Defiant Queen

by Meghan March

  Your stylists arrive at five.

  There’s no signature, but I recognize the bold scrawl.

  The last part confuses me. Stylists?

  Then I remember the last evening of the conference is tonight—the gala and the award ceremony for the whiskey-and-spirit-tasting contest that’s been going on all week. I haven’t thought much about it since Seven Sinners didn’t enter because I wasn’t planning to come.

  The way I feel right now, I’m not sure I’ll feel human by then, but I stand and find my balance. I can hear his authoritative tone ordering me to comply with the rest of his instructions, and even though it’s second nature to rebel, I don’t intend to.

  My stomach has other plans, however, and I bolt for the bathroom.

  Ugh.

  After I finish heaving up my guts, I rinse my mouth, brush my teeth, and drink some water so I can take the ibuprofen on the nightstand. Coffee is too much for me right now. When my stomach stops flopping, I head for the shower.

  Food can come later, because it sounds like a horrible plan right now.

  After spending what feels like a year under the hot spray, I force myself to turn off the water and step out.

  “Here.”

  I screech as Lachlan holds out a fluffy white bath sheet.

  Lachlan? When the hell did he become Lachlan?

  I grab the towel and wrap it around my body, feeling more naked than ever before, regardless of the fact that he’s already seen everything I have to offer.

  “Did you order food?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Good. I called down for room service.”

  Still reeling from the massive shift in my head, I don’t ask what he ordered. “What happened last night?”

  I expect to see an arrogant grin cross his face, or perhaps a forbidding scowl, but he remains expressionless.

  “You had a little more to drink than either of us realized.”

  I tug the towel tighter, tucking the tail between my breasts before meeting his gaze. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  “Does it matter if you don’t remember?”

  I pinch my lips together, wanting to demand details, but I already know he won’t give them to me. “I think you’re more stubborn than I am, you know?”

  That gets a reaction out of him. A single quirk of one corner of his mouth. “By a slim margin.”

  “You’re not going to tell me anything?”

  A knock sounds on the outer door of the suite and he turns, ignoring my question.

  “I’ll get the door. You’re going to eat.”

  Mount

  For the last two hours, I’ve been booted from our room while the stylists I hired to do Keira’s hair and makeup work their magic. I saw to it that she ate, slept some more, and was ready and appeared relatively human when they arrived.

  I’m in the hotel bar when I get a call from J on my secure line.

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  “What?” I reach for my wallet, tossing some cash on the bar before making my way to one of the soundproof booths available for calls.

  “Cartel is asking around about the disappearance of their lieutenant.”

  “You’ve gotta be shitting me.” I locate a free booth close to the door behind me.

  “No, and they’re getting insistent about it.”

  I think back to that night and the several witnesses in the room. The crooked city councilman, the hypocritical megachurch preacher skimming from the donations, and the oil baron with an ego bigger than mine.

  All of whom I have information on, and all of whom would love for the cartel to take me out in hopes that their secrets would die with me.

  “Everyone knows the consequences if they talk. Feel free to send reminders on my behalf.”

  J knows that by reminders, I mean a team of enforcers.

  “I think the preacher is the weak link. He’s a pussy,” J says.

  “No. He’s the least of our worries. He doesn’t want to give up his Gulfstream or his mistress. We’ve got the least amount of leverage on the oilman. Watch him. If the cartel goes to question him, make sure he’s temporarily unavailable.”

  “How temporarily?”

  “Let him know that it’d be in his best interest to take his family on an extended vacation to their villa in Italy.”

  “And if he balks?”

  “Just fucking do it, J. You want to prove you can handle more? Handle this shit.”

  J’s tone changes. “It’s under control. Enjoy the rest of your vacation.”

  “You run into problems, call me. No surprises.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  I hang up, annoyed that this escape of a vacation has been interrupted by cartel bullshit.

  J knows as well as I do that the cartel will never find the body, and without a body, they can’t prove it was me. And without proof, they wouldn’t dare make a move.

  But the witnesses. They could be a problem.

  They won’t be.

  I’ve waded through deeper shit than this and come out clean, and I expect this won’t be any different.

  I push open the door of the booth and check the time on my phone. The gala should already be under way, and there’s not a chance in hell I’m letting Keira miss the awards.

  She doesn’t know it, but I made certain that Seven Sinners was entered in multiple categories on a last-minute basis. I have zero control over the judging, but her product speaks for itself.

  I also didn’t tell her because if she doesn’t win, there’s the added bonus of not knowing she was in the running to begin with.

  I’m not sure at what point I decided I needed to protect her from more than just physical threats, but also from what I know would be a crushing disappointment. This week has changed a lot of things.

  I reach the suite and close the door behind me, listening for sounds of the stylists, but all is quiet. “Keira?”

  “One second!” she calls from the vicinity of the bedroom. “I’m almost ready.” She sounds much better than she did when I left.

  I wait in the living room area and contemplate pouring myself another drink as my mind goes over J’s call again, but decide against it.

  Instead, I stare out the window I fucked Keira against days ago. One more thing I wish I could repeat.

  Fuck, I wish I could have this whole week again. But tonight, we go back to reality. The jet will be waiting on the tarmac for us as soon as the gala is finished.

  “So, what do you think?”

  I turn toward her voice as she steps into the bedroom doorway, and freeze.

  Her dress, a brilliant green that matches her eyes, hugs every curve and yet conceals enough to be the epitome of class. Her hair is in some elaborate style with strands falling around her face.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Is that a good Jesus Christ or a bad one?” she asks, stepping into the living room. The slit up one side of the dress flashes a toned leg and fuck-me shoes.

  “That’s a ‘Jesus Christ, I hope you’re not still hungover, because I don’t know if I want to let you leave this room tonight.’”

  Her lips curve into a smile. “Actually, I feel fine now. Must be the Irish in me.” She gives me a once-over, her gaze stopping on my crotch. “You always look good in a suit, but you seem to have a minor problem.”

  “Don’t ever refer to my dick as minor.”

  She laughs, and the sound reminds me of how freely she let it loose last night.

  Fuck. I have to stop thinking about it.

  She crosses the room, flashing a glimpse of leg with every step, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

  Keira

  Bits and pieces of my memory returned as Brigid and Briana did my hair, makeup, and nails.

  They chattered away in the most adorable accents ever, asking what I’ve seen and done in Dublin. I had to fight to recall even those bits and pieces.

  “I’m pretty sure we danced in a pub?” It came out as a question b
ecause even though the hazy recollection was there, it was hard to picture Mount, who I apparently called Lachlan, doing such a thing.

  “Sounds like the craic was mighty,” one of them said. I’d gotten their names mixed up as soon as they walked in the door.

  “Crack? I don’t do that. Crack is whack.”

  Both the girls laughed at me. “Not crack. The craic. The fun. A good time. You need to work on your Irish. You’re definitely American, even though you blend in here lookin’ like you do.”

  As they continued teaching me Irishisms, my mind went elsewhere. Back to last night where I felt like I was trying to fit together a thousand-piece puzzle with no box to guide me.

  Now, as I walk toward Lachlan in our suite, something has shifted. I feel that in my bones, and it terrifies me.

  Then I remember what I said.

  “Dance with me, Lachlan. Dance with me in Dublin.”

  And he did. I remember the feel of his body pressed against mine as we swayed to the slow songs, and the grip of his hands around my waist when he lifted me into the air like I weighed nothing.

  The man I’ve thought was a monster has given me the best week of my life, and from what I recall, the best night of my life, and I have absolutely no idea how to handle that information.

  This was only ever supposed to be sex. Repayment on a debt owed. But it has spiraled out of control, and now I’m terrified it’s becoming something else entirely—which is impossible.

  I know I have to shift the focus back to where it started. Sex. I need to wipe away my incomplete memories of last night because they’re too good to be true.

  The man who danced with me in a bar in a city I’ve wanted to see my entire life can never give me the happily-ever-after I thought I was getting once before. And not because he’s a con like Brett was, but because he’s Lachlan Mount.

  I need to remind myself that I’m nothing but a possession to him, and we can never be anything more.

  I stop a foot away from Lachlan. No, Mount, I remind myself. I reach out with a new boldness and grab a handful of cock.

  He sucks in the barest of breaths, no doubt shocked by my action.

  See? I can do this. Whatever happened last night will be forgotten, and we’ll be right back where we belong.

  “No, it’s definitely not minor.” I lick my lips, devoid of lipstick because I told Brigid and Briana that I’d take care of that myself in case we were going to eat first.

  “That’s not exactly helping the problem either.” His voice is rough and deep, like it takes everything he has to keep himself in check.

  “You want to go downstairs like this?” I lift my gaze to his for a beat before dropping it again. His gaze is too intense for me. “If you walk into the ballroom like this, I can guarantee none of those wives will be able to look away.”

  He tilts my chin up, careful in his movements but still forcing my attention to his face. “Would that bother you?”

  A blast of possessiveness blows through me as though I stepped in front of a raging fire. “Maybe,” I say with a shrug.

  “Then by all means, take care of it.”

  His words are a dare, one he thinks I won’t take. But after last night, I don’t have a clue what I want anymore, except to destroy any of the fairy tales I let myself believe, even if they were only for a moment.

  I sweep my dress to the side and lower myself to my knees before him, then shoot a pointed look up at him. “Don’t you dare mess up my hair.”

  His palms flex as though dying to do it anyway, but he forces them to grip the edge of the bar behind him.

  I work his button and zipper free and finally wrap my hand around the hot thickness of his cock. This time, I feel powerful.

  “What about your makeup?” he asks, his tone strangled.

  “As long as you don’t come on my face, we’ll be fine.”

  When he doesn’t answer, I lower my lips close enough to dart out my tongue and lick a bead of pre-cum from the head.

  He groans, and I pull back.

  “Deal?”

  “Yes. Sweet fucking Christ, woman. Are you trying to make me beg?”

  “It would be a nice change.”

  He growls down at me. “Go ahead and try.”

  Keira

  “Fuck.”

  The satisfaction I get when he throws his head back and curses as I cup his balls in one hand and take his shaft deeper is probably unhealthy, but I don’t care. As soon as he tossed down the challenge, I was on a mission.

  The power struggle I understand is back, except this time, I have the advantage.

  I drop my head to suck one ball into my mouth and then the other, and his groan fills the suite. I keep waiting for him to break my rule and destroy my hairstyle, which would give us both a reason not to leave the room, but he doesn’t.

  He’s respecting my request, and that adds another layer to the power trip I’m already on.

  I work his shaft, alternating my hand and mouth but never letting go of his balls, and glance up from beneath my eyelashes. His dark gaze spears me, and the raw need and desire in it has me ready to throw my advantage out the window. Hearing him beg pales in comparison to the thought of him yanking me to my feet, spinning me around, and burying his cock inside me.

  What that says about me, I don’t know or care at this moment.

  “Are you going to swallow it all when I come down your throat?” he asks, and I shake my head. His brow furrows with confusion, and I let the head of his cock slide from my mouth with a pop. “What the hell game are you playing here?”

  Slowly, I rise to my feet. “No game. Not this time.”

  Mount’s eyes go molten. “You want to be fucked, don’t you?”

  I nod.

  “Thank God.”

  He doesn’t follow the story line I plotted out in my head, but when has he ever? Instead, he drags me toward the sofa, then pulls my dress up and out of the way as he bends me over the back. His breath catches when he sees I’m not wearing any panties.

  “Naughty fucking girl. When we walk into that gala tonight, you’re still going to feel me pounding inside you. Is that what you want?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Louder.”

  “Yes, goddammit!”

  “Then you better hold on, because I’m done holding back.”

  Mount is one hundred percent true to his word. An hour later, after I’ve repaired my makeup and fixed a few falling tendrils, I can still feel him as the ache pulses between my legs.

  I’m still unsteady as we enter the gala. Hell, I’m still unsteady after my first drink. It’s the Mount Effect, I decide.

  Everyone’s attention turns to the stage twenty minutes later when the emcee starts announcing winners of the competition. As I smile and clap, I wish more than ever I’d known I was coming because Seven Sinners is just as good, if not better, than those taking home awards tonight.

  I open my mouth to tell Mount I need another drink, but the emcee hits the Tasters’ Choice category for American whiskey, and I pause because this is the one I know we could have won.

  “And the award goes to . . .” He opens the envelope dramatically before continuing. “Seven Sinners Distillery, the Spirit of New Orleans.”

  I look from side to side, wondering if anyone else heard what he said or if I’m still passed out drunk and hallucinating. How is this possible?

  Mount’s hand shifts from the small of my back, slipping around to pull me against his side. I look up at him, shock and confusion ripping through me.

  “Did you do this? Set us up to win?”

  He shakes his head. “All I did is make sure they took it as a late entry. Seven Sinners won this all on its own.”

  “Oh my God.” Elation, brilliant and dazzling, fills me.

  He jerks his chin toward the stage. “I believe it’s time to accept your award.”

  With his hand on my back, we make our way through the crowd, but I climb the stairs to the podium by myself
. My hands tremble as I accept the crystal-bottle statue and shake the emcee’s hand.

  “Thank you, sir.” From my position on the stage, I scan the crowd, looking for only one face. And it’s not one of my competitors.

  It’s his.

  When I find it, another wave of exhilaration washes over me. He’s smiling, and it’s one I feel like I’ve only ever before seen in my garbled recollections of last night.

  It’s just as brilliant as I thought it would be.

  The emcee gives me a nod. “It’s our pleasure, Ms. Kilgore.”

  I swallow the emotions threatening to burst free of my chest and make my way back down the stairs. Mount is waiting at the bottom with a surprising expression on his face.

  Pride.

  “Congratulations, Madam President.”

  Mount

  As much as I want to spend the entire trip home initiating Keira into the mile-high club, I have to deal with business, and she busies herself doing the same. We work in silence for most of the flight, breaking our respective concentration to eat only once.

  In my organization, I expect everyone to work hard, but even then, I rarely see someone with the same work ethic as I have.

  But in front of me right now, and all this week, I’ve seen it in Keira.

  I was a fool thinking I could take her, fuck her, and keep her in a little box on a shelf like any other toy.

  But what the hell am I going to do with her now? Last night was an anomaly. When we get back to New Orleans, things have to return to the way they were. There are no other options.

  Are you fucking kidding me? the voice in my head challenges. You’re Lachlan Mount. You have the gold. You make the rules. That means you can have whatever the fuck you want.

  And what I want, more than anything, is to hear Keira call me by my first name again.

  But this time . . . sober.

  Keira

  I’m not looking at him.

  I’m not looking at him.

  I. Am. Not. Looking. At. Him.