Chapter Fifteen
Sean
“You’re really not going to tell me why you’ve been clutching your side every few steps we take?” Emilia stole a look at me from the corner of her eye, and I immediately let my arm fall.
We’d spent hours shopping and strolling down the streets decorated in Christmas finery. From O’Connell to Henry and Grafton. We’d started at the Dublin Castle Christmas Market, where Emilia had lit up nearly as bright as the fairy lights strung throughout the place, as well as covering the hundreds of trees lining the grounds. The look in her eyes as we rode the vintage carousel, a first for her, had been priceless. We sat side by side, and as our horses seesawed up and down and the carousel sailed round and round, I almost felt like I was inside some holiday movie where the ending was a guaranteed happily-ever-after.
Mistletown Christmas Market had been another success, and we both found a few toys for Braden and Siobhan while there. And I’d convinced Emilia to play some carnival games. Of course, Emilia won a bigger stuffed teddy bear than I did at one of the shooting booths. But we gave our prizes to two random kids before leaving the market, which, judging by the looks on their faces, made their day.
We were at our final stop, Dun Laoghaire Christmas Market. Our shopping bags were packed into the Maserati, and we probably didn’t need to buy anything else, but I wanted to take her to one of my favorite places at Christmas. It’d been nice spending a day with Emilia without the weight of The League and our worries hanging over our heads. In fact, I’d made a rule when picking her up: no work talk.
Her friend Roman was looking into Luca’s whereabouts over the past few months, presumably while he’d been cooking up a plan against us, so there wasn’t much for us to do at the moment but wait for his call. And tomorrow evening, we planned to meet with Sebastian at his club to discuss options.
So, today, we shopped. Acted as though we were two normal people.
But damn, after shopping all day, my body was truly feeling the effects of my session in the ring with Adam that morning.
I’d swallowed a handful of ibuprofen afterward—having learned my lesson ages ago—but the pain was kicking into high gear again, and I was apparently doing a shite job of hiding it. I’d hoped the waning daylight as evening approached would help mask my efforts to lightly massage my side every so often, but Emilia was too observant.
“Tell me what’s wrong, and maybe I’ll go on that thing with you like you asked.” Emilia stopped walking and pointed to that “thing,” a Ferris wheel. Not just any Ferris wheel. This one had been featured in the movie Grease. Emilia was fearless, but something about the Ferris wheel made her nervous as hell. Maybe it was the idea of not being in control? Or perhaps getting stuck in one of those boxes with me? Probably the latter.
I rubbed my jaw, about the only spot not aching on my bruised body. A minute into our fight, Adam and I had agreed to heed Cole’s advice and not mess up our faces so that Ma didn’t kill us.
A group of carolers dressed like they’d escaped a scene out of Charles Dickens’s Christmas Carol stopped near us and began singing O Come All Ye Faithful. We gave them our attention, and I was grateful for the chance to stand still for a few minutes and buy myself time before answering Emilia.
We applauded the group, a mix of ages, but once they were gone, Emilia’s gaze turned back on me. The woman had a wicked Don’t bullshite me look on her face.
And that only made me want to play around that much more. “I’m just full from all the hot chocolate, pints of beer, and sweets you’ve been pushing me to eat all day. Got a cramp,” I joked and clutched my stomach. “Gonna lose this amazing figure I’ve worked so hard to get.”
When Emilia playfully slapped my chest, I made a show of twisting my face into a wince, doubled over theatrically, and cried out, Ouch, as though she had indeed hurt me. Which she damn well had. Kudos to me for calling up my brief acting career at school to turn the tables—act as though I was in pain to hide the fact I was in pain.
The smell of roasted chestnuts wafted through the air, another Christmastime favorite of mine. I was shocked when Emilia admitted she’d never tried them. And even though I’d love to see her reaction—in my experience, people either loved them or despised them, no in-between—I really was too full to eat another bite of food today.
Before I had a chance to convince her to try the chestnuts, she crooked a finger, beckoning me closer. “Out with it, McGregor. I want the truth.”
I gave in with a caveman-like grunt of protest and dropped my shoulders in defeat. “Adam and I went a few rounds inside the ring this morning.” With the truth out there, I clutched where she’d poked my chest and rubbed.
“You’ve sparred before,” she said casually, not convinced. “You don’t normally walk away as if you’d been in a car accident.”
“We treated it like an actual fight. But at Cole’s insistence, no screwing up our faces. Body shots only.” Although, I did get in one blow to his cheek before we made up our minds not to piss off Ma.
“You’re really hurt.” She frowned and scanned my body as if the woman could see beneath my jacket. “He shouldn’t have been that hard on you.”
I smirked. “Oh, you assume I got my arse handed to me, do ya?”
There was mischief in her eyes when Emilia pursed her lips, crossed her arms in a haughty stance, and said, “You didn’t?” Good God, this woman turned me on. Even bundled up in a black wool coat, she pulled off chic and sexy.
“Believe it or not, we ended in a decision. Sebastian was pissed at the both of us, more so at me, so he chose Adam. Cole went with me. So, it was a tie.” I held a black-gloved palm up. “Before you make the assumption, he didn’t take it easy on me.”
“Based on the way you’ve been holding your ribs, it appears not.” Her curt, almost satisfied-looking nod had me smiling wider. “Glad to see your training is paying off.”
I slapped my palms together. “So, Ferris wheel, then?” Or chestnuts first? Decisions, decisions.
Noticing a shiver that she tried to hide, I reached for her and guided her to one of the firepits nearby, where a few kids roasted marshmallows. The air was cooler than normal, even for this time of year, plus we’d been outside for most of the day.
“I’m fine.” But the stubborn woman held her gloved hands above the flickering flame and that small victory had me feeling triumphant.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Emilia took gorgeous to an all-new level. Black spandex paired with dark knee-high boots, a bright red turtleneck beneath her coat, with her long, wavy hair down and ruby studs in her ears. And when she turned toward me, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the fire, her deep brown eyes colliding with mine, I just wanted to sweep my tongue along her plump bottom lip and lick away the gloss.
“I think I have a better idea,” she said a moment later when her attention caught on something beyond my shoulder. Before I could say a word, she headed in that direction.
I followed her, still not quite sure where she was leading us, but she was clearly claiming the victory now.
We moved alongside busy vendors dealing with the rush of last-minute holiday shoppers as she led me to our destination.
“We had a deal. Ferris wheel,” I insisted as we passed a couple, arm in arm, gazing at each other all lovey-dovey. A sudden punch of jealousy struck me at the sight, and I had to push it aside because I was too sore for any more blows.
But damn, they looked like a normal couple, free to live normal lives. And . . .
Did I want to be normal? Ordinary?
I glimpsed at Emilia, her long hair gently swaying as she walked in front of me. No, I want extraordinary.
Emilia shot me a look from over her shoulder, her bright smile like a spotlight on my soul. That smile made me forget Luca, and Bridgette, and all the others. They were all history in my mind. “Mm. Make me.”
Oh, if we weren’t in the thick of a crowd right now, I certainly would make her. I’d put her over
my shoulder and carry her to the Ferris wheel, even slap her arse a few times as we walked.
The woman wouldn’t kill me for it.
Probably not.
Maybe a little.
“How about this?” She stopped in front of a booth made to look like Santa’s workshop and pointed to a desk set up for writing letters to Santa. There was even a little red and white post box in which to “mail” the letters.
“Write Santa a letter or take a romantic ride on a Ferris wheel?” I closed one eye as if the decision were a hard one. “Shite, that’s a tough choice. Not on your nelly will I be swapping—”
“Not on my what?” She laughed and shook her head.
I hadn’t seen this woman so light and carefree in . . . maybe ever.
We hadn’t discussed The League, Luca, or The Alliance once. It’d been a grand day. More than just grand. Pure bliss. Seeing her happy, her eyes sparkling like this, made me wish to relive this day over and over again. Even if it meant getting the shite knocked out of me by Adam every morning.
“Why are you smiling?” She strode closer, grabbed hold of the lapels of my jacket and tilted her chin up to meet my eyes.
I was on the verge of stealing a kiss, the only thing we hadn’t done today that would have made it that much more perfect. But she really would kill me if I attempted any PDA. “Just looking at you.”
Her eyes teasingly narrowed with suspicion, letting me know she was onto me and my wicked thoughts.
Oh yeah, my thoughts were getting naughtier by the minute. Emilia in sheer white lingerie. A semi see-through bra with lacy snowflakes covering her nipples to make for a little peep show before the bra came off. It would be like unwrapping a sexy present, and feck if that image didn’t get me a little hard.
Emilia’s gaze left mine and swiveled to the post box. “My father had me write a letter to Santa when I was growing up. I wrote faithfully every year until I turned twelve.”
Her quietly spoken words zipped me back to the present. “What’d you ask for?”
“A mom.” She blinked rapidly, appearing stunned she’d answered so candidly.
After that heartbreaking confession, I knew I was about two seconds away from losing the fun and carefree Emilia, and I wasn’t ready for her to leave me just yet. “I never wrote to Santa, so let’s do it. This can be my first time.”
“Really?” She set her bag on the old-fashioned-looking desk and reached for a clipboard that held a blank sheet of green paper, then handed it to me along with a pencil topped with a red Santa hat eraser. “I love first times. I’ve had so many with you, so . . .” More blinking, then she lowered her eyes and reached for another clipboard.
I knew exactly what I was going to write. I scribbled it down and tucked the paper inside an envelope from a stack lying next to the post box, already addressed to Santa at the North Pole. “Ready?” I asked once she had her red envelope in hand. “Together?”
She nodded, and we stuck our envelopes in the thin rectangular slot at the same time as if magic might really carry our letters to the North Pole and make our dreams come true.
“Adults who write letters to Santa are really wishing for miracles,” she said once we were on our way. I hid my gloved hands in my coat pockets, resisting the urge to link our arms or clasp her hand.
“Mistletoe. You have to kiss,” someone called out in our direction. Both Emilia and I stopped in our tracks and looked up, carrying our focus to the bunches of mistletoe tied with red ribbons and strung overhead by a street vendor. “Bad luck if you don’t.”
I gave her my most charming smile in hopes of wiping the indecisive look from her face. A rarity for Emilia.
“We don’t want bad luck to cancel out our wishes, do we?” I proposed, lifting my hands from my pockets to capture her waist and draw her closer to me.
“We’re in public,” she whispered.
“No one aside from a bunch of strangers will see us.” I brought a gloved hand to the back of her head.
She reluctantly but surprisingly nodded, so I dipped her back like we were in a romance movie. The Ferris wheel from Grease was our backdrop, so it worked.
And somewhere, I overheard those same carolers singing O Holy Night as I set a kiss to her mouth. We may have been surrounded by the smell of gingerbread and hot chocolate, but the only scent striking me was Emilia’s.
I’d meant for our kiss to be quick, considering we had an audience. But when she lightly moaned in response, I lost myself in her. The kiss deepened, our tongues tangled, and I barely heard the applause erupting around us.
My mind flashed back to our first kiss at the club in Vegas. Then breezed on to the one by the lion statue at the MGM. I could feel those kisses wrapped up in this one, strange as it sounded. A fusion of the moments we’d shared as if signaling the beginning of something else.
I righted her a few seconds later, my lips still lingering close to hers, hungry for more. She kept hold of my eyes, her hands still resting on my chest. Her purse was the barrier between our bodies, preventing us from fully touching.
“Amore prohibito,” she said, her lips hovering near mine.
I may have failed out of Italian at Trinity, but those words weren’t hard to figure out. Amore was love. Prohibito meant forbidden.
It was either a warning to herself or to me. I wasn’t sure. Maybe both.
Nevertheless, I caressed her jaw and slanted my mouth over hers again anyway. And damn, did she respond.
“Oh my,” I heard someone say. “It’s snowing. Like in a fairy tale.”
Emilia and I pulled back at the same time and looked heavenward. Not ready for this moment to end, I tightened my hold of her as a flurry of snowflakes fell around us.
I returned my focus to her face as a single flake caught on the long, dark lashes above her right eye.
My chest grew tight with emotion as I stared into her beautiful eyes. “A fairy tale, indeed.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sean
“We shouldn’t have kissed in public,” Emilia said as we started for the hotel, our hands full of shopping bags.
“Yeah, but it was mistletoe. And who could’ve possibly seen us?” I retorted.
“You’re a McGregor. Practically a celebrity in this city. Any number of people with a mobile could have taken the shot and hashtagged it on Instagram. We could be trending. Couple in love at the Christmas market.”
“Couple in love, huh?” I asked once we’d piled the shopping bags and ourselves inside the lift. “Was it that hot of a kiss we’d really light up people’s newsfeeds and trend?”
Her mouth parted to protest, but she huffed out a breath instead.
“You plan on telling me what you asked Santa for?” I asked when she didn’t say more.
“And are you going to tell me what you asked the big guy for?” Was she toying with me, skirting her tongue between her teeth?
“There’s a rule, right? It won’t happen if we share. Or maybe that’s a birthday wish. I can’t remember.” And Emilia’s birthday was coming up. I needed to shop for that, too. She’d shoot me with an arrow if I celebrated her birthday, but the pain would be worth it if I could somehow produce one of her killer smiles. “So, we don’t tell each other unless we get what we asked for. Agreed?” I set the bags down and removed my gloves, shoved them in my pockets, then offered her my hand.
She eyed my palm suspiciously before finally clasping my hand, her black leather glove preventing me from feeling any of her soft skin. I wanted to feel a lot more than her hand, though. And she had to know that. One look in my eyes told that story. “Agreed.”
When the doors chimed, she reached for a few of her bags she’d collected while shopping, and I picked up the rest. “You’re full of surprises, McGregor,” she tossed out before exiting the lift.
I tried to shake off the fact this was the second time she’d called me by my last name today. We may have needed to keep distance between us because of rules and promises, but that not-s
o-small issue of her fear of commitment . . . well, I just hoped she wasn’t attempting to build a new wall to replace the one I was fairly certain our time together had begun to knock down.
Once in the hotel room, Emilia removed her gloves and coat, then sat on the stool at the breakfast counter and removed her boots, leaving her in only the spandex and red turtleneck. So breathtaking. “I’m worried. Still no update from Roman on Luca. The idea Luca’s pulling our strings infuriates me.”
That idea is also why I look like my brother took a bat to my ribs. Luca was a bloody mood killer.
And now that she officially brought up work, it had me remembering Cole’s words before we started sparring. Well, before Adam and I knocked the shite out of each other.
The German is being transferred to a League prison for interrogation. We can’t get him to talk. I’m sorry, Cole had quickly announced in the locker room before joining the others. I’d chalked up his hurried statement and quick exit to him being angry at himself for not getting anything out of the guy.
“I assume Cole or Sebastian updated you on that German guy.”
Emilia visibly tensed. “You mean that he’s being transferred to a League prison since he won’t talk?”
I nodded. “Maybe you should have spoken to him. You’re good at getting people to open up.” You’re just not great at opening up about yourself.
Her face fell. And hell, she was looking at me with the same sad eyes as Cole had this morning. “Something wrong?”
“No.” She scrunched her brow. “But you’re right, I should have questioned him, but he’s already in transit now. Too bad no one has gone for the money yet,” she said, then nearly gave me whiplash with a subject change by adding, “Anyway, I’m hoping to hear from Roman soon.”
“Didn’t Roman say his girlfriend—”
“Harper’s not his girlfriend,” she interrupted. “He’s got issues like me.”
The Final Hour (Dublin Nights Book 5) Page 19