Player: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (A Deadliest Lies Novel Book 4)

by Michele Mannon

  Come to think of it, neither did that poncho.

  He drags two fingers across his abs, then ever so slowly dips his fingertips southward beneath the waist of his jeans.

  My throat goes dry.

  He makes a noise and my gaze snaps upward.

  “I’ll strip down to me birthday suit if it’ll keep you quiet.”

  Busted.

  His broad grin confirms it.

  “Parade around naked with a body like yours and I might forget how to speak,” I answer, feeling myself blush as I do so. What I’m not likely to forget are his kisses. Why did he have to suck so bad as a lover?

  My words surprise him. Embarrassing as it may be, I’m not one to play shy or react with anything but honesty.

  And I can tell he likes it, likes being flattered. I wonder how long it’s been since he was in a relationship. Whoever she was, she had the makings of a rock star in bed yet failed miserably at teaching him to sing.

  “You take the piss outta me, storeen,” he grinds out, “and you’ll discover I’m more man than you can handle.”

  I burst into laughter.

  “Feck’s sake,” he curses before he walks away.

  I hurry after him, still laughing. When it finally fades away, he grumbles, “You done?”

  “For now.”

  Yeah, he’s not the only one playing this game between us. Going forward, I’m considering laughing at him every time he dodges my questions.

  Finn charges off, but I keep a steady pace behind him. We enter a populated area then continue across town, ending up at a small inn at the top of a hill. Finn disappears inside before I can catch up. By the time I enter, he has the room key in hand.

  One key.

  One room.

  I can’t say I’m surprised. Finn loves a challenge, for sure. My laughing at him must feel like I tossed down the gauntlet. But seriously, hot bodied or not, do I want a repeat performance of that night?

  Forcing my thoughts away from his muscular body, I make a mental list of questions for him as I follow him to the room, namely: Who is the buyer? Is he certain he won’t leave town? How exactly does he plan on catching his attention?

  The room is small. The full-size bed, covered in a bright, floral-pattered quilt is small. The table by the window, covered in the same fabric as the quilt, is small. The fake flowers scattered throughout the room are bountiful, as is the thick, heavily fragranced, floral bouquet air-freshener in the air.

  Finn curses as he opens the window.

  “Jaysus. I imagined a thousand different deaths. Never thought flowers were what would do me in.”

  “Death by daisies.”

  He chuckles.

  “I ordered a proper supper be brought up. Ladies first in the shower, though be quick about it.”

  “Such a gentleman,” I comment, heading into the attached bathroom. I’ll rinse my underwear out in the sink and hang them to dry. But I’ll have to rewear the T-shirt and light khaki pants I have on. Tomorrow, I’ll see about buying new clothes.

  Thirty minutes later, I let Finn have a turn in the bathroom. While he showers, I comb out my hair and then do a slow inventory of everything in my knapsack. Mascara. Lip gloss. Gum. Cell phone. Gun. A wallet with two credit cards and a few hundred American dollar bills. Passport. Notepad and matching pen.

  One condom.

  I blink, then stare at it like the foil has an imprint of a happy face.

  A sharp knock on the door interrupts me. I curl the condom into my hand before answering it. An older woman carrying a large tray pushes her way inside and over to the table. “The things yer fella wanted are on the tray.”

  “Um . . . thanks.”

  “You from the States?” she asks.

  My stomach growls, but I ignore it. “Maine.”

  “That near Arizona?”

  I shake my head.

  “I’ve got a cousin in Arizona,” she begins, then continues on and on, proving that the Irish do indeed have the gift of gab. I politely listen to her story about a cousin who isn’t fond of the sun yet has moved to the sunniest place on the planet. At one point, the innkeeper waves me into the hallway to show me a picture of her extended family, a picture taken in Arizona but one that doesn’t include the cousin in question because the day the picture was taken, she’d “had too much sun and was suffering sunstroke.”

  My stomach growls, loud and merciful.

  She notices. “Go. Yer food’s getting cold.” I’m waved inside. “Holler if you want two more Blacks.”

  With a polite nod, I step back inside the room. If Finn wants another pint, he’ll need to fetch it for himself, though I’ll innocently ask him if he could ask the innkeeper for some suntan lotion. I wouldn’t want my fair skin to get sunburned or miss a chance at sweet revenge.

  Smiling, I close the door, turn, then jump.

  “For a big guy, you move like a—” My mouth drops open and I forget what I’m saying. I mean, the sight of him . . . Oh. My. God.

  The beard is gone.

  And Finn McDuff is gorgeous.

  Absolutely, positively gorgeous, in a ruggedly male kind of way. Long, rich, auburn-colored hair. High cheekbones. Firm jawline. Why didn’t I notice the slight bend of his nose? The strong chin? Everything else about him is pure, rugged alpha male.

  The two black eyes only enhance his raw masculinity.

  He’s shirtless. His skin is damp and a light shade of pink. His broad chest is firm and without an ounce of fat on it, muscles taut and well-defined like those of a male sports model. He’s pulled on jeans yet neglected to button them. The material hangs low on his hips, tauntingly so.

  One quick tug . . .

  I swallow hard.

  “Foods getting cold,” he murmurs without a glance my way and completely unaware of the spike in room temperature. I’m flushed, my cheeks hotter than the innkeeper’s cousin’s toasted skin.

  Not seeming to care how water drips off his body like light rain off marble, Finn folds himself into the wooden chair, places a linen napkin on his lap, and plucks the white lid off the ivory pot. “Brilliant. Lamb stew.”

  I flex my fingers, redirecting awareness away from my center. Forgetting about the foil package, the condom slips free and falls to the floor.

  I quickly step on it, hiding it from sight. It was one thing tossing a condom at someone who looked like Tormund Giantsbane in The Game of Thrones, But I don’t know how to react to this sexier version of Finn.

  For someone always quick on the uptake, he’s mercifully too preoccupied with the food to notice the eye-gasm I’m having across the room.

  “I’m bleedin’ famished. Let’s eat supper.”

  Swallowing hard, I do as I’m told. But not before giving the condom a good, solid back-kick and sending it flying under the bed while he’s occupied serving me a heaping bowl of stew.

  We don’t talk as we eat. The silence isn’t awkward and my momentary freak-out over his appearance has faded. This feels comfortable. Normal, like we know each other. I’m reminded of how we taunted each other over Assassin’s Creed, how quickly we bonded over a silly video game.

  Except something has changed.

  I’m no longer simply curious about him.

  I’m attracted to him.

  What would sex be like a second time around?

  I could teach him.

  Yeah, I wouldn’t mind showing him how to please a woman.

  I cough, choking on my lamb stew.

  “Too spicy for you?” he asks, his lips curling up into a devastating smile.

  I nod, swallowing hard. “Spicier than expected.”

  He takes a sip of Guinness then tosses his cloth napkin on the table. Leaning back in his chair, he folds his arms across his chest then chuckles.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  With everything that’s been said and done between us, I should have known not to ask. I should have kept quiet.

  “You can forget a career in futbol.”


  “Soccer?” I smile back. “What makes you say that? I could be the next Mia Hamm.”

  “Bad form, you’ve got,” he informs me, “as seen in the way you kicked that condom underneath the bed.”

  I’ve. Been. Played.

  He knows. He understands exactly the effect he has on me. This entire dinner, he allowed me to believe he hadn’t noticed.

  Finn winks for good measure.

  And I die a slow, mortifying death in the seat across from him.

  11

  Finn

  “Here’s an expression for you. Actions speak louder than words.”

  I’ve got to admit, Clarissa’s quick with a comeback. I like that about her. Feck, there’s little I don’t like. She bites her lip then scrunches her nose, making a funny expression. No fake batting of the eyelashes. No pretense. No games. Real and genuine, even in her lusting after me.

  God, when was the last time I was just myself?

  “Don’t get the wrong idea. I pulled that condom out of my knapsack just before the innkeeper knocked.”

  “You want me, admit it.”

  She makes the same funny face, one expressed with such distaste it would cause a lesser man’s insides to shrivel and die. “Our hooking up,” she goes in for the kill, “was the most awkward experience I’ve ever had. Us doing so again? That falls under the category of pass.”

  Hard pass.

  Jaysus, she’s not one to mince words.

  You’ve been rejected, bucko.

  A man who beats the ladies off with a stick. A scrapper who grew up on a nightly diet of blood, fists, and sex. A bloke who could curl his finger at any woman or flash her a lazy grin and she’d be in my lap in five seconds flat.

  Rejected.

  I don’t know whether to be disgruntled or amused. It’s Mexico City that did me in. Chasing after Fahder. Hanging out with Los Lobos. Waiting around to do me job. When was the last time I knocked the hole off someone? Gone balls deep in a woman? Fucked until I was blind? Releasing a load onto Clarissa’s baby white stomach doesn’t count. That wasn’t sex, that was . . . whatever it was. A role. Me screwing with her mind. Me making things awkward, like I’m fond of doing.

  Now it’s come back to bite me.

  I lean back in my chair and stretch my long legs beneath the table, trying to make sense of my conflicted emotions. The things I could do to her. Lick her pussy until she’s begging for more. I bet she’s a pretty pink, like her cheeks right now. Tie her hands over head and pry her thighs wide open before using one of my leather belts to gently, ever so gently, mark her creamy white skin. I bet she likes things edgy. I bet I can make her crave the hard ride I’m offering.

  But she’s right. A hard feckin’ pass is what’s best. Sex for pure, selfish pleasure will cause unwanted complications. I’ll use her. Present her as my pretty, American cailín. Make the lads feel comfortable—unthreatened if you will—with my sudden appearance in Cork’s most notorious fight club. So when I hand one shyster a bashed head and another his arse, it’ll seem like I’m the best thing to come since Guinness on tap.

  Hayden says O’Brien’s a notorious gambler.

  My job is to convince the mobster I hold a winning hand.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “That came out stronger than I intended.”

  “Ever consider concealing the truth?”

  She shrugs. “You came on my stomach. What’s to hide?”

  I laugh, totally unashamed. And a wee bit relieved she’s come to terms with everything and we can move on.

  “I can stomach a lot of things from people. Liars I detest. Honesty is one of the things I value most from a person.”

  Feckin’ hell. If she only knew.

  “In Syria, things were real, you know?”

  I look at her, catching the raw edge in her tone. Suddenly, curious about her experiences. “You’ve seen your share of death?”

  She flinches. “Yes.”

  “Death, killing aren’t things average folk can relate to.”

  “But you can.”

  “Yeah, I can.” Except I’m dishing out death then disappearing, so I don’t have to deal with the aftermath.

  “So, what made you pursue this career path?” she asks.

  I take a sip of my beer, considering her question. “Honestly? I’m a wee bit of an adrenaline junkie. I like a challenge, am good at playing a role, and feel the most alive when I’m being physical. I’m happiest when my mind is hyper-focused on winning.”

  She claps her hands together. “Yes. You understand completely.”

  Yeah, I suppose I do.

  Grabbing her pint, she raises it high. I do the same. “To living on the edge.”

  “To living on the edge.”

  “To working together to expose this asshole.”

  “To working together to bring this shyster down.”

  She pauses, and her eyes alight with mischief. “To no sex between us,” the minx has to go and add.

  I take another long, satisfying sip of the Black Stuff. There’s something better about Guinness when it’s served from Irish taps. The water, the air, the endless volumes being served. I might be watching my diet but don’t ask me to forsake the drink. Or the opportunity to get a rise out of her. I mull over her words, a challenge if I ever heard one. So, she’s keen on bantering about sex rather than the real deal? Well, bantering I can do. Lowering my voice, I murmur, “No licking yer sweet pussy?”

  She blushes pretty, and I feckin’ revel in it.

  “No riding you six ways to Sunday.”

  Yeah, despite her denials, she wants a ride on the fast train to bliss. Luckily for her, I’ve mastered control of my baser instincts. I’ll fuck her with filthy, dirty word play but what I won’t be doing is touching her.

  As much as I hate doing so, I change the subject. “Good food. Good company. Now it’s time for a good night’s sleep. What do you say?”

  She’s confused, torn between lusting after my words and wanting to strangle me. Keeping her on her toes is a much better idea than keeping her on her back with me balls deep inside her. My focus needs to be on O’Brien, fighting, and doing what the boss says I do. That’s all. I toss my napkin on the table. “Take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “Wait.”

  I stand, beer in hand, but don’t move away.

  “You promised me an explanation. How will we draw the buyer’s attention? How will this help us track the uranium?”

  “We mix and mingle at a local pub.”

  “Mix and mingle? How many nights is that going to take? Things need to happen and happen fast before he moves the uranium.”

  “Or sets up shop locally to sell it to other buyers at an inflated cost.”

  “So, you agree time is an issue?” She gives me that look I’m growing quite fond of. The one that says I’m driving her mad.

  “Ever hear of Irish time?”

  She rolls her eyes. Such attitude.

  “Nothing happens fast in these parts.” I hesitate, then decide to indulge her. “If my boss is correct, and he rarely isn’t, the buyer will show.”

  “And then?”

  “We offer him something that titillates his senses. Something he enjoys yet can invest money in for profit.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Me.”

  Her eyes go wide. “You?”

  I sip my beer.

  “This is the worst idea ever.” She picks up her pint and drinks deeply, before asking, “What in God’s name would he want with you? If he’s interested in someone pissing him off, that I can see. But buddying up to him then becoming his new best friend has failure written all over it. Or are you going to pimp yourself out and become his boy toy?”

  I choke on my beer. If I were so inclined, he’d be my feckin’ boy toy.

  “If so, you should reconsider given your skill set.”

  “My skill set?” I sputter.

  She flashes me a wide grin.

  Christ’
s sake. I’ve half a mind to bend her over the table and give her what for. End the assumption I’ve planted in her head. Ride her hard then send her packing.

  If Hayden catches wind of my involving a civilian, there’ll be hell to pay. The world runs smoother with TORC handling governments’ dirty work. We follow a strict set of rules—Hayden’s rules. My colleague, Kylie Smith, could give you an earful on what happens when those rules get broken.

  But boss did say, “By any means possible.” Involving this attractive, feisty woman into the game will help balance things out.

  “We work together, you forget that night.”

  She nods. “If you stop being vague and start treating me like your partner.”

  “I’m going to do better than that. I’ll be treating you like my chailín.” When I see her confusion, I add, “My mot. My girl.”

  “Your girlfriend.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Ever play good cop, bad cop?” I ask her.

  “Yes.” She quickly comes to her feet. Jaysus, she’s excited. And wouldn’t you know that sparkle in her eyes is making me hard. Then her lips curl up to light up the room. She’s beautiful, in a pure and wholesome way. A person with morals. A woman on a mission to change the world as she sees fit.

  Shame I’m going to disappoint her.

  She laughs, drawing my attention. “I’m always the bad cop.”

  I feel my cock hardening. “I bet you’re a bad one. Naughty. Filthy, even. With a mouth on you worth listening to.”

  A pink flush trails up her neck to her cheeks. She’s sexy. Smart. Observant. A risk-taker. She’s got the skill set that’ll help lock down this buyer.

  But I don’t want to see her killed.

  I’d like her to get her happy ending, though with the lies I’ve been dishing out, it’s unlikely she’ll find one.

  “A toast,” I say, breaking the moment. Focus on the job, you eegit, and stop messing with her head. “May we get what we want. May we get what we need—”

  “I know this one,” she interrupts. She reaches across the table and clinks her pint to mine.

  “But may we never get what we deserve.”