“Well, what’ve you to say?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” she answers, her tone husky and raw, still in la-la land after climaxing hard enough the ground shook.
“Say it, anyway.”
“You’re the best.”
My heart swells with pride and my cock hardens with need.
“But like my mom used to say,” she informs me with a laugh and wiggles up against me. “Being the best isn’t what counts.”
“And what does?” I prompt. Wanting to understand her at a deeper level. Needing to know, for my own selfish motives, what makes her tick.
“Honesty.”
She says it so simply, yet the word feels like she tossed a feckin’ grenade onto the blanket.
I had to ask, didn’t I? What I should have done was tucked myself away and retreated into the yonder green hills. Not ask personal questions. Not get caught up in the aftermath of shagging. If only I were a better man, in a different place, at a different time, in a normal profession without a boss who’d lose the head if he discovered I brought this minx into the mix.
“Looks like rain,” I say, scrambling to my feet.
“Rain?”
“Best get back.” As quick as I can, I gather our things.
“If you say so,” she mutters, annoyed at my sudden change in demeanor. I feel like an arse.
But it’s for the best.
18
Finn
While Clarissa showers, I hack into her account and thumb through her videos. It’s a shite thing to do.
Erasing everything that exposes me or this job is one way of keeping her safe from the boss. Hayden won’t appreciate my inviting a reporter into our business, no matter how helpful she may be and no matter how masterfully I’ve lied. And a smart, capable reporter with an eye for feckin’ trouble? No, Hayden has a ruthless track record of destroying anyone or anything that might hurt TORC.
Relationships are like Guinness and orange juice for a cutthroat like me—never to be mixed. Mix business with pleasure and the outcome will be disastrous.
I should cut her loose. Get rid of her.
Soon, I think. In the meantime, it’ll have to be delete, delete, delete.
Focus, bucko. Do. The. Job.
I get back to the business of ruining her work. Clarissa’s good at documenting moments, and you can’t help but be proud of her. It still doesn’t stop me. The fight club in the moonlight—delete. Men placing bets—delete. Shite, she even has me inside the cage—delete, delete, delete. Irish guilt has me transferring the videos to my own hack-proof account before I permanently erase them from hers. An eegit-worthy move because if Hayden ever finds them or asks me why I kept copies there will be hell to pay.
She’ll find a way to weave a story together with what remains.
Right-o.
When she discovers the missing videos, I’ll play ignorant. Hacks happen. Just ask those Hollywood celebrities whose nude pictures were exposed. No sense feeling guilty.
The shower shuts off. I tuck her phone back into her satchel and move across the room to her bed.
She comes into the room wearing a towel and a smug smile on her face, wet hair falling around her face, skin pink from her shower. So beautiful, I feel like I’ve been sucker punched in the gut.
“Can’t get enough of me, huh?” she asks.
We parted ways an hour earlier, yet here I feckin’ am, a glutton for punishment.
“Did something happen? Did you connect with O’Brien?” she asks excitedly, searching my face.
You happened.
I can only stare at her. Unable to ask for what I want. Unable to have “the talk” and share with her all the reasons we can never be.
“Finn. What’s wrong?” She moves to the bed and plops down beside me. “God, this is going to be bad, isn’t it? Did he move on? Is the uranium gone?”
“It’s not the job.”
“Oh.” She’s quiet beside me, waiting.
Except I can’t tell her I’m sorry.
I stand, ready to retreat.
“I know,” she says, stopping me in my tracks.
Knows what?
Frowning, I spin her way.
She’s on her feet now. Head cocked to the side, hand on hip, waiting for me to speak.
“What is it you think you know?”
“This is a booty call.”
“Booty call?”
Her towel falls to the floor, as does my jaw. I take her in. Long legs. Full hips. A patch of the finest gold on her mound. Tight breasts. Brazenly smug smile.
Our eyes collide.
“Get on the bed, Finn.”
Jaysus.
But my feet won’t move. Guilt, so much guilt. “Clarissa.”
“We have all night, Finn. So, if it’s a bit quick . . .”
I release the curled fists I’ve hidden behind my back and put my hands to good work, stripping off my clothes in record time. Like a good boy, I follow her command and take a seat on the corner of the bed.
“Say something, anything. Please.”
Excuses, warnings, whys and why nots race through my thoughts. I settle on the most honest. “Get yer fine arse over here and ride me before I lose my mind.”
“Hang on.” She fetches a condom and tears the foil open while she approaches me. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, she takes hold of my erection and works it with her hand. I love her confidence. I love how she truly believes she’s the aggressor here.
“I fingered myself in the shower while thinking about you.”
“Did you now?”
“I was on all fours. You had my legs spread wide like I was halfway to a split. We fucked like two animals.”
My cock jerks in her hand. Christ, this woman was made for me.
“It’s something we can work toward.”
I laugh. Almost wishing she videotaped this exchange so she could watch it back after I fuck her six ways to Sunday.
“It’s all I can think about. Riding that monster.”
“Come on then. All yours.”
She rolls the condom down my length. Straddles my lap. Nudges my tip against her entrance.
This woman is going to be the death of me.
Breasts swaying, she feeds me into her and begins to ever so slowly sink onto my thick length. I could watch her do this all night.
I could watch her do this every night.
Christ’s hell.
She groans as my cock divides her in two. So hot. So tight. So good. I let her think she’s leading this charge toward pleasure. Hours from now, she’ll realize how wrong she was.
Without warning, she drops down until I’m fully seated.
We hiss.
I lean in and kiss her. Her chest pressed against mine. Our tongues mating like two people meant for each other. She moans in my mouth. I fondle her breasts and squeeze her nipples.
She rides me hard. Using her hands on my shoulders to drive herself down and her thigh muscles to drag back up.
I’ve died and gone to heaven. Or is it my own personal hell that’s calling to me? Whatever it is, I plan on enjoying the journey there.
“Deeper. Harder.”
I shift my hands to her bottom and take over. Hoisting her up ever so slowly until my tip drags against her folds before letting her drop. “Yes,” she groans. “Give me that big cock of yours.”
I swear my cock swells inside her because of her naughty words.
Her skin flushes pink, her eyes dilate to a rich, deep hue. But I know exactly how to take her over the edge. On the next drop, I stand and hold her in place while I move a few feet across the room. Then I lift her off me, flip and position her on all fours, and with her tight ass in the air, drive into her from behind.
She screams.
I do it again, thrusting forward so hard her body slides forward. Again. And again.
Her squeals and moans tell me she loves it. Her quivering body beneath me tells me she’s close. But I’m far from done.
She slams her palm into the floor. “Yes. More. Yes. More.”
“Sh. I won’t be finishing until you take every blessed inch of me.”
Her body shudders beneath me, proof she’s loving the idea as much as I am.
I roll my hips, feeling her walls tighten around me, pulling me deeper. Milking me. Did shagging ever feel this good? Because I don’t think so. She’s sexy as all feck, her tight channel warm around me, head turned with her cheek pressed into the carpet. Pure bliss in every sound she makes. Her filthy talk from earlier plays around in me imagination like porn on replay. Jaysus, I love the fire in her. What I’d give to see her face as I take her over the edge.
My balls clench tightly.
I should leave well enough be. Less personal this way. Less intimate. Don’t be an eejit.
“Deeper, Finn. I’m almost there.”
“Hold up,” I hear myself saying. I withdraw, ignoring her protests, then flip her onto her back, climb over her body, and push back inside, slipping my hand between us to caress her clit.
My pace is slow, my focus on her every sigh, every moan, every quiver. Watching her like this stirs up something foreign within me. I feel everything in a rush of emotion. How I’d like to keep her this way for days, pinned beneath me and gasping my name. How beautiful she is. How she fits my body, tailor-made. How she fits me.
Her hips arch. Close. She’s close.
“I want all of you,” I grind out, “all the time.”
She goes off like a firecracker, shifting wildly beneath me and moaning into my neck. My lips turn to hers in a hungry kiss as I fuck her through her orgasm, then I lift my head and shout my own release. My body shakes as it goes on and on, violent and beautiful and far beyond anything I’ve felt before.
She goes limp beneath me, and I’m brought back from the aftermath of our lovemaking.
Wait . . . what the effin’ hell? Lovemaking?
Jaysus, what did I say to her? Love making. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Did I say the L-word?
My thoughts run circles trying to remember. Like a dog chasing its tail—and the impossible.
I don’t dare move. Or look at her. Not until I get my shite together.
Her body vibrates beneath me. It takes me a moment to realize she’s laughing. “Holy fuck, Finn.”
“Am I hurting you?” I pretend to misunderstand. Before she spies the confusion written all over me bleedin’ face, I’m on my feet and headed to the bathroom.
Dodge and evade.
Inside, I toss the condom into the rubbish bin. Wishing I could remember the rubbish that came out of me mouth. First time in seven months I shag a wan and I’m telling her what?
I want all of you.
Fate is total bollocks, isn’t it? I must be mad. Lust drunk. With a death wish.
Retreat.
Escape.
I wash my hands and return to the room. In a flurry of motion, I pull on my knickers and socks. Runners, shirt, and trousers in hand, I head for the door.
“Finn,” she calls out, confused.
“Got something to do,” I lie. “Forgot . . . in all the excitement.”
“Right now? It’s after midnight.” Not buying what I’m selling. Observant, as usual.
I’m officially an arsewipe.
A coward.
A hitman—with a job to do. Best not forget that, bucko.
I’m doing her a favor by crushing any romantic notions she may be having. Because I had to go and run me mouth. I had to go misleading her into thinking this could be something. We could be something.
“See you in the morning.” I shut the door behind me.
Leaving behind the best of me.
And the worst.
19
Clarissa
Surprises are like birthday balloons, sometimes they inspire excitement, even joy. Other times they shock you with an electrifying zing. Every once in a while, they blow up in your face. Today, Finn wrapped all of that into one mindboggling package.
Unlike the past two mornings, I wake up then have breakfast on my own. Finn is missing in action.
Ghosting me.
But why?
I sit and, over coffee, debate what to do. Do I knock on his door and wake him up? Do I discretely ask the innkeeper what time he came in last night? If he came back.
We have a job to do. Together. Or not.
I clench my fists, considering the possibility he’s moved on in our investigation alone. Leaving me to do what? Sit around, scratching my head and wondering why he’d dump and dash like a college student with a curfew?
The sex was good. Phenomenal. The. Best. Ever.
Bedside manners? Not so phenomenal.
But disappointed or not, I won’t allow Finn to sideline me. With or without him, I’ll be moving forward in digging up all I can on O’Brien.
I’m just finishing breakfast when the innkeeper enters the sunny porch and hurries over to my table. “This arrived in the post,” he says and hands me an envelope.
Finn’s name is scribbled on it in pen.
“Thank you. I’ll pass it on to him.” The innkeeper nods and goes about his business.
I wait for the man to reenter the inn before prying open the envelope.
A crude note is folded inside. Brilliant fight last night. If yer up for another go, send word. Tonight at ten. Mickey. P.S. I owe you eighty-one euros.
Finn fought? And who the hell is Mickey?
I grind my teeth together. He made a new contact without me.
So that’s how we’re going to play it? Alone and without communicating what we’re about?
Is he sidelining me while he continues the plan? Thinking I’ll be twiddling my thumbs while waiting for him to toss me a crumb?
Hell no. Think again, Finn McDuff. Two can play at this game.
Digging up information on O’Brien shouldn’t be too difficult given his mob connections. And if today is anything like yesterday, I have all day to poke around.
With a new sense of determination, I head back to my room for my satchel.
Finn’s door is partially open as I pass. And, though I try and will my feet to keep moving, my instincts tell me to stop.
Odd. Finn is easygoing yet careful about safety.
Worried, I push into his room.
Then stop short.
Finn is sprawled out on the floor. He’s on his back, right arm stretched overhead. Wearing pants, one sneaker, and a shiny new black eye. An empty bottle of whiskey lies within reach.
What. The. Hell.
I bend and squeeze his big toe. “Finn.”
Nothing.
I pinch it harder and shake his leg. “Finn. Wake up.”
Nothing. He’s out, stone-cold.
First, he ghosts me, then abandons working with me, and now he’s going to waste more time sleeping off a bottle of liquor, leaving me in the lurch and my investigation in limbo?
I. Don’t. Think. So.
I march into the bathroom, fill a glass with tap water, and return to stand over him. There’s a second or two of debate, then, with great relish, I dump the contents over his head.
He awakes, sputtering. “G’way!”
I wait until he sets his good eye on me. “Mickey says he’ll pay you eighty-one euros.” Spinning, I toss the letter on the floor and exit the room.
“What are you on about, colleen?” his voice booms from behind me.
Business, I think. Business and nothing more.
Not anymore.
Ten minutes later and I’m in a taxi, en route to Cork Harbour. It seems like a logical place to start. Someone must know something about a pirated container ship sailing into port.
This part of town isn’t what you’d imagine a port to be. It’s full of life, green and lush and buzzing with energy. A cathedral spire dominates the space. Behind
it, is a wild nature preserve that stretches out as far as the eye can see.
The shipping office is in a small refurbished home. I’m greeted by a friendly clerk, Joe, who has Yankee relatives living in New York City.
“Ever run into a lad named Bobby McKean?” he asks me.
“No,” I answer straight faced. “But when I return home, I’ll keep my eyes out for him.” Cork City’s population is around two hundred thousand compared to the fourteen million residents of New York City. But I don’t tell him that.
“If you see him, tell him Joseph O’Malley is waiting on his forty quid.”
“Got it.” I pause, then get down to business. “I was hoping you could help me. I’m doing my graduate study thesis on environmental-friendly shipping facilities.”
“You came to the right place.”
“My professor wants data to support my claim that such facilities can operate as efficiently as industrial ports.” I take a deep breath then drive my point home. “Could I look at the records for all ships entering and exiting Cork Port for the month? It’s helpful to see their names. It makes for a better examination on paper.”
“You studying at Columbia University?” is his answer.
I pause. “NYU.”
“Never heard of it.”
“New York University?”
“Right. I suppose all the smart ones go there.”
I laugh at his quick compliment then shrug my shoulders. “I’m a hard-worker. That must account for something.”
“That it must.” He gestures with his hands. “Come on around the counter and take a gander. Everything is done by computer these days.”
I exhale a sigh of relief.
“Thank you.”
“Be sure to put me name there in yer report,” he answers with a wink.
I get busy skimming the screen for information on a cargo ship out of Acapulco. Thinking this was easier than expected.
Years ago, I learned when things seem too easy or too good to be true, they usually are.
The dates and ships in Cork Port scroll across the screen. Once. Twice. Until it’s clear that cargo ship is missing.
Player: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (A Deadliest Lies Novel Book 4) Page 13