because I still have a cigarette butt in there.
“She told me ten minutes ago,” Emma says, pulling her hand out and shaking it. “How’s that for evidence?”
This isn’t good news, and what she says next makes it worse—
“Your family was involved in organized crime?”
Another prickle of misgiving dances through the short hairs at the base of my neck. I’m not surprised Nicole knows—Claire’s her sister, and again, she’s a private investigator. She’d be a pretty shit one if she didn’t look into her own sister’s future spouse. But I don’t like that she’s been running her mouth. “Was, past tense,” I say. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that to yourself.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Nicole knows. Anthony knows. Seems like we might as well ask this shitty DJ to announce it over the speakers instead of playing ‘Time After Time’ for the third time.”
I almost laugh. Almost. “No thanks. She shouldn’t be telling people that.”
“Probably not,” she says, leaning back into the wall. I get a split-second mental image of her splayed out on a table in front of me, like a damn dessert. But worry unravels it. “I guess she was under the mistaken impression I might know something about your background,” she continues, “since she overheard our entire conversation last night.”
“Overheard it?” I ask, doubtfully as a cold wind gusts around the side of the house. I’ll need to get her inside soon. I almost never get cold, and if I’m feeling it, there’s no way she’s not, with that tease of a garter belt and those opaque stockings I’d like to take off with my teeth.
She sniffs, her lips tipping up. “She was hanging out behind the dumpster.”
“That takes initiative.” It also means I’ll need to have a talk with her, and maybe with Declan, about leaving well enough alone. Because there’s no way I want her digging too deeply into the past.
“I’m surprised no one smelled her out when she came back after dumpster diving.”
I glance toward the front entrance of the house, wondering where Nicole is right now. Did she follow Emma? For all I know, she might be hiding behind one of the statues stationed around the yard, or tucked into the middle of an evergreen.
A chill runs down my spine. I’ve got to get the hell out of here, for everyone’s sake.
Emma’s still looking at me, and I take a deep breath, smelling my whiskey on her. I might have acted like it was an unappealing thing, tasting it when I tasted her, but it was fucking magic.
You’re not thinking clearly.
I suck in air through my teeth. “I’m going to have to leave today.”
Probably not something I should have shared with her. Then again, I’ve shared dozens of things I shouldn’t have, same as she’s done with me. Maybe because I can tell she’s no open book. She’s like one of those locking diaries my sister used to keep. Rosie lost her key and cried for a damn hour before I found a rock out in the yard and smashed the tiny padlock.
Anyway, no harm in admitting something she’ll learn sooner rather than later.
I think about Chuck, who’d mentioned that he might want to stick around for a week or two, and wouldn’t that be fun? I gave him a ride to town, which probably meant I was on the hook to drive him back too. Maybe I could offer to pay for a car rental or a one-way flight, but that would make a serious dent in what little money I have left. I run a hand back through my hair and yank on it a little, needing another cigarette but not wanting to take shit for it.
Emma’s eyebrows rise. “That bad, huh?”
“I don’t dabble in that shit anymore. Not for years, and not ever again. But I don’t like other people knowing my business.”
“But you did dabble with it before?” she asks, giving me a lawyer look.
Yup, here I am, future brother-in-law to a private investigator and a lawyer. Fuck me. Couldn’t my brother and sister have chosen to hitch themselves to less suspicious families?
“I can’t talk about that with you, Emma.”
She surprises me by reaching around and grabbing the flask from the back pocket of my dress pants, letting her fingers trail over my ass. I nearly hiss from the sensation of them brushing against me—sending a hotline directly to my dick. But I don’t try to stop her. I watch, transfixed, as she unscrews the flask and takes a swig from it. Then, no shit, she seals it and tucks it back into her garter strap right in front of me.
“But maybe we don’t need to talk,” I hear myself saying as I take another step toward her, my fingers wanting to run down the length of her thighs, to feel her. To possess her for the night.
She gives me a wicked look and holds out her hand, toggling her finger back and forth. “It would be pretty dumb of me to sleep with my brother’s brother-in-law, you know,” she says, parroting my dumb words back to me.
I lift my eyebrows, both impressed and blue balled. “Nicely done.”
“I thought so too,” she says, her words coming out in puffs of white.
“You need to get back inside,” I observe, taking another appreciative glance at her beaded nipples beneath the dress. I’ve never pretended to be a good guy—why start now?
“I do,” she agrees, but she doesn’t move. She just stands there propped against that wall, studying me. I don’t mind the attention. She can look her fill. Touch her fill too if she sees fit to do so. Finally, she asks, “What does it feel like to pop a man’s kneecaps?”
She’s surprised me, and I don’t care if she can tell.
Emma is a lawyer . I should tell her that I was messing with her earlier and I don’t have the faintest idea. The expression on her face compels honesty, though. I can tell she’s not asking me out of judgment. While I don’t think she’s going to hightail it to Charlotte tonight so she can kneecap that lawyer, she does want revenge. She wants to know what it feels like. Whether it’s worth it.
“I puked,” I admit, shoving my hands into my pockets.
She lifts her eyebrows, surprised that I told her, maybe, then says, “Never smart to leave behind DNA evidence.”
“No, but I’m never going to be given a lifetime achievement award for academic excellence. Kneecapping this guy probably isn’t the way to go, even if it would carry a certain satisfaction.”
“Did it for you?”
“No,” I say, feeling a burn in my chest. “Because I wasn’t doing it for myself. Like I said, I left all of that behind a long time ago. I trusted the wrong people. Did the wrong things.”
She watches me for another long moment before nodding in acceptance. “I believe you, but I suppose it’s not me you have to convince.”
“I don’t care to convince anyone of anything,” I say, letting my weariness seep into the words. “I just want to live out my life in peace.”
One of her eyebrows wings up. “Which is precisely what you’re trying to convince me not to do.”
Laughter escapes me. “I never paid much mind to being consistent either.” I nod toward the part of the house where the reception is being held. Strains of music drift toward us. “You should get back in there. It’s your brother’s wedding.”
“And your sister’s.”
She takes a step toward me. Another. She’s prowling, like one of those big cats. I half expect her to kiss me. Or to pull me inside and tell me she’ll take me for a test drive after all, thank Christ. But instead she tugs off my coat and hands it over.
“Keep it,” I say, pushing it at her.
“I’m not keeping your coat,” she scoffs. “You might be a big strong man, but you don’t want to get hypothermia. One of my clients divorced her husband because he lost the tip of his dick to frostbite.”
I flinch, as any man would. “Christ, aren’t you supposed to keep that kind of thing to yourself?”
“Yes. Are you going to turn me in?”
“No,” I say. She pushes the coat at me, but I don’t take it. “If you’re giving that to me, you’re going inside.”
She gives me an unimpressed look, but when I don’t budge, she sighs and starts walking—not toward the front of the house, the way I figured she would, but moving farther along the side.
“A different entrance?”
“And they say Nicole is the private investigator.”
I laugh and start walking with her. Call me stubborn, but I won’t leave until she’s inside. If my dick’s in danger, so are her gorgeous nipples, and it would be a crime against humanity if they froze off.
“Are you stalking me?” she asks, giving me a look over her shoulder as I follow her.
“Yes, for the moment. You’re making it damn easy, too. You might want to keep that in mind if you ever find yourself in this position again.”
She snorts, then nearly trips over a stone. I take her hand to help her right herself, feeling a zip of awareness as her cold fingers twine with mine for half a second before she swats my hand away.
“I can walk by myself.”
“Evidence suggests otherwise.”
We walk in quiet for a moment, the chill air crowding us—Emma’s too bull-headed to put the coat back on, and so am I, dammit. Finally we reach a side door, leading who knows where. It feels an awful lot like goodbye, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to wishing it were otherwise.
She glances over her shoulder at me, giving me a look that makes my dick take notice, then plugs a code into the pin pad next to the door. “Try to stay out of trouble,” she says wryly, shoving the coat at me. “I can’t be anyone’s lawyer right now.”
I’m reminded of her trouble. Of Jeffrey, who really should be handled by someone, even if it’s not the two of us. It really doesn’t settle well, leaving her like this. But her mess is not my problem, and I don’t want to take ownership of it—even if a part of me would like to take ownership of her .
“Sure,” I say, not grabbing the coat. “I’ll be a model citizen. They’ll be giving me an award by year’s end, just you watch.” She gives the coat another shove, and this time I take it, my hand overlapping with hers. She lets it. Her eyes on mine. Her mouth a tempting pout.
“What about the flask?” I ask.
Her lips tip into a sexy smile, her eyes flashing at me as if she’s a cat about to sink her teeth into me. “I’m going to keep it until the next time I see you. Maybe I’ll bedazzle it. Everyone’s been telling me I should pick up a hobby.”
“Do you want me to take what’s mine, Emma?” I ask, crowding forward a step. I’m talking about the flask, but I’m not deaf to the other possible meaning. Bad idea or not, I want her.
She watches me for half a second, her lips parted. I can see a flash of her tongue, and I want it. I want all of her. I’m no stranger to wanting women, but this feels different. Maybe because she’s easily as dangerous as I am—she may be letting herself play dead, but there’s no denying who she is at her core.
She opens the door but stands in the opening—and it feels like a big moment. The end of something or perhaps the beginning.
“Are you going to invite me in?” I ask. “It may be a bad idea, sure, but no one needs to know.”
Something shutters in her gaze, and she slips inside, giving me one final view of her shapely ass. “Goodnight, Seamus. Happy Fucking New Year.”
And then the door closes behind her, leaving me outside on my own with a dick so hard it could be used to bludgeon someone.
I gotta hand it to her…
It’s a hell of a way to start the new year.
“I’ll be seeing you,” I say to the closed door.