For a few seconds, we lay in silence. Until she bursts into laughter and I find myself joining in.
Finally, she shifts and sits up, straddling my hips and smiling down at me. But it lasts a whole of five seconds when we realize, at exactly the same moment, I’m still buried inside her—and I’m hard again.
“Happy birthday, Finn,” she murmurs, settling on me for another ride.
Broken table, but does this have to end with broken hearts?
I relax into the bits and pieces of table beneath me and let things be as they’re meant to be. Feeling hopeful, for an eegit with a death wish hanging over his head should.
Clarissa
The man has the stamina of a stallion. Twenty-four hours of naughtiness and Finn still refuses to leave the room. Who would have guessed that bumbling oaf Antonio, who kissed like a Brillo Pad and who had the bedside manners of a caveman could make me scream his name with the slightest touch?
“You should be training,” I remind him, half-heartedly.
“Not finished with you yet, storeen,” he’d growled, tossing me back on the bed. That was hours ago.
My stomach grumbles and I reluctantly order room service, having stalled as long as I could while Finn fixes the broken table. The fresh air from an opened windows helps clear the smell of sex—at least, I’m hoping it will before the innkeeper knocks on our door. Finn, of course, laughed at my “fussing.” “One gander at you, colleen,” he teased, “and she’s going to know what a sexy fiend you are.”
I grin at him, sitting on the floor with pieces of table splayed out around him. His hair is ruffled, his shoulders relaxed. He’s in sweatpants and the same T-shirt he pulled on earlier to leave the room. He returned with construction glue, a carafe of coffee, and lust in his eyes. The coffee was lukewarm by the time we got around to it.
Play hard. Work hard. Right?
“Have you seen my cell phone?” I ask.
“On the nightstand next to the lamp.”
While Finn works, I eagerly continue to research information for my story. After a while, he interrupts.
“Something wrong?”
“Wrong?” I look up. Our eyes connect. His searching, as if he’s trying to read my mind.
“Just reading about the uranium trade regulations.”
“That all?” The tight line of his lips softens. “And what have you learned?”
I read a bit more before responding. “The United States and its European allies have placed strict controls on the manufacturing and distribution of nuclear componentry, including enriched uranium. There’s a fear that in a free market, the uranium trade could adopt similar characteristics as the oil, coal, and gas markets. Besides establishing a production and trade agreement with its allies, the United States has made a Trigger List of countries not part of the treaty. It’s encouraging countries like Pakistan to sign a similar treaty.”
“And in Ireland? The EU?”
I nod in agreement. Though a global story, the heart of the trade deal is in Europe. “The United Kingdom has formed the Export Control Organization, which says that a license is required when exporting controlled goods like enriched uranium. So, there will likely be screening and definitely a paper trail to follow.”
Finn snorts. “Tell that to O’Brien.”
I nod. “And Mrs. Ogdenhayer. They really are despicable people.”
Finn rolls to his feet and flips the table upright. “Right as rain now.”
“You’re good with your hands.”
“Is that an invitation?”
I laugh then quickly fall silent when he comes to sit next to me on the bed. Just his presence steals my breath away. He surprises me by throwing an arm around my shoulders and tugging me against him for a hug. “You have a beautiful heart, Clarissa Steele. Christiana would be proud of you.”
His compliment makes my heart sing.
The song . . . a love song.
I love you, Finn.
The way we connect, the energy between us, the way he makes me feel—falling in love with him was easy. I sink into his warmth, fully aware I’m in for the ride of a lifetime. A different kind of ride.
Full throttle.
Destination unknown.
31
Finn
Three pints in and I’m feeling like the world is my oyster.
I won three bouts in O’Brien’s favor but on my terms—meaning I took a few solid punches and one massive breath-stealing kick to the kidney. The South African won his bouts, as expected. We can’t be disappointing Mrs. Ogdenhayer quite yet, now can we?
And the minx? My lucky wan can’t keep her hands off me.
Not that I’m any better—worse. Truth be told, I’ve been contemplating all night hauling her pretty self into the jacks and riding her until she sings hallelujah backward. The slightest glimpse of her pretty face causes my mind to numb and my cock to harden. Never in me life have I wanted someone the way I want Clarissa. And we make a good team. No, a bleedin’ brilliant team.
I study her from across the room. She’s working her magic with Fiona. Probably questioning her mate about what work I’ll be getting my hands dirty doing. Or more likely, putting a contingency plan in place for when I’ll feck things up with Johnny and bring a wee bit more excitement to the job than anyone expects. In a short time, she’s gotten to know me well. Better than anyone, really. She’s under my skin, she is.
“Another pint,” I call out to the bartender, guilt becoming the relentless companion constantly keeping me in check. Because what in God’s teeth am I doing dreaming of what can never be? I make a “cut-thee-ol’-head-off” motion to the bartender then call out, “Hold off on the pint. A shot of Jamie will do.”
It doesn’t take long for the liquor to hit the spot and for me going back to feeling like the gobshite I am. A light tap on me arm draws me out of my mind-feck. Turning, I find the church wafer-sized lad I was scheduled to fight earlier . . . until I didn’t.
“Can I talk to you in private?” he asks.
I frown at the wobble in his tone. My fights are over and done with. Yet something’s frightened the wee fella. For a heartbeat, I consider saying no. I’ve got bigger plans for my evening, namely giving her a ride to la-la land and giving her what for like it’s our last time together. But, it appears, the Jamie is making me charitable. “Lead the way,” I say.
We cross the bar to a hallway leading to a back exit. The polite fella steps aside, allowing me to exit first. It’s not until the door slams behind me that I curse beneath my breath, a few seconds shy of admitting my mistake.
Silence greets me out here in the darkness. I count off in me head, waiting for the mob ambush or Mrs. Ogdenhayer to step out of the shadows.
It’s when nothing happens that I realize how fecked I truly am.
“You disobeyed an order, Finn.”
Hayden.
“G’way. Where’d you come from?” I spoke with the boss just yesterday while Clarissa was in the shower. Either I need me ears waxed or he didn’t mention being in Cork.
“Don’t play me for a fool. She’s still here.”
She. Clarissa.
“I was given permission to conduct this job as I saw fit.”
He clucks his tongue, the sound immediately grating on my nerves. “With a reporter? A woman who graduated at the top of her class? Someone with balls enough to live in wartime Syria, who was advised to leave due to heightened threats of bombings yet chose to do her motherfucking job anyway?”
Jaysus. He’s checked her background. I freeze, me mind racing. Put so, Clarissa sounds like a dangerous liability. Someone who’d expose our secrets. A threat.
“You spoke to her.” I keep my tone neutral as I gage his response. Because of course he did. Probably warned her away. And, of course, she kept it from me and is still here. Christ on a bike. What now?
“I underestimated her.”
You wouldn’t be the first.
“She tell you we talked?”
&
nbsp; That would be a bleedin’ no.
I tap my head. “Been taking a few beatings, in case you hadn’t noticed. Joggles the ol’ memory.”
“And now you’re lying to protect her.”
“Maybe she missed the warning part?”
That stubborn, driven beour.
He stares at me, hard, his eyes piercing through the darkness until the silence between us is deafening. I bleedin’ hate when he does this. Silence, for a man with the gift for gab, makes me uncomfortable.
“You fell in love with her.”
I pull back like he punched me in the face. “What nonsense are you spilling?”
“My best operative falls head over heels for a woman who makes it her mission in life to expose men like us.”
I think about those videos. All the documentation she’s collected and the research done to compose her story. What he’s saying isn’t surprising. Except for his assumption that I love her.
“A ride, that’s all she is.”
He shakes his head, like he knows something I don’t. I’ve got to say, he understands exactly how to stir up the devil inside me. I’m two seconds shy of wiping that smug smile off his face, too. Total bollocks, that’s what this is.
“I need to hire a bodyguard.”
I start at the abrupt change in conversation. “Boss?”
“Someone who can keep his mouth shut and hands to himself. An African American, preferably. Out of our men, who best suits my needs?”
“You’re asking my opinion?”
“I’m not asking what your favorite color is, am I?”
I scratch my chin, thinking. “Samuel. The fella said three words to me the entire time we trained at Hell Camp.”
“What were they?”
“Fuck off, Finn.”
He doesn’t laugh. “And the other . . . requirement?”
“Can he keep his hands to himself? Do you mean does he get off on a good fight?”
“No.”
There’s a long pause. He doesn’t want to tell me. I’ve got to say, I’m intrigued. Wait a feckin’ second. This is about a woman, isn’t it? About Samuel keeping his mitts off Hayden’s wan. Unfeckinbelievable. Whoever she is, she deserves a medal. And the Bastard accuses me of falling in love? When he’s sending one of us to watch over his woman?
“Answer me.”
“Samuel won’t touch her. Though he might refuse this assignment after he discovers who he’ll be watching over.”
Hayden snorts. “He’s already en route to Malawi.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “What in shite’s name?”
“Just reassuring myself I’m sending the best man.”
I allow that to sit for a spell. “Second best.”
Hard to say in the dark but I think he rolled his eyes.
“Not that I need to tell you how to proceed—”
“You don’t.”
“But the uranium mine is in Africa. Big continent, but . . .” Never in me life would I have imagined having this conversation. “Pay the Ogdenhayers a visit in South Africa then head to Malawi.”
Makes sense. Once this nonsense in Cork is over, the boss will want to investigate the source.
“You play the fool so well one forgets you’re quick on the uptake.”
“And yer compliments feel as gratifying as a dagger dragged across bone.”
“We’ll finish what we started first. O’Brien has buyers scheduled for pickup next week. You’ll take plate numbers until I arrive. I want a running record of everyone who comes and goes.”
I nod. Knowing what’s coming. Waiting for the ball to drop. A different man might show a bit of leniency. But this is TORC business. For better or for worse, I’ve a job to finish.
“For a man with a big ego, O’Brien’s meticulously organized.”
Don’t. Say. It.
“But then so am I. No stone left unturned, not even the kind that holds a man down and makes him want to set up roots in the middle of an assignment.”
Feck. Here we bloody go.
“You had to fall for a reporter, didn’t you?”
This time, I don’t deny it. Maybe because the truth is settling in. Maybe because I’m shitting bricks over what he’s about to say. I won’t kill her. But given the chance, what I will do is save her.
“Get rid of her, immediately. That’s an order.”
32
Clarissa
“You’re awfully quiet.”
Finn doesn’t answer, his eyes are fixed on the road ahead. His silence is a foreign thing, a surprise coming from an unknown place.
We’ve time alone now. Whatever’s bothering him can be fixed.
Finn is taking me to Derry for a few days. “A break from the shenanigans,” he informed me early this morning. A few days off? With this man? No, I’m not complaining.
Derry is about a six-hour drive north and we’ve been on the road for two. Between the lovely Irish countryside and a successful night, I should feel relaxed. Except Finn looks tired, and I wonder if this trip was a good idea.
I try to engage him in conversation. “O’Brien will be thrilled by your performance last night.” Finn had been in rare form. Insulting and egging on his opponents, acting the madman, allowing himself to be hit. I’m beginning to wonder if he enjoys the pain because he never takes the easy road and always gets into the cage against the worst of them.
Last night, he brushed off my offer to ice his swollen face, informed me that a good night’s sleep was in order, then left me to sleep alone. And it’s crazy that in a short amount of time, I’ve gotten used to him next to me. I missed him in my bed. Missed the feel of his big body snug against mine, the touch of his hand on my hip, his morning wood thick against my ass.
Finn doesn’t respond.
I sigh without making a sound then occupy myself by watching miles of green grass roll by. Brilliant flashes of white interrupt the landscape, and I almost laugh when I spot the small blue and pink dots coating the sheeps’ wool. I want to ask Finn about it yet don’t. Giving him space to work through whatever is troubling him even when doing so troubles me.
It feels like I know him. His goodness. His soul. Still, I know very little about his life. I glance at him, so contemplative, so darn quiet.
I bite my lip and make a decision. The next few days, it’ll be my mission to discover the truth about Finn McDuff.
“Do you miss this?”
“Ireland?” He nods. “Yes and no. Mostly yes.”
Victory—he’s talking. “I feel the same way about Maine. The fresh air, small towns, peace and quiet.”
“But you left.”
“I’m ambitious. I craved a bigger life, full of opportunities and challenges Maine couldn’t offer me. I felt like a big fish in a small pond there. I couldn’t stay without experiencing what was out beyond the limits.” I turn to smile at him. “We’re alike in this way, you and I.”
“Perhaps.” He draws in a breath. “Though sticking to a small pond is wiser. Little fish are too easily eaten by the bigger ones. Then, where will ambition get you?”
“Have to catch me first.”
I wait for the smile that usually follows. It never appears. A few awkwardly tense seconds pass before he pulls the car to the side of the road and parks.
He’s out of the car and pulling my door open before I can process what’s happening. Taking my hand, he tugs me across a field and leads me up a small hill. I glance over my shoulder and gasp, “The car door is still open.”
“This won’t take long.”
He digs into his pocket.
My eyes go wide at the condom. “Now?”
He unbuttons my shorts and tugs them off with my underwear. Without a word, he tackles me to the ground and proceeds to kiss me so aggressively, so passionately, every worry disappears. He lifts his hips and wiggles, the brush of his pants on my legs as he shimmies free.
The top of his hand brushes against my stomach. His kiss relentless and all-consuming.
My eyes flash open and lock with his as he thrusts into me. Knowing he was watching me this entire time is a turn on, despite his somber blue eyes.
What’s wrong?
He circles his hips and I gasp at the delicious stretch. Finn wasn’t kidding when he boasted about his size. Every time we make love, he finds a new way to remind me of it, too.
I try wrapping my legs around his hips but he’s not having it. Instead, he spreads my thighs wide and pins me to the grass with his body, hips flexing and, with full force, fucks me into the earth. I feel everything, the soft cushion of grass, the cloudless blue sky, his tongue mating with my own, inches and inches of hot muscled body pressed into mine.
My climax comes from nowhere. Quick and furious, like our lovemaking. My body shakes as I go wild beneath him. “Finn. Oh, Finn. Finn. Finn.”
He slows and breaks our kiss. Controlling each movement as he gazes into my eyes. I see everything, his kindness, his heroism, his love. Us together, joined in a way that transcends this moment, this time. He pushes deep and settles inside me, baby blue eyes shining bright and pupils darkening as he milks his release for all it’s worth, as if he never wants it to end.
We lay together afterward breathless, my rapid heartbeat an echo of his.
I can’t move.
I don’t want to be the one to break away first.
After what feels like an eternity, he soundlessly lifts up and off me. And though I know it’s irrational, my hormones kick into overdrive, and tears form. I love this man.
And this feels like goodbye.
I scramble to my feet and duck my chin, hiding my face. We dress without talking. Except . . . why is that? No smart comments? No teasing parlay that’s become our normal routine?
I struggle to get a grip on my emotions and take a few seconds to smooth out the wrinkles in my shorts.
The light touch on my arm makes me jump.
“You have grass in yer hair.” Gently, ever so gently, he combs his fingers through my locks.
Player: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (A Deadliest Lies Novel Book 4) Page 19