“Sounds nice.” But go on a girls’ trip that day? I highly doubted that’d be possible. “I’ll probably be working then. Maybe we can get away another time?”
“Your peacekeeping work?” Ronan asked, his lips twitching into a smile that told me he suspected we were all telling some white lies at the table.
“With the bows and the arrows?” Sara arched a blonde brow.
The first thing I’d be doing at the hotel was tossing the lingerie I bought at her store.
But what struck me as odd, as well as somewhat suspicious, was that Sara didn’t act like a woman who feared for her life after being manhandled on Friday night.
“Instead of a girls’ trip,” Ethan began as if realizing Sara’s intent, “how about we all do something fun together this week? Maybe take part in the shenanigans of the Twelve Pubs of Christmas.”
Why was it Sara shifted her focus to Sean whenever I glimpsed her way? Was she jealous of whatever she thought was happening between—
“I’m too old for that,” Ronan said with a close-mouthed smile, interrupting my thoughts.
Sean playfully rolled his eyes. “Funny, Da.”
“Besides, you’re the babysitter,” Adam added. “But yeah, I’m in.”
“Well, before I commit, what is it?” Anna asked. “I mean, I can guess.”
Ethan and Adam took turns explaining rules that basically involved getting drunk while having some laughs at twelve pubs. It wasn’t something I’d normally say yes to, but part of me liked the appeal of breaking out of my norm.
“I don’t know if that’s such a grand idea,” Cole said in a low voice, and based on the way Alessia was now looking at me, he’d told her about our conversation before dinner. Her eyes were soft and filled with understanding. We were on the same page. She’d struggled with the burden of taking a life, and I had a feeling she wasn’t ready for Sean to experience the same emotions. At least not at Christmas.
I was born into this life. Alessia and the McGregors were thrust into it. Alessia by way of Sebastian—a brother she only discovered existed when she was twenty. The McGregors by way of Adam’s involvement with a Dublin crime boss. It was different for them. I was different from them.
“I think we could use some fun.” Alessia looked to her husband, sending him some sort of message with her eyes, and he grumbled and relented.
“Will you be busy, Emilia? With all that work of yours?” Sara asked, her smug tone and insincere comments driving me nuts.
“I’m free this week. That’s the luxury of owning a profitable business,” I responded, taking a sip of my wine and never breaking eye contact with her. But it wasn’t a complete lie. I would be digging into Sara’s story. Eavesdropping on Bridgette and Atlas. And hoping a man who probably deserved to die didn’t actually croak, but otherwise, my calendar was open. “I’m in.”
Sean let go of his fork, eyes zipping to my face. Total surprise there.
“Well, just no punching anyone for looking at your wife the wrong way, okay?” Cara stood and began heaping seconds onto her sons’ plates without asking them first.
“I’ve only done that once. Or twice,” Adam said.
And Ethan coughed out the word, “Bullshite.”
“I wasn’t referring to you.” Cara dipped her chin down, her head pointing Sebastian’s way.
Ah. Yeah, the man had a temper when it came to anyone bothering Holly. Clearly, there’d been an incident or two while I was back home in Italy.
“He’ll be on his best behavior.” Holly looked to her husband for confirmation.
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” Ohhh. Wrong words from Sebastian because Holly shot him a death stare, a reminder he’d promised not to kill again, and then did exactly that at my home in Sicily in October.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Holly set her red linen napkin on her plate and abruptly stood. The room had gone completely silent, and the sound of her chair’s legs scraping across the floor was almost deafening.
Sebastian was on his feet and following her a hot second later, and I could see his jaw working as he moved. He no doubt wanted to kick his own ass for that slip-up.
“Well, the make-up sex will be grand,” Cara said in a cheerful voice, and I almost spit out the sip of wine I’d taken.
Adam grimaced. “Ma.”
“What, dear?” She opened her palms to the table. “Sex is good. It’s natural.” Her focus shot to her husband at the end of the table, and I was certain her sons were going to lose their stomachs soon. “Healthy, too.”
Well, it seemed their marriage was doing just fine. That was good. And honestly, I liked Cara that much more for being so candid.
Cole attempted to change the mood at the table by sharing a few funny encounters he’d had with his sister’s celebrity friends over the years. Cole’s sister, Bree, was an actress in the States.
I barely heard what Cole talked about, though, too entranced by this night. The humor. The feeling of family. The look in Sean’s eyes when our gazes collided.
Cara’s attention fixed on me a few minutes later, and it had me drawing in a nervous breath. She had questions. I doubted I had answers.
“Emilia, such a beautiful name,” Cara spoke up, and I’d been right. She’d set her sights on wanting to get to know me more. “What is your middle name?”
My lips were dry. Throat parched. I finished my wine and slid my tongue between the seam of my lips. “Tessa,” I answered.
“A Greek name,” Cara said as if that should have meant something to me. “Tessa has a few meanings from what I remember, but the one I prefer is ‘huntress.’” She angled her head, the rest of the room falling into silence, and I’d swear this woman was reading me. Seeing something inside me that I wasn’t so sure if even I saw. “Emilia is Latin for ‘rival,’ yes?”
“I-I honestly don’t know.” I just know my last name means I can’t be with your son. “I never asked my parents why they picked those names.” Maybe because I was fairly certain my mother chose those names, and she abandoned me without a second thought.
“And what of your mother?” Cara asked. I should have seen that coming.
“Ma,” Sean hissed, eyes tight on her. I’d swear they were having a telepathic conversation as he viewed her in silence. Had he warned her of some off-limits topics she was blatantly ignoring?
“What?” Cara dramatically lifted her shoulders and refilled her wineglass.
“It’s okay.” I didn’t want him mad at her because of me. “My mother’s not in my life.” I resisted the impulse to stand and walk away from the table. That’d be rude. But my instincts were begging to kick in. Every part of me screamed to run.
It was Sean’s soft gaze that calmed me down.
“I don’t have any family left,” I whispered and took a breath, but then Alessia set a hand on top of mine between our plates.
“That’s not true. We’re your family now,” Alessia told me, and when I gathered my attention to look at her, I found myself wishing it were that simple.
Chapter Thirteen
Emilia
“Sorry about my mother.” Sean collapsed on the queen-sized bed. He’d taken me upstairs to see his childhood bedroom, which was so well preserved I was sure it hadn’t been touched except for a bit of dusting over the years. He shoved his sleeves to his elbows and leaned forward, setting his forearms to his thighs, eyes on the hardwoods as my heels clicked around the room, taking in the accolades and photos he’d received over the years hanging on the wall.
I smiled at the photo of Sean standing in the center of a cast for a play. Probably a sixteen-year-old Sean. “Now your superb acting last night makes that much more sense. You are quite the thespian after all.”
“That was for Macbeth. And that was Ma’s doing,” he grumbled.
Macbeth, of course.
“I should have taken up fighting like Adam instead.” I could hear the blush in his tone. I didn’t have to check for confirmation. “And she put al
l that stuff up after I went to Trinity.”
“I like your mother, by the way. No need to apologize.” I was happy he had such a caring, intelligent, and free-spirited woman in his life.
Sean’s mother had kept her teaching job at Trinity despite the empire her husband had built over the years, but from what I had learned, she now focused on charity foundations in her retirement. In my opinion, she didn’t fit the stereotypical wife of a billionaire.
“Looks like Holly is still sore about what happened in October.” I changed the subject, preferring not to think about mothers or my lack of one.
“You mean when your Navy SEAL buddies convinced Sebastian to break his promise to her?” The Irish lilt of his voice almost hid the hint of sarcasm infusing his tone.
“Roman’s only a friend, you know. We were never together.” Maybe Sean and I weren’t allowed to have a future, but I wanted him to know I wasn’t off screwing around.
The old floors creaked beneath his footsteps. “And have you ever been in a relationship?”
I tracked his movement in the reflection of the mirror over his dresser, finding him an arm’s length away. “Once. Although, I’m not sure if you could call it that.” I fingered the collar of my blouse and shifted it to show the scar that was aging with time. “It didn’t work out so well.”
His eyes turned dark, anger eclipsing the beautiful blue. “He did that to you?” Flared nostrils. Shoulders rounding back and a broad-barreled chest rising. Clear indicators Sean wanted to inflict damage.
“I was backpacking in South America when we met. He was one of my hired guides. Someone to teach me life lessons and survival skills—the things Papà felt were important for me to learn.” I paused, letting him fill in the details himself. “After about a month of traveling, and him gaining my trust, getting close to me, he made his move. It turned out ‘Paulo’ had been sent to try and draw out family secrets. He’d murdered the real Paulo. And when he made his move against me . . .”
Sean held on to my shoulder, encouraging me to face him. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t remember crying aside from when Chanel and Papà died.
“I guess he suspected I was onto him, but I wasn’t quite as skilled at reading people, so he surprised me with a machete one day.” I let go of my shirt, allowing the memories of that asshole to wash away. “I killed him. Kicked his body into the Amazon, then kept on with my hike as if nothing had happened. Shocked, I supposed.” I finally gave in to face him, checking to see if he’d look at me differently. “Not everyone is capable of being with someone who takes lives. Outside of the law, I should say. Holly loves Sebastian enough to overlook his past, but it’s not easy for her to handle him killing anyone in the present,” I noted, attempting to bring the conversation back to where we’d started.
“There’s a difference between a killer and what The League stands for. What you, Sebastian, and the others do in the name of justice.” The back of his hand caressed my cheek, an intimate and forgiving touch I struggled to admit, even to myself, I needed.
Would he feel the same if he knew he’d put that German thug in a coma?
I set my palms to his chest, planning to push away, but I was trapped in place by the warmth of his gaze. “I could have sent the man who hired Chanel’s murderer to jail instead of to his death. And I didn’t have to kill the fake Paulo.” I was intent on punishing Sean with the truth. I also wanted him to know the kind of woman I was.
“I know what you’re doing,” he responded in a low voice. “It won’t work.”
“There’s no penance for me. I’m not in the military. Nor a police officer. I take the law into my own hands and choose who lives and who dies. But my sins are mine alone. I won’t burden anyone else with them.” My shaky voice reminded me to drop my hands from the hard planes of his chest. “Sebastian has a chance at redemption with Holly. His daughter. I-I don’t see that happening for me.”
“And is that true for me when I take a life?” he probed.
“If,” I reminded him.
A line creased his forehead as he was no doubt working on grasping the underlying issues holding me back from him. Hell, I’d yet to figure that out myself. “Us not being together, it’s not just about League rules or your promise to your father, is it?”
“Does it matter?” I tried to dodge his focus by turning, but he spun me back around with a firm hand on the hip.
“I’m not a psychologist, but it sounds to me like you’re scared to fall in love.”
I gently set my hands on his chest again, tipped my chin up, and stared into his blue eyes that held so much sincerity it was unnerving.
Before I knew what I was doing, I rose to my toes, slid my hand up the back of his neck, and kissed him. The whiskey on his tongue mingled with the wine on mine, making for a heady combination as we tasted each other in a rough, almost angry kiss.
I nearly fell into his tall frame. I was off-balance and out of my damn mind.
Firm hands chased over my body before he cupped my ass and pulled my hips to his.
Sean continued the kiss as his hands roamed freely, tugging on my clothes here and there yet managing to hold on to his restraint. This level of reserve was no doubt costing him if his grunts of frustration were anything to go by.
I hooked one leg around his hip, needing to get even closer to his hard shaft, to grind against him and take pleasure in the only thing I was allowing myself to feel—desire.
Reaching between us, I quickly unzipped his jeans and dipped my hand into his boxers, taking hold of his cock. He lightly bit my lip as I slid my thumb through the precum and circled it around the head. With both heels back on the floor, I lowered to my knees, my hands dragging down along the sides of his frame.
Was this a distraction from reality? Yes.
Did I care? No.
Sean placed his hand on top of my head as I took him into my mouth and teasingly circled his crown with my tongue. With a grunt, he grabbed hold of my hair and urged me to take all of him.
“Feck,” he bit out, his voice low and strained as I sucked and sucked. “Emilia.” Strings of curses continued under his breath, and I was fairly sure only the Pope walking in would stop me from getting this man to the finish line. And maybe not even then. I was going to hell anyway, wasn’t I?
I sucked down every last drop of cum as Sean released into my mouth, then wiped my lip and slowly rose with his helping hand.
“That’d be a first in my bedroom here,” he said while zipping his fly. “Thank God my ma didn’t walk in since I didn’t lock the door.”
“Judging by your mother’s views on sex, she’d never open a closed door while her son and a woman are inside.” I traced my bottom lip with my thumb, desire still thrumming through me as I clenched my sex, wishing he could plunge into me. Alleviate the pain between my thighs that had managed to build despite all of the orgasms he’d delivered since last night.
Sean had my back to the door a moment later. Our bodies pressed together. One strong hand propped over my shoulder, his other hand working the sash loose from my waist.
He angled his head and dipped in to give me a surprisingly tender kiss, not caring in the least that he released in my mouth only moments ago. Torturous sweeps of his tongue parted my lips like a tease as he unzipped my trousers and palmed my sex over my panties, no doubt feeling how wet he made me.
When his mouth went to my ear, I shuddered. The feel of his hot breath gliding over my skin was almost more erotic than sex. I tilted my head back, my eyes on the ceiling as he dipped his hand beneath my panties and plunged two fingers inside me, covering himself in my wetness before gliding his fingers over my sensitive and swollen bud. “I could touch you all day and never tire of it.”
My eyes closed as he stroked me, touching me in just the right way. My trousers managed to stay up with our bodies only separated by his hand between us. What I wouldn’t give to be back in our hotel room so I could feel his skin against mine.
I arched into the heel of
his hand and moved my hips, desperate for relief from this intense need building between my legs. A need I was certain now more than ever only Sean would ever be able to satiate.
I came hard, biting into his shoulder to keep from moaning my ecstasy out loud, which I knew this man loved every second of.
“We ought not to leave Ma waiting on us for dessert, I suppose,” he said a moment later, a playful air to his tone.
Dessert. Right. We were still in his parents’ house. And did I manage to table our conversation about my apparent commitment issues with orgasms?
“It’s not fair.” I tightened the sash around my waist and checked myself in his mirror. “You don’t smell like sex, but now I do. My panties are soaked.”
He set both hands at the sides of my arms and met my eyes in the mirror, a devious twinkle in those bold blues of his. “Well, you could always take them off.”
“Are you responsible for this?” I asked after the door to my penthouse suite swung closed. A Christmas tree covered in strings of gold twinkle lights and decorated with colorful ornaments now sat in front of the living room windows.
“I may have arranged for your suite to be decorated while we were at dinner.” He stroked a hand over the scruff covering his jaw. “I know you opted out of the decorations when you arrived, but it doesn’t feel like Christmas without a tree, and you did agree to have an Irish Christmas this week.”
I set my jacket down on one of the stools in front of the island that separated the kitchen and living room, then approached the pretty tree, its lights seeming to dance before my eyes. “And you have one in your flat?”
“I was planning on putting one up this week. Been preoccupied.”
“Hm.” I offered him my profile, keeping sight of both him and the tree. “I like it. Thank you.”
The Final Hour (Dublin Nights Book 5) Page 17