The knock came again—louder this time. I considered ignoring it. Pretending I wasn’t home was a valid strategy, but I was pretty sure whoever it was wouldn’t fall for it. My neighbors were loud enough to blow any chance of convincing someone this place was empty.
Dragging myself up, I shuffled to the door, smoothing my wrinkled sweatshirt. I cracked the door open just enough to see who it was, and my attention fell on a man in a suit.
Sebastian Callahan.
The Callahan genes ran deep in the family, no doubt about it. The Callahans were tall, broad-shouldered, and stupidly attractive.
Cillian worked with them. Not just Sebastian, but all of them. He’d started out in their office, a glorified errand boy running numbers and doing the kind of paperwork that didn’t leave trails. By the time we met, he’d worked his way up, sitting in on meetings, shaking hands with people whose names I wasn’t supposed to know. Eventually, he asked for my help.
It started small—taking messages, keeping things organized—but then it grew. He needed information, and I knew how to get it. He needed favors, and I knew who to call. I became part of the job even when I told myself I wasn’t. Even when I told myself I was just helping my husband like a good wife should.
And then he died.
I told myself I didn’t blame the Callahans for that, but maybe I did. Cillian was reckless. Ambitious. He’d gotten himself into plenty of trouble without their help, but the lines between “Cillian’s problems” and “the Callahan’s problems” had always been blurred.
Sebastian came to New York when he needed something, usually from Cillian. But also when he needed me. He worked separately from the rest of his family, carving out his own piece of the world in a way that didn’t quite align with the Callahan reputation. His eldest brother was running for state senate in Chicago. His middle brother was a Federal agent. Neither of them would agree with what Sebastian was doing, which was why he kept it to himself.
He needed information, and I was good at getting it. That was how it started. And the sex—well, the sex was a nice bonus. Great, actually. The kind that made you forget, even if only for a little while, all the ways your life wasn’t what you thought it would be.
But while he may have had a few redeeming qualities, he was still an asshole at heart.
Before I had the opportunity to slam the door in his face, his arms slid suddenly around my waist. Then, like clockwork, his lips found mine.
If there was anything AA had taught me, it was that old habits die hard. Unfortunate that Sebastian Callahan was a difficult habit to break.
I let him kiss me, because why not, right? It felt good even if it wasn’t gentle.
He kissed me in a way that felt hungry and demanding. It was the kind of kiss that made me forget every reason I had to stay away. I told myself I didn’t feel guilty about Sebastian. I almost believed it.
“Wait,” I whispered against his lips. He swallowed the sound. I did nothing to stop him.
His hands fell down the curve of my back and lifted the edge of my sweatshirt. His touch felt familiar, like he knew exactly where to touch me.
Shit, I wasn’t supposed to be seen with Sebastian—that was why I should stop this. But why couldn’t I? Maybe it was because I was still drunk. Or maybe because it was Sebastian.
God, I’d forgotten how impossible it was to ignore him when he touched me.
He kicked the door shut behind him and carried me to the kitchen counter. The second my ass hit the surface, he pressed himself against me and kissed my lips harder, devouring them like he needed my air to breathe.
When I felt his mouth move to my neck, a shiver ran from the bottom of my spine to the top.
His hands continued falling lower until his fingers were pulling at the hem of my shorts. It felt like he was teasing me, seeing how far I’d let him take this without even muttering hello.
And for a moment I almost let him go all the way—but then I remembered why I couldn’t, and that everything was now at risk.
My hands moved, stopping him before he could push any further.
“Sebastian,” I finally called out. “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” he murmured. He didn’t pull away completely, but he gave me enough room to talk. His hands stayed either side of my waist at the edge of the counter, caging me in.
“I can’t be seen with you anymore. It’s too risky.”
His eyes narrowed, and then something shifted. “Max?”
Of course he’d guessed. Max hadn’t exactly been subtle when he’d taken over the Clarkes’ marina last year. Everyone knew his name now. His reach. His reputation. Sebastian, being Sebastian, would’ve done his homework. He knew exactly what kind of man Max was.
I did wonder something though. Was Sebastian more afraid of Max, or was it the other way around?
