Given Southern California’s temperate climate, there’s no excuse not to work out in this city. The mid-fall weather here is a dream compared to NYC. Since I began my mission, I’ve noticed little details like that. Or more accurately, since I started getting closer to Maeve Gallagher.
The woman’s crawling under my skin.
After that glorious run, I showered, brushed my teeth, and ordered a Gruyère and portobello mushroom omelet with diced potatoes and toasted sourdough. The chef, while a royal prick, can cook his ass off. I can understand why she keeps him around. I’d put up with a lot of attitude for food this good too.
But even as I sip my second Americano and watch hotel video surveillance that Rory set up, I can still taste her in my mouth. Sweet and musky. Like earthy honey.
Addictive. I just want to be back between her legs.
Groaning, I scrub my palms over my face.Finn would demand my head on a platter if he knew what was happening here. Yes, my instructions were to get close to her by any means necessary. Which includes getting physical. But the new head of the Irish Kings had no reason to believe the order might cause problems.
I never talk about women. Never bring any around the NYC Kings. My history with the fairer sex is more cyclical than the seasons. My past lovers have always known where they stood with me, which is to say nowhere. The vast majority of my sexual encounters over the course of my life are exactly that and nothing more.
Even during the two stints where I attempted the boyfriend route with Danielle and then Morgan, I failed miserably.
Danielle, an artist I met a couple of years after college, appreciated my tats, and I liked her tits. At first, her artistic side intrigued me, but I couldn’t commit for more than a few months.
Several years later, I met the boxer. Morgan. Her body was tight, and we both possessed an endless supply of stamina. But after a year of great sex and less than nothing to talk about, the relationship became a tire with a tack in the tread. Deflating without either of us realizing what was happening. One morning, I woke up, and we were over.
I guess I could’ve told Maeve about one of these women when she asked about my past. I didn’t need to clam up.
I realize that women get curious. They like to know if the man they’re sleeping with can commit to a long-term relationship.
I pause. Could I, with Maeve?
The idea should alarm me. Instead, I find myself seriously considering a future with her before I catch myself.
What am I even thinking?
I didn’t come here for that. Or to muse about her sweet-tasting pussy and dream of crawling back between her legs. Especially not while watching video surveillance for the Irish Kings.
Of course, no one could’ve predicted the sheer chemistry that sparked between us right from the beginning. Or how much Maeve would impress me with her determination to succeed or tempt me with that fiery streak and innate sweetness.
The way I left her this morning… I hate myself.
She was wet and ready, but more than that, the emotion in those seductive brown eyes about killed me.
Like a fucking coward, I ran because I didn’t know how to answer her questions. Couldn’t handle how she stirred feelings I believed myself incapable of experiencing.
The truth is I don’t deserve her.
Maeve practically shines with integrity. I believe her when she talks about her family. She’s not like them.
And whether or not she realizes I know about her mafia background, she doesn’t let that bleed into her conversations. She discusses them as if they’re just another dysfunctional family. She’s genuine. She displays her emotions and urges for all to see. Or at least for my viewing pleasures.
I’ve never met a woman like her.
One who says what she wants and means what she says.
She’s bold, as proven by the way she came on to me that first night.
She’s not afraid of me even though she should be. I’m not a good guy. Truth be told, I’m a monster. Just ask the goon who tried to rape her.
Oh, right. He can’t answer. And the fact that that reminder fills me with dark satisfaction only proves how much of a monster I truly am.
I’m bored with this video surveillance. Maeve and Lenora spent the morning up to their eyeballs in work, and except for that speed bump where her brother Brody marched in to fight with her, he and Declan haven’t left the hotel since yesterday. I haven’t seen Connor either.
I know Doyle is in the penthouse. I just need a way to get to him.
