He’s the head of the Port Kings in Los Angeles, though, just like Finn leads the Irish Kings here. While I’m in no position to argue with either of them, they’d better watch themselves.
I could go rogue, taking all my influence and abilities with me. Within a couple years, I might even top them both. I hear Chicago’s lacking in influential Irishmen these days.
My mind flashes to the meeting with Eduardo. What different energy. That man was everything Declan’s not. And Finn, if I’m being honest.
Focused, calm, and cool as a cucumber. Even at death’s door, he carries himself like a man who’s word is gold.
What would growing up with a dad like that have been like? No wonder Cat’s such a catch.
Declan ends the call with an “I’ll be in touch.”
God forbid he wish me luck, but I’d be a liar if I claimed I wasn’t a teensy bit excited.
The diamond angle isn’t necessary, and I hate that he won’t let me do my thing. Still, I can’t resist Declan’s challenges.
As I grew, so did his demands. So far, I’ve met every single one like a perfect machine.
Bring it on, Dad. I’ll tackle anything you throw at me.
Connor
Fresh out of the shower and with a brandy in hand, I watch snow falling over the city from my fifth-floor view.
All right, I guess I can acknowledge the appeal of this place.
Unlike Finn’s office, this has Manhattan bachelor pad written all over it. Exposed brick walls mingled with white paint, black concrete countertops in the kitchen and bathrooms,hardwood floors with plush rugs sprawled over them, and an electric fireplace that I’ve kept lit since I arrived. Thick windows keep out the January chill and noise from the street below.
I’ve spent all afternoon monitoring the cameras that maid—Perla, I think she said—hid in the Ricci estate. I’ve memorized every inch of the mansion and the faces of the people coming and going.
But the city’s gone to sleep, and I’m done working.
So I let my mind wander to last night and my fan-fucking-tastic roll in the sack with Caterina Ricci.
Throwing on a pair of boxers, I climb into the king-sized bed, drink in hand. Downing both shots, I pull up the feed from the camera I planted in Cat’s bedroom moments before she caught me in front of that glass mermaid.
Midnight’s nearing, and Cat’s lying in her four-poster with a book.
Her room resembles the one at the Desmond, with artwork all over the walls and dark red sheets. Three closed doors likely lead to the hall, a bathroom, and a closet. My focus, though, fixates on the beautiful woman.
Her hair hangs loose, those dark waves tumbling over her pillow. A damn shame that the oversize t-shirt hides those perfect breasts. At least I can see a little skin from the collar hanging off her shoulder.
What a tease.
I smile when she dozes off for a minute while reading. I kept her out late last night, coaxing her into almost three martinis before the real fun even began. She must be exhausted.
Fuck, she’s cute when she sleeps.
She rouses, places a bookmark between the pages, and slides out of bed with those gorgeous legs.
My dick twitches. I had no idea such basic white underwear would rev my engine like this, but Cat’s managed to surprise me more than once already.
I think I might enjoy seeing her in a bulky potato sack. She’s just that sexy.
Cat disappears through a door, and I tap my fingers against the edge of my laptop, impatient.
She returns and sits, exhaling as she reclines against the tufted headboard.
Then she slips a hand down the front of her underwear.
