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He slides his hand down my backside, then pulls me sharply to him, and I suck in a breath at the feel of his hardness. With his tongue in my mouth, that small gasp brings him even deeper inside. I’m filled with him, but it only makes me want more.

His hardness presses against the apex of my thighs, and without thinking, I shift my hips for a better angle. He groans into my mouth. It gives me a lewd urge to feel his hard length, to wrap my fingers around him. But dizzy as I am with desire, I’m still vaguely aware that we’re in a public place. I force myself to break away, to put space between me and my urges.

Liam’s thick bottom lip shines as he breathes heavily, staring at me with his eyes crystal clear, so aware of what we just did. My hands fall to my sides, my own breath coming in ragged gasps.

I know I should call it a mistake. But my pounding heart tells me it wasn’t.

At the very least, kissing Liam was a risk, because having sex isn’t an option. We can’t consummate our marriage, that’s the whole point of this arrangement.

I blink several times as I regain control of my senses, reminding myself what’s at stake. Liam clears his throat and adjusts his pants. I’m so tempted to glance down that I have to look away, back over my shoulder toward my unimpressive paper target.

“Mine to protect.” He says it in his lowest growl, the one that makes me ache with want.

Chapter 15

Liam

I sleep on the very edge of our bed for the next two nights. I lie on my side, away from Brioni. A mirror to how she’s been sleeping since moving in. Including the night I caught her touching herself, when she turned her back to me so quickly.

That’s what I should’ve focused on. Not on the fact she’d been moaning my name.

If she’d meant for the text she sent from the shooting range to be an invitation, she would’ve said so. Instead, she froze in my arms. She’s my best friend, and I betrayed her trust. Not once, but twice.

I don’t fucking deserve her.

Especially not when it means I’d be dragging her down. In this filthy world of mine, there’s horrors she can’t imagine. Brutality and chaos and more enemies every day.

To my chagrin, Da decided that we’ll accept Seven’s proffered truce. Our greatest fucking enemy, and we’ve agreed to discuss a goddamn peace treaty with him. At our engagement party, no less.

And here I’d actually been looking forward to the event. Even though I don’t like crowds or black-tie galas, I’d reveled in the idea of showing off Brioni as my fiancée. But now, our enemies will be there too.

And not just Seven. The big dick swingers from the Russian and Italian outfits as well. We Irish control the South Side, but Chicago sprawls across dozens of neighborhoods, each with plenty of underground activity to control.

Supposedly, our engagement party will mark the beginning of a ceasefire between all of us. It’s in everyone’s best interest to keep our own businesses running smoothly. No more territory disputes, no more disrupted shipments, no more dead men. That was Da’s explanation.

Mam was the one to decide we’d use our engagement party as the backdrop. She’s never missed an opportunity to double up an event’s purpose.

Or triple up, in this case.

“It’ll also be a good place for Finn to start looking for a bride,” I tell Brioni, paraphrasing Mam.

Brioni pushes her blueberries and oatmeal around with her spoon. It’s just the two of us, side by side at our kitchen counter. Plus the rude daylight creeping in. Given that it’s Saturday, Brioni slept in by an hour, but it’s still early as shit for me. I’m getting used to it. Coffee helps. I start to yawn, then stifle it when Brioni looks over at me.

“So, Seven, the Russians, and the Italians?”

She’s trying to be matter-of-fact, but her voice shakes. I’ve had to tell her too much already. For her safety, she needed to know who our enemies are, what Seven looks like. What every major player in this town looks like.

“They’re all bringing potential brides for Finn?”

“Yes,” I confirm, and she drops her gaze back to her bowl.

“Then they’re potential brides for you too. It’ll be a good chance for you to start looking for your real wife.”

A glob of oats sticks in my throat. I swallow painfully, trying to keep my temper under control.

“Do you know who they’ll be?” she asks.

“Not their names.” I don’t want to talk about this.