Defiant Queen

by Meghan March

  All softness I felt toward him melts away like snow in the bayou, and it feels like we’re back to square one. Except I’m in Dublin. And he brought me here.

  Facing this man is like taking on a Category 5 hurricane. My conflicting emotions surge within me.

  Mount’s laugh is low and harsh. “You think I’m arrogant now? You’ve barely scratched the surface. For the record, just because I let you take the lead in your world doesn’t mean you get to call the shots anywhere else.”

  “You’re impossible.” I hiss the words, but my body is already responding to his, and it’s taking all my self-control not to rub up against him like an animal in heat. Every bit of pressure heightens the sensation, thanks to my piercing.

  “Pot, meet kettle,” he says.

  “Fuck your pot and kettle.”

  “All I want to fuck is you.” His gaze burns over my skin, and his nostrils flare as his free hand wraps around the back of my thigh, dragging upward until his palm skates under the fabric of my dress to grip my ass. “And you want it just as bad.”

  “Not tonight.”

  He lowers his lips close to my ear, and whispers a single word. “Liar.”

  I have two options—murder him in this gorgeous hotel suite and spend the rest of my life on the run, or give in to the insanity and climb him like my body is dying for me to do.

  “I still hate you.”

  His teeth close over my earlobe. “No, you don’t. You just hate that you want me as badly as I want you.” He tugs and my nipples harden into points. “Admit it, and I’ll give you what you want.”

  “This isn’t a new game. We both know you can make me want you, and it won’t mean anything except that you know how to play the game better than I do.”

  He releases his hold on me completely. Surprised, I stumble back on my heels, catching myself on the bar.

  Mount takes a step backward and shrugs off his jacket, leaving it folded over the back of the living room sofa. With another step back, he loosens the knot of his tie and tosses it on a chair. One more step, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing the tanned, thick column of his neck. Another step, and the remaining buttons are undone and his shirt falls open, revealing his hard chest and rippling abs.

  He stands in the middle of the suite, tucking his hands into his pockets as he meets my gaze. “I want to hear it now. Before I drag you to the brink and you’re willing to say anything for me to let you come.”

  I lick my lips and flatten them. My inner muscles are already clenching, wetness soaking my thong as my body anticipates what’s coming next.

  Murder or pleasure. What happened to my life that these two choices became equally viable outcomes to the same issue?

  Mount happened.

  “Fine. I’ll admit it. You win.”

  Mount shakes his head slowly. “This isn’t about winning. This is about making it crystal fucking clear in your head that you crave what I give you. You don’t just want me to take control—you need it.”

  He’s right. There’s no way I can deny it. We both know I’m a shitty liar.

  “Then take it,” I tell him.

  Again, his ridiculously handsome face moves slowly from side to side. “No, tonight you’re going to give it to me willingly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He tips his head toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, hidden by opulent window treatments. “Open the curtains.”

  My brain spins at his order. Where is he going with this?

  “Why?”

  “Ask another question, and I swear you won’t come tonight.”

  I bite down on my lip because my natural instinct is to question his every order. But the idea of being denied orgasms all night, while he undoubtedly can give me many, isn’t something I want to contemplate.

  His dark eyes flare with heat as I step toward the drapes and yank them wide open. The lights in the room are low, but still bright enough to give a clear view inside.

  “Hands at your sides. Don’t move.”

  In the reflection of the glass, I watch as Mount unbuttons his cuffs, strips off his shirt, and drops it on the floor before stalking toward me.

  The cold from the window is already sending chills through my body, and Mount’s heat at my back creates warring sensations that are normal when I’m dealing with him.

  The zipper on my dress hisses as Mount slides it down. His fingers push the straps off my shoulders, but I catch them with my elbows, holding the dress against my chest.

  “Someone could see.”

  His voice is low but implacable. “They can look, but they can’t fucking touch what’s mine.”

  Of their own volition, my arms drop to my sides and my dress slides down, puddling at my feet.

  “Step out of it.”

  Mount’s teeth graze my shoulder before he drags them up the column of my neck, and I hold in a moan.

  “Are you going to make me repeat myself?” He growls it in my ear, nipping my lobe.

  This is the power struggle. The one I crave. When he said I wanted this, he wasn’t wrong.

  “No.”

  I comply, and Mount kicks the expensive designer dress aside before closing a hand around my wrists, lifting my hands to press them both palm-first against the window. I shiver, my nipples pebbling against the lace of my strapless bra as he growls in my ear.

  “Keep your hands on the window or your punishment will come later, and I promise it won’t be nearly as enjoyable as this.”

  I nod, and Mount releases his hold. I stay in position as his fingers skim down my arms to my shoulders before circling my rib cage to thumb my nipples through my bra.

  “I don’t spend nearly enough time on these gorgeous tits.” He releases the clasp of my bra, sending it to the floor, and my breasts spill into his hands. He toys with my nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my center.

  My moan slips free, and it urges him on. “Bend forward. Put them on the window. Get them nice and cold. I want them even harder for me.”

  Even though my instinct is to balk at how obscene his order is, I follow his command, sucking in a breath when my sensitive skin touches the chilled glass.

  “Good girl,” Mount says, right before his palm connects with my ass with a smack.

  I straighten, but he grips my hips to pull me back into position as he grinds the hard length of his erection against me.

  “You worried about them seeing you now?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  His hand slides around to my stomach and skims down to toy with the waistband of my thong, snapping the thin material before it falls away. He cups my center with his palm, his teeth grazing my other shoulder as he growls in satisfaction.

  “Then I better show everyone out there who owns this pussy, in case they get any ideas.”

  The forbidden thrill of being watched only adds to my confused emotions. Mount slips one finger between my lips, already finding me wet. When he drags it around my piercing, my hips move, my body desperate for more contact.

  “You gonna tell me that I don’t own this perfect cunt?”

  His growled words make me even more frantic.

  “No!” This time the word comes out on a harsh moan as he pushes two fingers knuckle-deep inside me.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  He fucks me deeper with his fingers, and my hands squeeze into fists. But I manage to keep them on the window, never breaking contact, not even when Mount frees his cock and works it between the cheeks of my ass.

  “Someday soon, there won’t be any question about who owns this ass either, because when I sink my cock inside it, you’ll be screaming my name.”

  His filthy words trigger another drawn-out moan. Mount shifts, fitting the head of his shaft against my entrance, pushing forward just enough to nudge the tip inside.

  I open my mouth, ready to beg, except this time he doesn’t make me wait. He buries himself to the hilt in a single thrust. With both hi
s hands pressing against mine on the glass, he powers into me without mercy, and I love every single second of it.

  When I come, it’s with a scream that all of Dublin must be able to hear—and see.

  But in the circle of Mount’s arms, I forget to care.

  Mount

  After two days of panel discussions, I’ve learned more about whiskey and spirits than I ever wanted to know, but I have to admit I now have a stronger fascination with it. Plenty of what I’ve learned will go into practice to streamline my own business. Keira and I parted ways to cover more ground because she couldn’t be in every presentation she wanted to hear.

  Do I like letting her out of my sight into a crowd of men who stare at her like she’s their next meal? Not particularly, but I also realize something equally as important that makes me want to kill them less—Keira doesn’t see them. Not as men. She sees them as sources of knowledge, competitors, possible sales or potential suppliers.

  She’s one hundred percent business during the day, but as soon as we make it to the suite at night, everything changes. The power struggle continues, but she’s bending more each time. Sometimes, it’s all I can do not to drag her away from whatever vendor party we attend in the evening and fuck her in the elevator on the way up.

  Only one thing holds me back—I won’t take the risk of damaging the reputation and credibility she’s building here. To Keira, that would be the ultimate unforgiveable sin. Against the window was different. I didn’t tell her until afterward that it was tinted and no one could see us. Her furious glare was worth hearing her scream echo through the room when she came after we fought about it.

  Like an addict craving his next fix, every time I’m with her, I’m chasing the same high. Except the difference between Keira and drugs? Every time with her gets better.

  Today is the only free day of the conference. Tomorrow, we go back to panels during the day, and then a final gala with an award ceremony in the evening.

  I would prefer to keep her in bed with my cock buried inside her all day, but I already made plans for us. I’m cursing them as she pulls on jeans and a formfitting sweater, and slips a leather jacket over it.

  Goddammit, she’s fucking sexy. Naked. Clothed. In lingerie. It doesn’t matter.

  First step of addiction: admitting you have a problem.

  Fuck that nonsense. I’m doing just fine.

  Keira

  As a private car carries us through the streets of Dublin, my excitement grows with every moment. I’ve barely been out of the hotel since we got here, but today, I finally get to see the city I’ve explored many times in my imagination.

  “Where are we going?” I ask the silent man beside me.

  “You’ll see.”

  I roll my eyes, knowing that continually pushing for an answer isn’t going to get me one. More likely than not, it’ll end up with me getting my ass spanked and hating to admit that I liked it.

  I keep quiet, soaking up the atmosphere of the city. The buildings are all so close together, reminding me of New Orleans, but are built with a different architectural style—some Georgian, some Victorian, and I’m not even sure what else. The sky is gray, but that doesn’t stop people from filling the sidewalks, and tourists from climbing onto the green and red double-decker buses that make a circuit around the city.

  I could only imagine what Mount would say if I tried to get him to ride on a bus. A soft laugh escapes me at the ridiculous idea.

  “What?” he asks, and I turn away from the window to find his attention on me.

  “I was trying to picture you riding one of those tourist buses.”

  “And you found that funny?”

  “I found it ridiculous for me to try to picture, actually.”

  I turn my attention back out the window as the driver maneuvers through the narrow streets. A tall church comes into view, and it dawns on me what it is.

  “That’s Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, isn’t it?”

  “I believe you’re right. Padraig?”

  Padraig, our driver for the day, chimes in. “Yes, ma’am. It’s over eight hundred years old. Saint Patrick himself baptized people on those very grounds. Construction on the current building didn’t start until about 1220.”

  The tall gray spires reach into the sky. The idea that Saint Patrick himself stood on that land, the man for whom my grandfather was named, fills me with an incredible sense of history.

  We turn another corner, and on the right, long reddish-brown brick buildings stretch along the street. I realize they must be townhomes, but each one seems to have a different-colored door—red, white, green, yellow, blue, purple, or turquoise. A veritable rainbow.

  “What’s with the doors?”

  The driver glances up in the rearview for a moment before explaining. “The townhouses all looked the same and were required to be uniform, but the residents started painting the doors different colors so they’d know which one was theirs. That way, your drunk neighbor didn’t try to bash into your house after too many pints at the pub.”

  I laugh at his explanation, because it actually makes perfect sense. We turn another corner and then another, and I’m trying to soak it all in as the car slows to a halt in front of a large building with a name and a logo I know well. I’ve followed this family for the last couple of years. They have a history similar to my family’s, and they inspired me when they undertook a massive building project. If I could bring Seven Sinners up to their level, I’ll have achieved a huge chunk of the goals I’ve set for myself.

  I jerk my gaze away from the golden phoenix logo on the gigantic building to look at Mount. “How did you know I wanted to come here?”

  “Despite what you might think, I do pay attention.”

  I’ve spent at least half the conference trying to find a way to speak with the owner of this distillery, but I’ve never been able to catch him.

  I blink, shocked that Mount noticed.

  The driver parks and climbs out of the car before opening the door to let me out first. Mount follows me. The brisk Irish wind makes me grateful for the leather jacket, jeans, and sweater that G packed, but if there’s a chance the owner’s inside, I’d prefer to be wearing a suit or something more formal.

  But there’s no way. He must be in meetings all day like almost everyone else, even though this is our “free” day. I’ve been rebuffed in my attempts to set up a few meetings with CEOs of companies that are household names around the world, and hoped Mount didn’t notice. Judging by this surprise, I’m betting he did.

  “Enjoy your tour. I’ll be waiting for your summons whenever you’re ready,” Padraig says as he closes the car door.

  His words remind me that this distillery does exactly what Temperance and Jeff Doon want Seven Sinners to do—open its doors to the public for daily tours.

  When we walk inside, the interior reminds me of my Seven Sinners remodel, and I’m making mental notes as Mount gives the woman behind the front counter my name.

  “Of course. I’ll let your guide know you’ve arrived. Shall I take your coats? It will be quite warm inside.”

  I hand mine off to her, as does Mount. He traded in his suit today for dark jeans, but I haven’t seen what is under his jacket until this moment—a worn gray T-shirt with a Seven Sinners logo. It’s been years since that T-shirt was made. My father was still running the company, and I was climbing my way up from the bottom rung of the ladder. The logo wear experiment lasted all of one year before Dad considered it a failure.

  “Where did you get that?”

  Mount gives me a sideways look. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve known about Seven Sinners a long time. Even before I knew about you.”

  My brain slips into overdrive as I try to figure out what that means, but our tour guide meets us at the entrance. It’s none other than the CEO himself.

  “Ms. Kilgore, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard we have some fierce competition coming out o
f New Orleans thanks to you and Seven Sinners.” He shakes my hand with respect, and I remember what Mount told me.

  Don’t, for a single second, put yourself in a category beneath anyone here.

  I guess this is where I employ the fake it till you make it approach.

  “Mr. Sullivan, it’s an honor. This is—” I turn to introduce Mount, but the CEO of Sullivan Distillery beats me to it.

  “A man who needs no introduction.” Deegan Sullivan holds out a hand to Mount, and the man beside me shakes it. “It’s been a while, Mount. I’m assuming you got my case of whiskey as a thank-you?”

  Mount nods, and my gaze darts between the two men like they’re playing table tennis.

  Mount knows Deegan Sullivan? Why am I even surprised?

  “I did.”

  Deegan looks down at Mount’s T-shirt. “But it seems your whiskey tastes have changed. I’m not sure you’ll be impressed by what we have to offer at our tasting today.”

  Mount holds both hands palms up at his sides with a twitch of a grin. “I’m NOLA born and bred. It isn’t a stretch to figure where my loyalties lie. Either way, this visit isn’t about me. Ms. Kilgore is ready for her tour, so I hope you’re on your game, Deegan.”

  “Of course. It’s Keira, right? I insist we dispense with the formalities.”

  “Yes, Keira. And that’s fine. I have to admit I’ve been following your progress for a few years.”

  “And I yours. Making whiskey in the Irish tradition in New Orleans is certainly a way to catch people’s attention.”

  “Some people’s, I suppose.”

  “Would you like to see the distillery? We don’t have any other tours for several hours, so we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

  “Absolutely,” I reply as excitement bubbles up inside me.

  “Since you’re already a bit of an expert, I’ll spare you the full lecture and we’ll head right for the good stuff.”

  When Deegan pushes open a large door, the heat from the stills instantly hits me in the face, reminding me of Seven Sinners. We climb a flight of stairs to a metal catwalk that gives us a view of the whole operation in a single room. At Seven Sinners, due to the age of the distillery building, ours isn’t so well organized.