I wait and watch O’Brien, who sits up a bit straighter.
“Finn might be rough around the edges. But he’ll do whatever you ask, without question.”
O’Brien turns his attention toward me. Well played, love.
“You were seen having breakfast with the foreigners.”
“The South Africans? Yes.”
“What did she say to you?”
“Ogdenhayer?”
He glares at me, and I shrug. “She put the heart crossway in me, she did. Vicious woman. And she’s none too fond of you.”
“That woman thinks she can roll in here, make demands, hoodwink me, and expect me to take it up the arse. What she needs is a lesson in respect.”
I sit forward in the seat, and let the bonding begin.
“Hoodwinked?” Clarissa prompts.
The Irish are an untrusting lot. But like tends to drift toward like, which I play to my advantage. “She fleece you or rob you blind?”
“Fleeced. That South African slag raised prices on a transaction. Acted like she had the right to do so at the last minute.”
“Certainly, there are laws against that?”
O’Brien looks at Clarissa like she’s lost her feckin’ mind. A notorious mob boss seeking legal help for a black-market transaction gone wrong?
“That woman has no love for you, I tell you.” I lower my voice, forcing him to lean forward as I drive the nail in the ol’ coffin. “Demanded I throw the final fight in her favor.”
O’Brien’s cheeks flush with rage. His massive bulk seems to broaden across the seat as he squares his shoulders, ready to explode. “Someone has been running his mouth.”
His men stiffen.
“How else would that woman know I was backing Finn here?”
Predictability. Simple-mindedness. Greed.
“Bet it’s Johnny. Can’t keep a secret, that one.”
No one says a word, allowing the silence to linger on poor Johnny. No one dare contradict O’Brien or his history of backing capable underdogs like yours truly in fights to his advantage. The boss knew it. So did Ogdenhayer. Rocket science, this shite show is not.
“Thinks I’m a bleedin’ eegit, does she? Thinks she’s a step ahead of me. First in raising the prices then in feckin’ with my wagers.”
Silence.
“What do you think?”
All eyes are on me.
“I don’t think. I do.” I raise my fists. “Fight. Manual labor. Beat the bleedin’ effin’ out of the South African. Yer call.”
O’Brien exchanges a look with the man to his right. It could mean a lot of things; toss the tool from the car, feck about with more pointless questions, with all answers leading back to Ogdenhayer, or take me up on my proposition. I relax and wait.
“That woman threatened Finn.”
O’Brien looks from Clarissa to me.
I shrug. “Scared the bejaysus out of me, she did.”
The corners of O’Brien’s lips twitch. “I’ve warehouse work. Moving heavy crates and such. You game?”
“What’s the wage?”
“Finn,” Clarissa hisses.
“Fair. Better than anywhere else.”
I offer him my hand and, this time, he shakes it. But when he tries to withdraw it, I keep his hand in my firm grip. That gets his attention.
“Bet the bank on me in the final fight and Ogdenhayer will do likewise. Enough to make up the difference in that price increase you were surprised with and then some. And, I’ll beat the South African in the final fight for you.”
O’Brien’s eyes light up with delight.
“Best get back to training.”
He drops my hand and signals for the car to stop. Clarissa shifts around in the seat then scrambles from the car the second it pulls over. Without much fanfare, I follow.
The sedan drives off, disappearing over the next hill.
“I got it all,” Clarissa exclaims.
“Got all of what?”
“Our conversation. I recorded it.” She laughs, oh-so pleased with herself. “When you shifted forward to shake his hand, I was terrified they’d catch me.”
For feck’s sake. I want to strangle her almost as much as I want to kiss her. A grin spreads across her beautiful face, a sign of how unaware she is of the turmoil she’s caused. A man’s mouth always breaks a nose, so the saying goes. With Hayden, it’s not me nose I’m worried about but my—and Clarissa’s—well-being. That exchange can never be broadcast. The boss can never learn of this recording. I need to remember she’s a reporter, and a good one. Headstrong.
Lovely as the day is sunny.
“What? No smart comment? No craic?”
I push away my worries and will deal with that video later. “Course I do.”
“And?”
“How about we just sum things up by saying, I’m in like Finn.”
29
Clarissa
We’re in like Finn now.
Exactly as we’d hoped for. With everything that’s happened—my investigation shifting to black market uranium sales, my barely surviving that horrible house explosion, us running from the mob then getting inside their organization, and everything Finn-related: his quick tongue and mean fists, his way with words and the way he handles my body—I’d be a fool to jeopardize my investigation now.
I won’t be passing on his boss’s message. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? When the CIA takes down the main players in the uranium trade, Finn is going to get his hand slapped, followed by a gold medal, or whatever the CIA offers as recognition for work done well.
And me? This story will win me the recognition I so desperately want. Opportunities knocking and doors opening. My reporting on little Christiana’s life getting the attention in needs. My success will allow me to pay tribute by keeping her memory alive.
I smile, feeling more hopeful now than I’ve felt in ages.
Due, in part, to the man eating his breakfast in the seat across from me. God help me, but even with a mouthful of eggs, he’s beautiful. My pulse speeds up and I find myself hungry for more than breakfast. I can’t get enough of him.
“Something you want to say?” He doesn’t even look up from his plate. Does he know? Has that wicked sixth sense of his raised the alarm on how my feelings have changed? I love him. Yes. I do.
“You’re a beautiful man, Finn McDuff.”
Instead of smiling, he scowls. “I’m not.”
“So humble.”
“Being honest. There are things about me you don’t know.”
“Enlighten me. For starters, where were you born?”
“The north.”
I sigh. “Can you be more specific?”
“Can’t a bloke eat his breakfast without being harassed by a sassy reporter?”
“Fine,” I say, sipping my coffee and wondering what’s put a burr under his saddle.
“Derry,” he answers out of nowhere.
“Do you go back and visit?”
“No point. My brother Jimmy died young. My parents are long dead and buried.”
“And friends?”
“Don’t have any.”
I snort. “Now that I find hard to believe.” I take another sip of coffee then tackle a harder topic. “Why did you have me ask the tortilla woman for the daily special?”
He stops midchew, a look of disbelief crossing his expression. “You still on about that?”
“Worried your boss would raise hell if he discovered I approached you?”
“Raise hell is putting it lightly.”
I must make a weird face as I consider what I’m not telling him because his eyes narrow on me like he can smell my lie. Before he can ask, I steer our conversation away from that discussion. “You jerked off onto my stomach after calling me a cab. Not very gentlemanly of you.”
“Can we talk about Derry some more?”
I lean in. “But we’re a far cry from Antonio, aren’t we? You played me. I mean, how did I ever fall for you
being that horrible a lover?”
“I’m a brilliant liar.” He chews a piece of ham then swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does so. Watching him eat shouldn’t be such a turn on. “Truth is you shouldn’t believe half the malarkey that comes out of me mouth.”
That gives me pause. “You said I could trust you.”
“You can trust me to do what’s right for you. There’s a difference.”
I sit up in my chair, alarmed. “What are you trying to communicate here, Finn? What big lie are you alluding to?”
He sets his knife and fork onto the side of his plate. Looking away. Stalling. My heart sinks.
“I wanted to send you away with a wee bit of hope is all.”
“What?”
“The woman at the tortilla stand. I was going to disappoint you, so I fed you the lie to give you a wee bit of hope.”
“That’s just twisted. I was almost arrested.”
“What was the first thing you did after you left me?”
“I washed your come off my stomach.”
His jaw drops and a laugh escapes my lips.
“Cursed you to Ireland and back.” I pause in consideration. “Then booked a bus ride to Acapulco so I could speak with the woman at the tortilla stand.”
“Still, you were hopeful.”
I roll my eyes. “I was stupid.”
“No. You are intelligent and brave and everything a man could want in a woman.”
My heart skips a beat.
“Thing is, I’m a man who doles out disappointments like they’re carnival prizes.”
I wait for him to elaborate. But he picks up his fork and resumes eating, as if we’d been talking about the weather, as if our conversation hadn’t seeded any doubts about whether or not I can trust him. But I’m in like Finn now. Too late to second guess things.
“Okay.”
He stops eating. “Okay?”
“I’ll let it drop.”
“Thank you.”
“But I have another question for you.”
He visibly stiffens, bracing himself. Such a showman. “How old are you?”
“How old . . .?” He doesn’t answer immediately, go figure. But after a few seconds, his eyes go wide. “How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“It’s my birthday.”
“What?” I jump up and move around to his side of the booth. “You didn’t remember your birthday? Finn!” I throw my arms around him and hug him close. “Happy birthday.”
“Easy there. Gonna give the ol’ ticker a heart attack by smothering me with those sweet breasts.”
“So?”
“Let’s not get carried away. It’s just another day.”
I roll my eyes. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Let me get the waitress. The least I can do is buy you a slice of cake.”
His lips curl. In that moment, I decide that trusting him to do what’s right for me is the best a man who forgets his own birthday can offer me.
“Check,” he tells the waitress.
“You don’t want to celebrate?”
“Didn’t say that.” He stands, and I’m suddenly back in his arms. “I’ve something sweeter than cake in mind.”
My breath hitches in my throat as he nuzzles my ear.
“You.”
30
Finn
I warned her I’m a liar.
She doesn’t know I’m a killer. Primed and ready to put a bullet into some wanker’s head at the first order. I flash a smile at you one second then destroy yer hopes and dreams the next. It’s what I was recruited to do.
Still, I want things I shouldn’t.
Her help.
Her body.
Her in my life.
I’m going destroy her career and ruin her.
But in this moment, on my goddamn birthday, I’m going to take what I can.
My gaze skims over her, missing nothing. The pretty pink flush of her cheeks. The sweet curves of her body. The nervous way she sways on her feet, waiting for me to call the shots.
“Strip.”
Her eyes go wide despite her knowing what’s coming. I love that about the minx, her innocent reaction that contradicts that dirty mouth of hers. She removes her phone from the hidden pocket within her new running shorts, and places it on the bed, giving me ideas I’ve no business considering. Something more to erase so my naked arse doesn’t see the light of day.
She tugs her T-shirt and sports bras off in one smooth movement. My brain short-circuits at the sight of her bare breasts. I’m an arse-loving fella and hers is shaped like a peach. But her gorgeous tits are what instantly make me hard.
“Talk to me.”
“Um, okay. What’s your middle name.”
I snort. “Michael. But you best get to less personal and more filthy-talking if yer hankering for a ride.”
Her laughter fills the room. Bugger me blind but I’m feeling very much like that wanker, Antonio, after making a play.
She peels off her shorts, sinks to the floor, then arse in the air, feckin’ crawls toward me. “By the time I reach you, you better have that hard cock out and prepared to shove it deep down my throat.”
“Lord have mercy.”
“He won’t help you now, Finn.”
I step out of my clothes. Pour some bottled water on the inside fabric and run the damp material over my hardening girth. Cleaning up a wee bit before dirtying her up. By the time she’s rising up on her knees before me, clasping her hands behind her back oh-so submissive-like, I’m ready to go.
“Do your worst, Finn Michael McDuff.”
My worst is yet to come.
I step forward until the tip of my cock grazes her lips. “Open wide.”
She does, and I push inside her warmth, keep pushing forward until my cock tickles her tonsils. Her eyes water; I’m a big motherfecker. I keep still, watching carefully for the slightest sign of distress all the while savoring the feel of her throat adjusting around my girth.
Her beautiful face is going to haunt my memories. The obedient look in her eyes. The way her cheeks pucker as she sucks me back. Her plump lips wrapped around my cock. Call me a dirty shyster or what you will, but I’ll never be forgetting this moment.
Her hands find my arse. Pushing me forward, deeper. My stomach connects with her forehead, as she begins to hum.
To hell with being gentle.
I withdraw, the bulbous head of me parting her lips with a loud pop. Ready to thrust back inside that mouth of hers, ride her face until she’s crying for sure. But somewhere in my wee brain, the song she’s humming registers. “Happy Birthday to You.”
I’ve got to say, it’s a first.
I’m feckin’ sure I don’t want it to be our last.
“Now you’ll know what I’m humming when you shoot your hot come down my throat.”
Those fighting words have me changing my mind and I’m goaded into action. She squeals as I lift her off the carpet, bouncing her in the air while I readjust our positions, with her thighs on my hips and breasts flush against my chest. I carry her over to the table by the window and, with one sweep of my arm, clear it off, sending glasses and a flowerpot flying, before I lay her down across the hard wood.
A whimper escapes her lips as I push a finger into her. I can do this all day, and every day. Withdrawing my hand, I hold up my glistening finger. “You ready for a ride to heaven and back?”
A ride to heaven before I go straight to hell.
“Please.”
I step forward and grab her hips, dragging her to the edge of the table. Lining her sweet pussy up with my cock.
“Fuck me, Finn.”
Using my hips, I spread her thighs wide before sinking two fingers into her. Spiraling them around and preparing her for my assault.
She moans, loving my touch.
Blood fills my cock until I’m harder than I’ve ever been. She always does this to me, her and her alone. Pushi
ng me to the edge and making me want to lose control. Striking up this yearning in me to the point I don’t know which way is up or down.
I withdraw my fingers then, in slow circles, spread her moisture over her clit.
“Ah,” she moans, pressing her palms against the wood surface to support the eager arch of her hips.
I nudge the thick head against her and line up. “What do you want, Clarissa?” I demand, needing that filthy mouth of hers.
“You, Finn. Only you.”
I’m too startled to move, to think, to process her words, but she isn’t finished feckin’ with me. Thrusting forward, her lips part and my cock slips inside like it belongs there. Blood rushes to my head as my heart pounds a hole in my chest. She pushes forward another half inch, and then I lose my bloody mind.
Flexing, I shove deep, filling her with my hardness.
She screams.
The sound only fuels my hunger.
I drag my cock out then thrust, drag, and thrust, feeling her taking every feckin’ inch of me, riding her hard and deep. Each drive home forces her several inches back on the table and when that becomes enough, I crawl on top without breaking the frantic pace I’ve set, pounding into her full force. Hearing her cry out in pleasure as I fuck her like a man possessed.
I’m an animal. Grunting and moaning and cursing beneath my breath. Judging by the sounds she’s making, she’s no better.
I fuck her into the table.
I fuck her into tomorrow.
I fuck her into my goddamn soul.
And when she comes, so beautifully, so greedily, I feel it before I hear it. “God, I love you.”
I shout as I come, frantically thrusting into her as I shoot my seed deep.
We still, and I find I can’t move. The weight of what just happened pinning me in place. Aren’t women emotional after sex? Aren’t men supposed to just want to get going? How is it I feel like I just lost my first love? Why is it that the world could be falling to bloody pieces and I’d still want this moment to last?
The table creeks in warning then wobbles beneath us.
“Finn,” Clarissa shrieks.
And then we’re falling.
I tug her to me and roll as we hit the floor, taking the brunt of our landing and the weight of her lovely body as it slams into me.
Player: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (A Deadliest Lies Novel Book 4) Page 18