by Desiree Holt
“Don’t you worry,” she assured him. “I’ve got enough sense to be careful. Really.”
“I guess you’re right,” he agreed. “You haven’t given a nod to any of the regulars who come in here who’ve already fallen in love with you.”
“Maybe I’m on a date diet,” she told him. “Anyway, I’d better go see what the man wants. He’s been sitting here all night, and I think he’s waiting for anther beer.”
When she walked over to him, Mr. Motorcycle smiled at her, a smile so devastating it actually made her nipples harden and the pulse in her sex suddenly come to life so forcefully she was afraid her whole body would shake. Holy shit! She had never, ever met a man who affected her like this. Who turned her on so thoroughly with just a smile that she’d have no hesitation doing a strip show behind the bar.
Get your act together, girl.
“One more of those?” She indicated the empty beer bottle.
He picked up the bottle, looked at it, and put it back down. “Actually, is there a chance of getting a cup of coffee here?”
“Sure.” She flashed him a smile. “We don’t want you falling off your motorcycle when you leave here.” Then her face heated. He hadn’t mentioned his mode of transportation. “I’m sorry if I assumed wrong, but—”
He chuckled. “It’s okay. And you aren’t wrong. It’s me and my bike.”
“Just a second.” She grabbed his empty bottle. “I-I’ll get you a mug.”
Stammering, Mary? Really?
She bumped into Tris in the kitchen when she went to get the coffee.
“For your admirer?” he asked. “At least he’s got good sense.”
Yes, but do I? I have no idea who he is, where he came from, or what he’s doing here, but I want to strip off my clothes and have him bend me over his bike. Nice, Mary.
“Here you go.” She set the coffee down in front of him. “Creamer? Sugar?”
He shook his head. “No. I like it straight from the pot.”
“Are you just passing through?” There, she’d asked him. “Because we’ve never seen you in here before.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Is that a requirement? Because everyone came here for the first time once, right?”
“Just curious.” She picked up the bar rag and began scrubbing the surface next to him. Why could she chat so easily with everyone else who came in here, even the old guys who liked to pinch her ass once in a while, but, with Mr. Motorcycle, she was suddenly tongue-tied.
“Well, you’re right.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I’m just passing through, sort of. I did a search for Irish pubs and restaurants and this one came up first.”
“So you’re Irish?”
“My mother was. Abigail Fitzgerald. Black Irish, as they say. Black hair and green eyes. Much like yours, Mary. My father said he took one look at her and he was lost.”
“Wow!” She bit her tongue to keep from saying how romantic that was. “So would I be rude if I asked what your name is?”
“I think I’d be rude if I didn’t tell you.” He winked. “Marcus Fitzgerald Tyree. The last name comes from Tyr, the Scottish god of battle.”
”And are you out on the road doing battle, Marcus Fitzgerald Tyree?”
He shook his head. “Not in the least. While I’m trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life, I decided to take a trip along the East Coast. Baltimore seemed like a good place to stop.”
“Do you have a place to stay?”
For god’s sake, Mary, shut the hell up. What business is it of yours?
“You looking out for my welfare, Mary?”
“No, I, uh, just, um—”
Tongue-tied much, you idiot?
In her whole life, she’d never stammered. Was this guy casting some kind of spell on her?
“Well, no big deal. I’ll set your mind at ease. I’ve found a nice, inexpensive motel, clean, that can handle both me and my bike.”
“So you really do ride a motorcycle?”
Oh, for god’s sake. I sound like one of the groupies who hang around photo shoots. I think my brain must be fried.
He nodded. “If you tell me your last name, I might even show it to you.”
“McCoy.” It fell out of her mouth before she could shut up.
“Aha! Irish is as Irish does.” He drained his mug. “Come on. I’ll show it to you. Then I’ve got to take off.”
Was it not one of the stupidest things she’d ever done, to walk out of the bar with this man? He could snatch her onto his bike, ride off with her, and rape her in some deserted place.
Oh, yes. Her overactive imagination was working full-time.
“Yes. Um, that would be nice.” She walked the length of the bar to the open end, catching Tristan’s frown and Pat’s serious look as she passed them.
“It’s not time to clock out, Mary,” Tris said. He never ever said anything like that. Of course, she was always here until the bar was shut up tight.
“I’ll be right back in,” she promised as she followed Marcus out the door.
“I think they don’t trust me too much,” Marcus joked.
“What do you mean?”
He jerked his thumb, and she looked to see Tris standing by the window, staring out at her. Pat had swiveled around on his stool and was watching the door.
“They just like to look after me,” she assured him. “When you work here, you become part of the Collins family.”
“Well, then. Let’s have a look here. Then you can head back inside, and I can take off before they hang me from the nearest tree.”
But he was grinning when he said it.
He led her down a few parking spaces against the curb, and when she saw it she almost passed out. For a moment, she thought she might be hallucinating, she’d dreamed of this thing for so long. There it sat, a beast of a bike, the Yamaha VMax, its ebony paint gleaming beneath the streetlight. Without even thinking, she ran her hand reverently along the surface, sure she could feel the power of it surging through the metal.
“I’d never have taken you for a bike enthusiast.” His voice was dark and husky and hot.
“Oh, well, I’m not really. But, um, I saw an ad for these, and it kind of intrigued me.”
And I’d better learn to lie better and stop stumbling over my words.
“Maybe when your palace guard trusts me more, I can take you for a ride on it.”
Be still my heart! Can we ride naked?
She gave herself a mental smack. “That would be nice. I take it you’re planning to stay around for a while? Come back to the pub?”
He nodded. “Yes, to both. I just got to Baltimore, but it looks like there is a lot to do.” He looked at her, heat in his eyes burning a hole in her. “So. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
He released the kickstand, climbed on the mammoth bike, and turned on the ignition. She couldn’t help admiring his ass, what she could see of it when he sat down before his jacket flared to cover it. And his muscular thighs in the soft jeans that were like a second skin. She could just imagine them—
Ohmigod! Stop! This is so not me.
He turned the bike around so he was facing her, pulled up beside her, and gave her one of those panty-melting grins.
“Sleep tight, Mary McCoy.”
Then he was off, roaring down the street while she stood there and watched.
“You planning to clear the bar from out there?” Tris’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“What? Oh. No, I’m coming in.” She brushed past him. “He said he’d be back again.”
“You just watch yourself,” Tris warned. “We don’t know a damn thing about him.”
“I might sit and chat with him a bit,” Pat told her. “I like to get to know the customers.”
Mary laughed and went to give him a hug. Their concern for her touched her, and again she blessed whatever gods had sent her here that day.
“You old faker. You’re as bad as Tris. And you know what? I love you for it. I
promise to be careful, but you guys go ahead and vet him. Might be interesting to watch.”
She was still smiling as she went about the business of closing down the bar area for the night while Tris cashed out the register. And the smile stayed on her face as she drove home to her duplex. Things might be looking up even more in Baltimore. She could hardly wait to call Karen.
Chapter Four
Marcus lay back on the bed in his motel room, legs stretched out, pillows propped behind him while he talked on his cell.
“We’ve had eyes on Mitchell’s computer store, hoping to spot him somehow giving the information to a customer,” Grey was telling him. “Brad’s guy rented an office over the store across the street and sits there with a telescope, watching each transaction. He takes pictures of every customer and every license plate he can see, and Brad checks them out, but he’s got nada. Brad’s about to pull him out.”
“This guy may look like a nebbish,” Marcus told him, “but he’s not stupid.”
“No, he’s not. A good reason the gang members stay far away from the store. And that includes their wives, girlfriends, relatives, and anyone else close to them. He doesn’t want any visible connection.” He paused. “Which is why we need to find out if the barmaid is bringing info from her landlord and passing it along to one of the customers.”
“Bartender,” Marcus corrected. “Not a barmaid.”
“Whatever. Any progress?”
“I’m getting there,” he told Grey. “Sort of.”
“What does sort of mean?” Grey demanded. “This is getting urgent, Marcus. We got the word that another shipment of arms came and was delivered. We’re going to have World War Three if we can’t stop this. The gangs and the cartel are both armed to the teeth, and, supposedly, the next batch is coming in shortly. We know they’ll sell the goods for beaucoup bucks, damn it. Did you get a hint of anything or not?”
“Not yet, and believe me, I’m keeping my eye on her. Both eyes, actually.”
In fact, he could hardly keep from staring at her.
He shifted slightly on the bed and tucked a pillow beneath his left knee. It hardly bothered him anymore. Of course, Afghanistan was four years in the past, and he’d done every bit of rehab and then some. It might have kicked him out of Delta Force, but it wasn’t going to keep him off his motorcycle.
“I hear ya,” Grey said, “but we need to be able to stop this, like, yesterday. This guy is very clever about mixing up his shipments. Every time we think, bingo, we’ve got him, and we get a warrant, we open the shipping containers and there’s nothing but damn computer equipment in there. We need something concrete.”
“How long did you say they’ve been doing this?” Marcus snorted.
“We don’t have a definite on that,” Grey told him, “but we do know the activity has ramped up in the past eighteen months. That bar is our only connection right now.”
“Pub,” Marcus corrected him.
“Pub. Whatever. Get busy with that barmaid.”
“Bartender.” He ground his teeth. He knew there was a lot of pressure for this, but some things just could not be hurried. “She’s got her own bodyguard retinue there, the family that owns the place, and they keep giving me the stink eye.”
“Use your charm and your skills.”
“That’s about what I’m doing tonight. The patriarch sits at the bar every night, holding court. Tonight,+ I’m going to grab the stool next to him and see if I can score some points.”
“What about the other patrons? Anyone catch your eye?”
“No.” Marcus shook his head, even though Grey couldn’t see him. “I swear to god, Grey, if any of those patrons are passing messages or receiving them, I can’t figure out who or how. I’ve been watching very carefully, especially the guys who sit at the bar. So far, she’s not passing anything to anyone, and they aren’t passing things to each other.”
“Time’s running out,” Grey reminded him.
“I’m well aware of that. Tonight, I’m ramping things up a little. Moving them forward, so I’ll see what happens.”
“Report in tomorrow. Brad’s all over my ass.”
“He is an ass,” Marcus told him.
“He’s got his men there on speed dial. He says if you nail someone there, call right away and they’ll come scoop them up. You’ve got the number, right?”
“I’ve got it. And I’ll give you a report in the morning.”
He lay there on his bed after disconnecting the call, working things through in his mind. He thought he’d made good progress in just one week. He varied the times he showed up at the pub, as well as the length of time he stayed each night. One night, he hadn’t gone at all, although he’d had to restrain himself. Part of his problem was the fact that sweet Mary McCoy was growing on him. He really liked her, as a person as well as a female.
No, more than that. He lusted after her. It was a good thing he was always sitting down when he talked to her because it seemed his cock misbehaved the moment he saw her. Within seconds of taking his seat at the bar and greeting her, his dick became stiffer than a poker and tried to push its way out of his jeans. And his balls? Don’t even ask. He didn’t think they’d ever stop aching. Twice he’d had to concentrate when he headed for the men’s room so he didn’t walk funny.
In this short time, she’d even begun invading his dreams, a pleasant change from the usual nightmares. Sometimes, he dreamed they were on a beach, just the two of them. They were both naked and he could look his fill. Could put his mouth on her swollen nipples and suck and nip. Run his hands over her body, feeling the curve of her ass and sliding his fingers into the crevice there, touching that tight little opening. Pressing the tip of one finger into it.
Would she welcome the intrusion? Would her cream drip from her pussy in her excitement? Would she let him pull her forward so her sweet little cunt was right at his mouth so he could lap up all her cream and nibble at her clit?
Sweet Baby Jesus!
His jeans were suddenly too tight, constricting him, and his balls ached with a feeling too long absent. He didn’t want to believe she could have anything to do with illegal guns, but people had been fooled before. He had to make sure it wasn’t his dick leading him around.
At least they were getting to know each other, so he was making progress there. One of his skills was assessing people and understanding the complex layers that made them up. It was that skill that had prompted Grey to ask him to take this assignment, and he was focusing everything on getting to know her and getting her to feel comfortable with him. He always tried to get the stool at the end of the bar. It not only gave him the best view of what was going on but allowed him to create the opportunity for her to chat with him whenever she could.
When the bar was quiet, she gravitated toward where he sat, and they talked about this and that. And, he reminded himself, watching how she operated behind the bar and how she served, he’d catch it if she tried to slip a note to any of the customers. He’d done this before, but usually he had been able to look objectively at the players. He couldn’t seem to make himself objective where Mary McCoy was concerned.
What the fuck, anyway?
Tonight, he was moving into the next stage of the operation…getting her out of the bar and alone with him. He knew just how to do casual conversation with a woman to dig for details. The first thing he planned to do was try to get a seat next to Pat Collins—Pat the Patriarch, he’d taken to calling him—and hopefully rub away some of the man’s misgivings about him. When he took Mary out, he didn’t want them giving her grief and throwing a monkey wrench into the situation.
Of course, he wanted a lot more than conversation with Mary McCoy. He hoped he could keep his hands to himself long enough to get through an evening with her.
You’re a disciplined soldier, asshole. A former member of Delta Force. Keep it in your pants and use your head.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. He had a feeling that was going to be way easier said than done.
/>
Sighing, he heaved himself off the bed and headed for the shower. He wanted to be extra presentable tonight when he moved into Phase Two.
*****
Mary couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the door to the pub every few minutes. She felt like a teenager waiting for the football star to notice her in class. What was the matter with her? She still knew almost nothing about Marcus Fitzgerald Tyree except that the sight of him made her nipples stiffen and moisture soak her panties. She’d gotten in the habit of walking him out the door each night, even with Pat and Tristan giving Marcus the stink eye. The sight of that big, masculine motorcycle ratcheted up the pulse in her sex and made her even wetter if possible.
What was the matter with her? She’d always been a very disciplined person, even in her sex life. She was careful in her selection of dates and her choice of partners. She never, ever let anyone stay the night, much to the grumbling and, in some cases, nastiness of her bed partners. She’d been told more than once she was too uptight and didn’t know how to let go.
Maybe that was why she’d ended up with incessant headaches and the threat of ulcers. Well, she certainly wasn’t uptight now, singing along with The Two of Us on the weekends and flirting with a motorcycle hunk she’d known for such a short time. Totally unlike her.
“Your eyeballs are going to fall out of your head and roll out into the street,” Paddy teased as he reached beneath the bar for a customer’s beer. It was slow tonight, so only Paddy and the waitress were working. Tris was taking advantage of the chance to spend time with Lane, the wife he obviously adored no matter how many years they’d been married. Mary noticed that about all the Collins family—when they loved it was for life, and, each year, that love only grew stronger. She wondered if she’d ever find that.
“Hello?” Paddy nudged her with his elbow. “Are you alive?”
“What?” She glared at him. “Of course I am. Did you want something?”