“The sheets feel heavenly against my skin. Almost as good as your hands trailing over my body.”
My legs parted farther, and I freed myself, then leaned forward as if getting closer to the phone would get me closer to Quinn. I was light-headed, the room going in and out of focus. I craved her next words, needed to hear them as much as I needed to breathe.
A knock on the door made my hand still, and a frustrated groan left my lips. “What?” I barked at whoever was interrupting my time with Quinn.
“Showtime.”
Gabriel’s voice was enough to kill my desire.
Since Quinn was on speaker, she’d heard him, her choppy inhales sounding through the phone. “You have to go?”
“I’m so sorry. My brother has always had shitty timing.”
Her laugh was raspy, the arousal in her voice not helping my situation. Closing my pants, I took a breath to center myself. “I miss you.”
What the hell? I’ve never told anyone I missed them.
“I miss you too.” Her immediate answer created an unfamiliar warm feeling in my chest.
I’m in so much trouble.
“I’ll call you later.”
“Later.”
I stood up and pulled my suit back in place before leaving my office. Gabriel was leaning against the wall, typing on his phone when I came out.
He didn’t look up but fell in step beside me. “The Russians want to meet at The Sparrow.”
“Where’s Jude?”
We stepped into the garage, Gabriel picking the Bentley. It was bulletproof and comfortable, so for once I didn’t argue with his choice.
My men would already be waiting in their cars in the driveway, ready to follow us.
“Hunting down a lead. He thinks he found the location of the guy who paid the hitman.”
Nodding, I slid into the cool back seat. “Let me know as soon as he finds anything.”
“Of course.”
The Sparrow was one of Aleksándr Volkov’s nightclubs. He was head of the Russians and one of the most ruthless bastards I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. The high-end strip club required exclusive membership to get in and had private rooms at the back that allowed for meetings to take place—among other things.
After parking on a side street that would allow for an easy getaway if needed, we made our way inside. The music was tooloud, the patrons too drunk, and I longed for the quiet of Quinn’s apartment. And the peace her touch would bring. My skin was already feeling too tight, each accidental bump reinforcing the itch to hit something.
But instead of being with Quinn, I was in a back room of a strip club, shaking the hand of the head of the Russian mafia. Aleksándr had been at the top for as long as I could remember, and he wasn’t someone to underestimate. He looked like your typical brute: large arms, wide shoulders, shaved head, lots of tattoos. But he was cunning and smarter than people gave him credit for. We needed a solid ally on our side, and I hoped he would be it.
“Liam, good to see you.”
“You, too, Aleksándr.”
He waved at a waitress who had been waiting by the bar. She was carrying a tray filled with shots. “Let’s have a drink together.”
This meeting wasn’t so much business as a social call. We were going to be family soon, and I had to make sure everything went smoothly. I accepted the shot of vodka, and we clinked glasses. The liquid burned down my throat like rocket fuel.
I’d never understand the appeal of vodka. Nothing wrong with ouzo or beer.
Aleksándr watched me hold back the grimace. The fucker enjoyed seeing my discomfort. Signaling the waitress again, he nodded to the tray she was holding, this time filled with beer and wine. “How’s your father?”
