“Yeah, I’m asking if you think it’s enough.”
Enough? Nothing was ever enough with Keenan. “I think that it’s all we can do.” He didn’t say that Keenan was using MOMENT to find bombers, that he had funding and protection from some of the most powerful and ruthless drug lords, gangsters, and terrorist groups out there, and that he was completely without conscience. Milton knew that already, as did everyone else at the table.
He didn’t realize that he’d clamped his free hand over his watch, or that he was scowling, until he felt Maura’s hand on his knee, comforting him.
He stared at the hand, uncertain of what the gesture meant, if it even meant anything. He was surprised to find that it helped, her hand on his leg, her support, where once she would have scorned him. He took her hand and squeezed briefly before letting it go.
“Maura and I have an announcement,” he began softly. He didn’t get up, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the photographer from The Globe adjust the angle on his shot. Ignoring him, Roland focused on Maura instead, at the calm determination in those gray eyes.
“While we didn’t meet under the best of circumstances, and we haven’t really gotten to know each other until recently . . .”
Milton snorted.
Ignoring him, Roland continued. “And it’s an amazing thing, to get to know someone and realize that you love them, that they love you in return. It fills you up, makes you a home. I didn’t believe in love as anything but a means to an end before I met Maura, but now I know that it’s more than that.”
He drew out the ring, opening the box carefully, noting with some disbelief that his hands weren’t quite steady.
“Maura O’Halloran, will you marry me?”
Her eyes were huge in her face and she looked incredulous. Roland felt something like panic invade his muscles. What was she feeling? Was she going to cry? Maybe he should have gone over the speech with her first. Now she looked pissed. Shit, he’d overdone it.
She swallowed gamely and smiled for the benefit of the audience. “Yes, Roland Chandler. I will marry you.”
Leaning forward with her fingers splayed, she allowed him to slide the diamond on her finger.
“Nice speech,” she murmured.
“Thanks,” he replied, eyeing her askance. So why do I feel like I’m going to pay for it?
BY FRIDAY OF that week, Maura had had her fill of the spotlight that surrounded Roland. Her feet hurt from wearing heels, she was exhausted, and the next time a reporter shoved a camera in her face, she was going to arrest the bastard. And still no sign of Keenan. No threatening texts, no leads on location, nothing. Maddie was itching to go back to school and see her friends. Justin was once again burying himself in his headphones, and her father spent his time playing poker with the staff and bugging her about the status of the case.
On the way home from yet another dinner at yet another incredibly expensive restaurant, Maura leaned against Roland’s shoulder, so tired that her eyes were crossing in her head. He’d hired a driver for the week, a man named Vincent, so that he wouldn’t risk leaving the car unsupervised.
Yawning, she snuggled closer to him and closed her eyes. “I don’t see how you do this. Do reporters really follow you around like this all the time?”
He stroked her hair. “It’s much worse than usual, but it’s not surprising. We’re engaged, which I’ve never done before, and my car was blown up last week.”
She shook her head against his shoulder and leaned back, smiling drowsily. “That’s not it. They don’t care that we’re engaged as much as they care that you’re dating me—a non-fashion model—and that you’re a billionaire.”
He kissed her, his hands stroking up and down her body. “Well, it’s certainly a hardship to date you. I don’t know how I manage it, really.”
“Me, either,” she murmured, and stroked his hair, his ears, the stubble on his chin.
He stared at her, but she couldn’t quite read his expression in the dark interior of the limo. “Why don’t you sleep?” he said finally. “You look exhausted. I’ll hold you until we get home.”
They had lunch with his parents the next morning—lunch instead of dinner because his parents were planning to head out of town. Maura’s stomach, already in a knot from waiting to hear from Keenan, clenched even tighter at the idea of meeting Roland’s mother. His mother. It just made the whole thing seem all too real.
“I can’t sleep.” She sighed. “I think I can sleep and then wham, I’m awake again.” It didn’t help that she still snuck back into her room every morning. Still, she snuggled into his arms. Soon, this whole illusion would be gone. She wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.
“We can work out when we get home. Maybe that will help you relax.”
They’d been working out in his gym every morning for the past week. He liked martial arts and swimming while she preferred lifting weights and running, but he took working out to a whole new level. His body, sculpted as it was, turned her on so much that more often than not they ended up having sex before they were finished.
“You know what might help?” she suggested softly, shifting so that she was facing him in his lap and tugging at the tie around his neck. Silky and soft, it slid through her fingers as she slowly loosened the knot.
“Indeed,” he replied, placing his hands on her hips. “That would help a great deal.”
Smiling to herself, she placed a kiss in the hollow of his throat. “How much time do I have before we get to the house?”
Roland checked his watch. “Maybe forty-five minutes.”
“I can do a lot with forty-five minutes,” she purred.
“I know it,” he replied.
She started by grazing her teeth along his collarbone. “I liked what you did to me the other night,” she whispered. He’d put her on a table in his bedroom and turned out all the lights. He’d put noise-canceling headphones in her ears and played cello music while he massaged every inch of her body.
“Good,” he groaned as she flicked his nipples with her fingertips.
“Maybe I could return the favor?”
“Here?” He didn’t have massage oil, headphones, or any intention of being buck-naked in the back of a limo.
“Yes, here,” she ordered. “Turn up the radio and lie on your stomach.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think so.”
Perturbed, she gripped both sides of his shirt and ripped downward, sending buttons scattering throughout the limo. “That’s not the right answer.”
He grinned at her. He couldn’t help himself. She was the funniest damn thing. So fierce and so . . . cute. Though she’d hate it if he said that out loud.
“I liked this shirt.”
“You can buy a new one.”
Shoving his shirt aside, she ran her hands over his chest repeatedly, arching her hips and back with every downward stroke. He knew she could feel the erection beneath her, knew that she was rubbing herself over him, making herself feel good.
He gripped her hips. “Maura—”
“Shut up. The partition is up.”
He could smell her. The earthy scent of her mixed with that smoky perfume, and he slid his hand roughly between her legs, over the silky panties he’d bought for her. They were damp, so damp that he was unsurprised to find her dripping wet and slippery inside, so ready for him that he thought she’d come with a few quick strokes of his fingers. He ripped them off and tossed them aside.
“Wait for me, baby,” he ordered her, and quickly undid his fly, freeing his erection. She immediately bent and tried to take him in her mouth, briefly grazing his head before he was able to yank her back up. He didn’t think he could last if she put that hot mouth on him, not right now. Not this time.
With a groan, he lifted her with one arm and used the other to part her for his entrance, sliding the thick head of his cock into the tight grip of her pussy. Her body resisted at first, as it always did, but then she arched and shivered, forcing herself deeper on
to him, and he slid all the way inside in one hard thrust.
She gasped and threw her head back, her hips pressing down fiercely, and Roland had the thought that he wouldn’t mind doing this for the rest of his life, sinking his cock into Maura O’Halloran, letting that tight little body squeeze him, while she made smart comments and put away bad guys. She liked being a detective—he couldn’t imagine her giving that up, but would she be willing to live with him as well, and with the irritation of having the press follow him around? With his other women, he’d known exactly what they wanted. With her, he wasn’t sure what she wanted beyond catching Keenan, or if she really wanted him at all.
“God, I’m going to come,” she moaned. “Just keep doing that.”
Roland kept up the slow, steady motion of his hips, sliding lusciously in and out of her wet heat, pumping inside her in short, hard thrusts while she held his head against the bodice of her dress. She was still wearing it; he’d simply shoved it up around her hips. Reaching up, he tugged the neckline down roughly and freed one breast from the confines of her bra.
Suckling strongly, he settled her more deeply on him, spreading her thighs so that her knees were braced even farther on either side of his hips and he was taking her, fucking her, marking her as his with every thrust of his cock between her legs. He wanted her to know, know that she was his.
“God. Roland. Yes.”
“Tell me you’re mine,” he ordered, holding himself still inside her.
“I’m yours,” she agreed immediately, arching toward him. “All yours.”
The words broke something in him, the binds around some savage, long-buried part that selfishly took what it wanted without thought or regret, the part of him that was his father’s son. She’d said she was his. He was going to hold her to that.
With a fierce grunt, he thrust upward while pulling down on her hips, and she screamed, arching her head, and he came as well, letting her fierce contractions milk him until they were both limp, settled against each other like survivors of a crash, holding on for dear life.
She fell asleep like that, her head on his chest, and it was all he could do to straighten her clothing without waking her. When they arrived back at the house, he wrapped her carefully in her coat and stepped out of the limo with her in his arms.
“Would you like some help, sir?” Gert offered as Roland approached the door.
Hugging her a little closer, Roland replied. “Thanks, Gert.” He stepped across the threshold. “I’ve got her.”
MAURA KNEW SOMETHING was up as soon as they reached the seafood restaurant where they were meeting Roland’s parents. Actually, she’d thought something was up since she and Roland had fucked in the limo last night, but she wasn’t sure what could be bothering him. She’d woken up alone in his bed, and he was back to being uncommunicative with her, though nothing had changed that she could tell.
She’d been on the phone with Bert that morning, and he’d said there’d been a lot of chatter at the station about what was going on with the shooting—or what was not going on—and her extended absence.
“I’m telling you, Maur, there’s talk that you’ve just given up everything for Roland and his money. I think even the captain is starting to believe it.”
“Give me a break, Bert. No one can possibly believe that.” Well, the plan was for Keenan to believe it, but she really hadn’t anticipated that her fellow officers would think her so impulsive.
“You haven’t seen yourself in the papers. You look at the man like he’s a god, Maur. No joke.”
She’d actually found the picture he was referring to, taken at a restaurant in Beacon Hill: she was smiling up at Roland as he bent to say something in her ear. If she hadn’t known better, she wouldn’t have believed that the woman in the photograph was actually her—but she’d never smiled at a man like that in her life, especially not one who was currently avoiding serious conversation.
“What is it?” she hissed as they entered a small area where his parents were already waiting.
He squeezed the hand he was holding, the one with the massive rock on it, and murmured, “I’ll tell you when we leave.”
Narrowing her eyes, she nevertheless managed a polite smile for his mother and the former representative as Roland introduced them. Roland’s mother was dark haired and slender, with a long face and strong bones, just like Roland had. Maura didn’t know why, but for some reason she’d assumed that Roland looked like his father.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Maura said to Roland’s mother, wishing she didn’t sound like such an ass-kisser. She couldn’t help it; the woman made her think of the nuns at her Catholic school.
“Yes, you as well,” she replied. “My son’s taste has improved. I’m so glad, since it seems he’s asked you to marry him.”
Guilt made Maura’s smile slip, just a little, but Roland’s hand at her back steadied her. “Yes, well, it was a surprise to me as well.”
“Was it? Roland, how long did you say you’d been dating Maura, darling?”
Jack Chandler interrupted. “Come, Jessica, we can talk to them at the table.”
“Yes, of course,” Jessica Chandler agreed, but her steely gaze was fixed on Roland and Maura.
When she turned away to follow the waiter back to their table, Maura tugged on Roland’s arm to hold him back. “I see where you get it now,” she muttered. “Is she always that intense?”
“I’m afraid so,” he replied, looking amused. “Don’t let her intimidate you.”
Maura straightened her shoulders. “She doesn’t intimidate me.”
“Good.” He pulled out his phone again for the third time in the past ten minutes.
“And neither do you. Tell me what’s going on.” Her phone hadn’t made a peep. If it was something to do with Keenan, she should have heard from Bert.
Leaning down so he wouldn’t be overhead by anyone, he whispered, “They tried to break my father out of jail.”
Maura inhaled sharply and grabbed his tie. “Did they catch him?”
Shaking his head in frustration, he said, “No. Keenan killed two guards, but escaped. He didn’t succeed in freeing my father, though.”
“Well, that’s something,” Maura murmured, her jaw tightening. “Maybe this was a stupid idea. It doesn’t even seem like Keenan has noticed our little plan.” She waved the ring at him.
A muscle was twitching in Roland’s jaw, but his voice was still soft as he said, “That’s how I know it’s working. He’s coming up with something new.”
“Let’s tell your parents we need to meet with them another time. We need to get to the prison, talk to your father, find out what happened.”
“Not yet. Let’s eat lunch. We won’t be able to speak to my father for several hours, anyway. He’s being interviewed by just about everyone, from the FBI, to Interpol, to the Department of Corrections.”
“Are you even going to be able to get in to see him?”
He gave her an eloquent look.
“Of course you are,” Maura muttered. “But we can’t just go to lunch like nothing has happened.”
“Sure we can. That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
So, a half hour later, Maura found herself eating an excellent halibut and wondering why she was making chitchat while Keenan was probably getting away. She’d been surreptitiously trying to check her phone, but every time she looked down, she felt the evil eye of Roland’s mother burning into her skull.
At one point, Roland and his stepfather got up to speak to one of Roland’s associates, and Maura was left alone with the woman, much to her dismay.
“I know you aren’t really going to marry my son,” Jessica began as soon as the men were out of earshot.
Maura blinked. How did she know that? “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t play dumb, dear. It doesn’t suit you.”
Snapping her mouth shut, Maura straightened in her chair. “I don’t know why you would—”
“Women like you
don’t marry men like my son. Women like you marry nice boring men, have an appropriate number of children, and die of an illness, or in your case, a shootout with some crazed lunatic. My son needs a woman of refinement.”
“Maybe your son is tired of the Barbie dolls you seem to think are appropriate,” Maura snapped back. She was refined, damn it.
“So you actually think you’re good enough for my son.”
“Yes,” Maura hissed, incensed. “And I know I love him a lot more than any of those twits you call refined and I call gold-digging—”
“Maura, are you all right?” Roland asked, approaching the table warily.
Maura realized she was half standing as she verbally flayed Roland’s mother. His mother. “I’m sorry. I—”
“We’re fine, darling,” his mother interrupted. “Maura and I were just having a disagreement over how many grandchildren you’re going to give me. I have my heart set on four.”
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, as they waited in the visitors’ room at the prison, Roland realized that he hadn’t been to the prison to see his father in some time, but he remembered the dingy gray room with a single wooden table and folding chairs. Cameras occupied the corners of the room, red eyes glowing in the dimness, and Roland knew that every word they said would be processed, recorded, and examined by a dozen sets of eyes. It seemed like every agency in North America and Europe was interested in the whereabouts of Keenan Shy.
When his father finally arrived, Roland was unsurprised to see that the man was smiling, his hair slightly mussed over his bald pate. Crawly Cozen was smiling, as always.
“Roland, my son. Can’t imagine what brings you here. Miss me, did you?”
His wrists were cuffed to a short chain at his waist, which ran to a set of leg irons. He was clean-shaven, also as always, but there was a cut above his left eyebrow, and his bottom lip looked swollen.
“Hello, Father.”
His dad’s gaze, never still, ventured to Maura. He recognized her, of course. Crawly had an excellent memory for faces. “Hello again, Detective. Any luck with that problem you were having?”
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