Chapter 8
I never believed in good fortune, bad luck, or coincidences.
Life was a shit fest of epic proportions, some days better, some days worse, but mostly just a steady stream that kept on coming until the day death called.
Not much got my blood pumping these days.
Not signing off on a million-dollar arms deal.
Not picking apart a traitor yesterday until he spilled his secrets.
And not pummeling the faces of two runners from the local street crew this morning until even dental work couldn’t identify them.
So when a beautiful woman fell into my lap, quite literally, and challenged me, finally pumping in some colors on a random bland day in a decade of them, I paid attention.
Since she wore a coat made of superfine merino, she wasn’t a moneygrubber.
She certainly wasn’t a flattering socialite with that attitude or a floozy looking for her next hit.
And she wasn’t a clan groupie, chasing the edge of danger that fucking an O’Leary promised.
Despite her wet hair clinging to her head and face, she managed to look polished as her devious eyes plotted and her plump lips twisted in their own little game of tug-of-war.
She was a deviation from my norm and a pretty distraction with an accent that didn’t belong. Something about her sent a thrum of unsolicited and inconvenient hunger zipping through my veins, and with it, a rush of restlessness.
She sauntered into my family’s gastropub like she owned it, heels clacking against the hardwood.
Chairs screeched as patrons contorted in their seats for a better look.
Water dripped and pooled in her wake, but she kept on, hips swaying under the vibrant chatter and music.
She disrobed out of her coat with an elegant twist of her arms to reveal a drenched silk blouse clinging to her curves, a lacy bra outlined beneath, and long graceful legs that disappeared beneath a skirt that was both too long and too short.
She stood among the wooden tables and under the warm lighting, the star of a show of her own making, with all the feigned innocence of a fairy of old come to steal a man’s sanity and good sense.
There was no doubt she was a woman fully aware of her assets and unafraid to display them, but it wasn’t her classy sex appeal that snagged my attention.
It was the mischievousness that colored her words.
It was the hint of vulnerability that scratched its way to the surface and fought against her bravado, and the anguish that glinted in her eyes every time they met my own.
It made me want to expose her every weakness and feed them to the darkness inside me until I pulsed with the same energy that overflowed from her pores.
“Sit. I’ll handle the drinks.”
“Playing gentleman, after all?” she asked over her shoulder as she unfastened her hair clip and a tumble of wet brown hair slapped down her back.
“When it suits me,” I muttered under my breath, heading for the bar. I cracked my neck, my skin tight and itchy. I wanted that thrum of excitement she sparked from earlier back.
The bartender tensed and dropped his head to wipe down the counter with renewed vigor. “Forget something, boss?”
I gave one shake of my head, then clenched my jaw and drummed my fingers along the rail of a barstool. She’d interrupted my plans to dole out some much-needed pain at the gym, and so far, I earned nothing for it. The void remained.
“My brothers?”
He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “Still in the back. Want them up here? I-I can get them.”
Another firm shake of my head. My eyes tracked every step the vixen took.
“Get me my usual. And…” I tilted my head. She looked like the type to take sweetness with her darkness. “An Irish coffee.”
“Sure, boss. Coming up. Right away.”
I rubbed my bearded chin and watched her. She didn’t take the booth under the stained glass windows the hostess directed her to. Instead, she pointed to the three empty armchairs nearest to the fireplace, the ones on permanent reserve for my brothers and me, day and night.
The hostess declined, with the same straightforward pretext she offered all clients. The poisonous brew of a sprite didn’t accept the excuse. Instead, she stepped past the hostess, determined to get what she wanted, under the watchful gazes of everyone in the establishment, many on clan payroll.
She wasn’t the first who tried to sit there, and she wouldn’t be the last, but I found myself disappointed with her predictable actions. So boring. Perhaps I miscalculated by following her back inside.
But she didn’t sit. Didn’t even touch the backrests. She stood between the semicircle they made, facing the hearth, and anchored me with a gaze as blue as the sea crashing off the rocky coastline of Howth Head, Ireland, on a windy day.
“Ma’am, I have to insist. These seats are reserved. You can’t sit here,” the hostess said.
“I’m just here for the warmth. Best place to dry.” She pinched the front of her blouse and pulled for emphasis. The fabric suckled onto her skin like a mouth to a nipple.
“The owners prefer not to have their private space invaded.”
Her eyes crinkled with a lopsided smirk, her stare fixed on me as I approached. “Let’s see if the owner can speak for himself.”
I chuffed, eyes squinted. With a head gesture, the hostess left us.
“You’ve done your homework.”
“Yes.” She took stock of the space with a slow swerve of her head. “Quite a nice place you have with your brothers.”
I stalked closer, a predator snaring a prey, but she didn’t take the hint and back away.
What would it take to frighten her? To get all that softly tanned, smooth skin to flush red with excitement or pale in terror?
I curled my index finger around a thick, wet strand of her hair.
It was just hair, coarse, somewhat dense, nothing special, probably like the rest of her.
Nothing to explain this thrill she rioted in my gut, with the start of a high I’d long forgotten existed.
“How does a foreigner know that?”
“I told you we were supposed to meet.”
“For what?”
“For a proposition.”
“Like I said, I don’t do easy.”
Our drinks arrived, set on the small side tables, but I ignored them. I hated getting played, and that was exactly what this interaction was starting to feel like.
“You need to stop thinking every woman you meet wants to sleep with you.”
“Is this where you tell me you don’t?”
“No, I do.” She shrugged. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
I liked that answer far more than I should.
“Tell me then.”
“You going to let me sit?”
“You’re flirting with danger.”
Her lips parted slightly. “You like it. Don’t lie.”
My jaw tight, I thumbed the spine of my karambit knife, considering her words and the edge of curiosity they elicited in me. After a few tense seconds, I clipped the blade closed and inclined my head.
She rubbed a hand over the worn leather of my favorite chair. “Cozy.”
“Now, you’re going to give me answers.”
She sipped her coffee. “Ooh, good choice.”
My blood heated with the need to wipe the splash of white cream off the top of her lip, but she licked it clean herself, a sinful gleam in her relentless stare.
“Woman…” I warned.
“Let’s say I wanted to do business.”
“Business?” I buried my surprise. “What are you offering?”
“Chemical agents. Some of the highest quality on the market.”
Out of anything that could have come out of her mouth, that was the last thing I expected.
“You’re codding me.”
“Codding. I’ve never heard that term before.”
“Even foreigners know better than to mess with me.”
“Do I look like I am?”
That same arrogant tweak to her lush mouth teased me as she relaxed in Liam’s regular seat, and the glow of the flames licked at her skin. A ripple of excitement bubbled up my spine.
“What size shipments are we talking?”
“Variety. You name it, I probably have it, or at least a house formula. I already have business partners, investors, and intermediaries in Europe. Now I’m looking for a foot in the American market, and I need someone reliable.”
I crossed one heel over my opposite thigh.
“How much supply?”
“Depends on the agent, and whether I like you.”
I scoffed. The nerve of this woman. “You have direct access to these products?”
“As the business owner and its main chemist, I’d say yes.”
I frowned, looking her over from head to toe once again.
“Don’t tell me I’ve shocked you silly.”
“Why do business with me?”
“Do you really need me to answer that? I thought it was self-explanatory.”
“Spell it out.”
She leaned in close, and the tips of her damp hair skimmed my wrist. “You get things done. The players on the field envy you. I haven’t heard more than the standard complaints, and the market likes you. The question is, do I?”
“You’re playing with me.”
She shrugged. “More like testing you.”
“That’s a dangerous thing to do in a man’s own territory.”
“But that’s the thing. I’m an innovator.
My competition is limited. Guns, firearms, and explosives all have a rampant high supply and high demand on a market with too many shareholders.
Whereas the wares I sell are finite and highly regulated.
You know the adage: The higher the risk, the higher the reward.
I’d wager you enjoy risk. I bet the greater it is, the more satisfied you are. ”
I squinted at the patrons at the booths around us. Five booths and eight tables were taken, only seven of which were by clan members, another two at the bar. It was too high a crowd for this conversation. I rose.
“Come with me.”
The corners of her mouth twitched with amusement, but she made no move to obey. She held my gaze over the rim of her glass and finished every last drop of that Irish coffee.
My cock pulsed, imagining her swallowing it down just as eagerly. My jeans tightened around my groin, and I buttoned my coat. Jaysus, I hadn’t responded to a woman like this in so long I’d thought my sex drive was as dead as my existence.
“I’m not in a habit of repeating myself.”
“Too alpha male for that, I’m guessing.”