Ducking out of his room, I close his door super slowly, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I tiptoe down the hallway and back to the kitchen. My breathing levels out after a few minutes, and I breathe a sigh of relief I got away with it.
Liam appears in the living area just as I’m ladling soup into bowls. I warmed up the brown bread I made at home this morning, and it’s residing in a bread basket on the table. “Something smells delicious, and I’m not talking about the food.” He snakes his arms around my waist from behind and nuzzles my neck.
He’s so freaking cliché, and it’s a miracle I don’t gag. “Go sit and I’ll serve you.”
“Oh, I love the sound of that.”
Of course, you do, you arrogant, misogynistic prick.It feels good to curse him out in my head, but I’d much prefer if I could say it to his face. I hope, at some point, I get to tell him my true feelings. I’d love to wipe that smug grin off his face.
His hand trails up under my dress, and I swat it away, barely resisting the temptation to stab him with a fork.
“Behave,” I warn with narrowed eyes. “I’ve gone to lots of trouble to cook you a traditional Irish dinner, and it’s not going to waste.” I gave each course a unique flare of my own, like adding a couple spoons of hot sauce to the shepherd’s pie to give it a little kick, but it’s still a traditional menu.
“You did that for me?”
I nod. “Of course. Why do you sound so surprised? You told me you’re proud of your Irish heritage and my great-great grandmother was from Ireland,” I lie. “It was fun researching recipes, and it helped me to feel connected with my roots.”
“I’m going to take you to Ireland someday. You’d love it there.”
I serve the soup, and we sit down to eat. Butter melts on the chunky homemade bread, and it’s to die for. After, we eatthe shepherd’s pie, and I dish up the apple tart with cream for dessert, but I can’t manage more than a few mouthfuls I’m so full. Liam has seconds, so I consider it a win.
“That was fucking incredible.” He reels me into him as I begin clearing the table. “You’re perfect, Emma. So fucking perfect.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I did too.”
His hand slides under my dress and creeps up the back of my thigh. Everything I’ve said tonight seems to have gone in one ear and out the other. How does any woman put up with this slimeball? “Go sit, and I’ll fix you a drink before I clean up. You worked hard today, and you deserve to chill out.” I already know he won’t offer to help with the cleanup because he has the manners of a pig.
“Like I said, perfect.” He waggles his brows, and I peck his lips before clearing the table. I stack the dishes on the counter and fix his whiskey, handing it to him before I return to the kitchen. I take my time rinsing and stacking dishes and covering the leftover food. He calls for me several times, and I know I can’t delay this any longer.
The instant I sit beside him on the couch, he jumps on me, groping and kissing me as he pushes me flat on my back. “Liam.” I move my head to the side and shove at his shoulders. “You promised you’d be patient.”
“You’ve got to give me something, Emma.” His hand glides up the inside of my thigh, and his fingers brush against my lace panties.
Panic flares as I grip his wrist, stopping him before he goes any farther. Dark eyes drill into mine, and I know I can’t stall him any longer. “Let me do something for you.” He’s selfish at his core, so this should work. I can’t bear the thought of touching him intimately, but it’s preferable to him touching me.
His eyes flash with lust as he lifts himself off me. “I like the way your mind works,” he says, sitting back and spreading his legs as he pops the button on his jeans.
I discreetly press my earrings to turn off the audio before lowering to my knees on the floor. I can’t do this if I think Joshua might be listening.
Blanking my mind, I rest my hands on his thighs and lean in as I take one for the team.
Chapter Seventeen
Joshua
Three things are responsible for my perpetual shitty mood this past week—the run-in with my ex, Lavinia pulling the wool over my eyes for the past couple months, and Gia’s dinner date with that Irish prick on Saturday. Blood boils in my veins every time I think about the way he treated her. I was listening in live, and I almost puked when she turned off the audio for obvious reasons. Thinking about her blowing that asshole makes me want to riddle the fuckface with bullets. For the first time, I’m regretting suggesting this assignment for her. It feels wrong to force her to do these things. Even if the photographic intel from his desk has proven useful. Gia wasn’t able to properly capture each document, but we have enough to piece together the evidence.
Liam had detailed blueprints of the plant in Cali on his desk. This means the mole could be on the Colombian side, rather than in the city. Or the mole is within our ranks, he got his hands on classified intel, and they are planning a hit on our plant to disrupt our production and completely fuck up the supply chain. Either way, it’s not good, but at least we are one step ahead this time.
Massimo and Fiero were in Florida when the intel was confirmed, and they quickly hopped on a plane to Colombia where they met with their plant manager, Juan Pablo. He has denied any involvement, and Don Maltese and Don Greco believe him. Not sure the rest of us do. Anyway, they installed surveillance equipment without his knowledge, and we’ve sent a team of fifty trustworthy men to guard the plant and report to us. We also have drones in the area, and if anything goes down, we’re confident we’ll capture it.
“You seem preoccupied.” Ben materializes beside me at the window of his home office, staring out at the vast secluded Greenwich estate.
Sierra and Ben are hosting Thanksgiving this year, and the whole crew is here. Including Gia and her family. I’ve been hiding from her, but I know my reprieve is only short-lived.
“What’s troubling you?” my uncle asks.
I shrug, not sure I want to discuss it with him. But if I was going to confide in anyone, it would probably be Ben.
