Getting Lucky

by Jennifer Seasons

  Laughing, she swatted him away playfully when he reached for her. “Food first.”

  He grinned. “I like the way you think, lass. Boost our energy.”

  With a tsk-tsk over her shoulder, she went to the built-in bookcases that flanked each side of the old brick fireplace and perused the shelves. It hit him then, the way she seemed so comfortable and at home in his living room, and a feeling of rightness washed over him and settled in his heart. He could see it so clearly—in another life this was exactly where they were meant to be.

  His gaze roamed over her, and he shook his head, suddenly feeling a little sad.

  “You have a lot of old vinyl records, Sean. Are these really yours?” she asked, sounding impressed.

  He nodded and gestured to the vintage record player in the corner by the stairs. “They are, yes. After I bought this place I found that player there at a shop in town and brought it back. It reminded me of me mum and growing up in the theaters back in Dublin. She and her cast mates would listen to records for hours while they rehearsed lines and I did my school work.”

  Shannon glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes warm and smiling. “That’s very sweet.”

  Shoving his hands in his front pockets to keep them off her because she was obviously not in the mood to be groped by the likes of him—not yet anyway—Sean moved next to her. “Pick one,” he said, wondering what she’d choose.

  She looked up at him from under her lashes and grinned. “Already did.” And she grabbed one off the shelf, holding it to her so he couldn’t see. “May I?” she asked, tipping her head toward the player.

  “Of course.”

  As he watched, Shannon pulled the black vinyl record from its cover without letting him see the artist’s name, and placed it on the player. With a flick of a switch and an adjustment of the needle, music swelled and filled the room, the sound rich and layered.

  Nothing like good ol’ vinyl.

  Recognizing the song “Tupelo Honey,” Sean grinned in approval. “You picked one of my favorites.”

  Shannon returned his smile and he felt it clear down to his toes. “You’re a Van Morrison fan too?”

  He nodded. “I am.” Then he held a hand out to her, palm up in invitation. “Dance with me?”

  She scrunched her nose in the cutest way and said, “Really?” Like she wasn’t sure he was serious.

  He laughed softly and nodded, so completely drawn to her that he offered up a small secret freely. “Yes, really. I like dancing.”

  Her eyes went round. “You do?”

  She’d been drifting toward him, and she was close enough now for him to grab. Wrapping an arm around her lower back, Sean pulled her close and captured one of her hands in his before they began waltzing slowly to the sultry sound of saxophone. “I’m good at it too.”

  Shannon tripped at that exact moment but righted herself quickly and laughed, the sound light and carefree as he spun her in lazy circles around the living room. “I can see that.”

  Then they stopped talking altogether and simply danced in the fading afternoon light, letting their bodies sway in time to the music. Sean pulled her close and held her to him, content and at peace with her in his arms. How was he supposed to ever let her go?

  Deeply moved by the realization that he didn’t ever want to, he stopped dancing and pulled her in for a kiss that was raw and full of all the emotions he couldn’t say. Overcome by them, he lifted her into his arms and strode to the bedroom, his lips never leaving hers. Though he might not be able to speak his feelings, he could at least show her—needed to show her.

  And he did, in a coupling that was passionate and emotional and heartfelt. It left both of them wrung out and replete, completely satisfied. Shannon was dozing against him when the oven began to beep, signaling the chicken was finished roasting.

  Slipping as quietly as he could from the bed, Sean found his boxers on the floor and dashed to the kitchen, careful to avoid hitting any furniture in the growing dark. Loath to leave Shannon alone for long, he quickly flipped on the light and placed the pan on the stovetop to cool before turning the light off again. He was moving through the living room on his way back to the bedroom and his woman when a muffled sound from behind him made him stop dead in his tracks.

  “What the feck?” he muttered under his breath. The hair on the back of his neck rose as his instincts kicked into high alert.

  Suddenly there was a loud crash as something fell to the floor. His heart leapt into his throat. Every muscle inside him bunched tight as he spun around. Searching for the cause of the noise, he scanned the room in front of him, eyes searching in the dark for any abnormality. He turned his head to the left just as something big leapt out of the shadows in the far corner toward him moving fast. It hit him and took him down to the floor hard enough to rattle his teeth.

  Even as pain exploded behind his eyes, Sean grappled with the intruder. In that moment, every second of the past five years disappeared in a puff of smoke, and he was once again Sean Donaghy, Dublin’s bare-knuckle champion. Using every ounce of skill he possessed, he fought hard, throwing punches and using elbows, knees—whatever he had—as adrenaline surged through him. It was almost full dark now and though he couldn’t see whom he was attacking, it didn’t really matter who it was—only that the person was trying to kill him.

  Shannon.

  With only the thought of protecting the woman he loved, Sean elbowed his attacker in the solar plexus, pushing his head back, and aiming for his nose. He felt the connection, the give, as bone smashed and blood began gushing everywhere.

  His attacker cried out and grabbed for his nose, dropping something that clattered loudly to the ground and skittered across the floor toward his bedroom. Sean could just make out that it was a gun. He started to crawl after it just as his assailant yelled, “Not again, ye fecker!”

  Taking the opportunity, Sean rolled onto his feet, his arms up and fists ready, just as Shannon called out from his bedroom, “Sean, are you okay?”

  “Stay back!” he yelled in response and swung hard as his attacker came at him again like a charging bull after a red-caped toreador. His fist connected with bone, the impact reverberating all the way up his shoulder. But the intruder didn’t go down, only grunted and swore viciously.

  Shannon called out, “Lights!” And suddenly the overhead lamp in the living room lit up, temporarily blinding him.

  “Feck!” he growled, blinking hard as his pupils struggled to dilate properly. “I can’t bloody see!”

  “Sean, watch out!” But it was too late. Something hit him from behind, knocking the wind out of him and buckling his knees. As they both began to fall, he finally saw his attacker clearly.

  It was his nightmare come to life. “You fecking bastard!”

  Billy Hennessey rose to his feet, one shoulder hitched up, blood pumping steadily from his busted nose. “I shoulda killed ye at Belmont when I had the chance,” he declared, spitting blood. “Yer a dead man this time, Donaghy.”

  “It’s you!” Shannon yelled unexpectedly, catching everyone’s attention. She’d moved and was now on the far side of Sean, with a gun pointed directly across the room at the intruder. “I knew there was something wrong about you. Move and I’ll shoot you with your own damn bullets.”

  Billy sneered at her. “Ye don’t have the guts.” But he must have decided she might, because he swore in a rapid string of Gaelic and tried to take a step in retreat.

  “You know this guy?” Sean asked, confused, but keeping his eyes on Hennessey. How in feck did she know him?

  “He spoke to me today at the pet adoption in the park. Said something that made me uncomfortable.”

  He’d dared to talk to Shannon. Fear slammed into Sean and he yelled at Billy, not even caring what he’d said, “You stay the hell away from her!”

  Hennessey shifted onto the balls of his feet, clearly trying to find an escape route.

  “I said, don’t move!” Shannon yelled, her voice shaking as b
adly as her hands.

  For just a split second Sean took his attention off him and glanced at Shannon, who was once again dressed. But it was long enough. It gave the bastard an opening.

  The second Sean’s gaze left him, he moved. Hearing him, Sean looked back as Hennessey whipped out the knife he’d concealed behind him and flung it across the room directly at the woman he loved.

  “Shannon!” he called out, already in motion.

  Her scream split the air as the dagger sliced past her, mere inches from her cheek, and sank deep into the wall behind her. A second later, glass shattered, and Sean caught sight of the hit man escaping through the front window. But he didn’t care. He let the bastard go.

  Because right then, Shannon hit the floor in a dead faint.

  Scrambling to her, Sean dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms. Panting heavily, he cradled her against him and fought back the terror that was threatening to swallow him whole. “Shannon, wake up. Shannon, please.”

  But she was still unconscious. Tears stung his eyes as he stared down at her limp in his arms, and the consequences of his choices came back to haunt him. He’d caused this. This was his doing. Shannon’s life was in danger because of him. Because he’d been unable to keep her at arm’s length. Because he’d been foolish enough to believe that he could have a future.

  But there was none waiting for him.

  Pulling her even more tightly into his arms as she began to stir, Sean cradled her cheek with a hand and kissed her forehead with trembling lips. There was only one thing he could do now. One thing that would keep her safe and make things right—only it broke his heart.

  Shannon had to leave.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “YOU’RE REALLY FIRING me?”

  Shannon still couldn’t believe it. Sean was sending her away. Said it was for her own good—her own protection.

  It was crushing.

  With eyes swimming in tears, she looked at Sean and tried to reach through, to reason with him again. But the way his face was set in such stubborn lines, she had some serious doubts that it would work. But still, she had to try. “I’m truly, sincerely fine, Sean. I didn’t hit anything when I fainted and the knife missed me. Other than a slight headache, I’m really okay. You don’t need to fire me.”

  He wasn’t swayed. “But I do, and I have. Go back to Saratoga Springs, Shannon, where you belong. Leave me be.”

  “Why?” Shannon shook her head, completely confused. Maybe it was from fainting, but she didn’t think so. “You want me to leave you alone, why? What’s going on, Sean? What aren’t you telling me? And why did that guy seem to have a history with you? He said ‘this time.’ ”

  Her pulse beating thick and heavy, Shannon held her breath and waited for him to answer. But he just stood there with his fists at his sides, that asshole’s blood on his boxers, and such a stubborn jaw and hard, determined eyes that she almost gave up then and there and walked away.

  But she couldn’t. So she waited. And waited.

  Until finally he caved. “Feck me—fine. You’re as stubborn as me. You want the truth?”

  Shannon nodded. “And I want to know why the jerk who attacked you called you Donaghy.” There was so much more to this story, she could feel it. “Wait a minute. That guy sounded Irish. You told me once that you got Zeke from a boxing bet in Dublin. Did you steal him from that guy?” Is that why the filly was involved? Had Sean done something bad and somebody was getting back at him?

  Suddenly, Sean spoke, his voice shaking with emotion. “I didn’t bloody feckin’ steal anything. I didn’t want Zeke! I woke up in that warehouse after losing my fight to find Zeke already there and that bastard about to kill me. I don’t know what possessed me, but I looked at Zeke and saw a kindred spirit there. So I took the horse and ran. Can ye fecking blame me for not thinking clearly? I left Ireland that night and I’ve been hiding in fear for my life ever since and I’ve fecking had it!”

  But it was like once he started, he couldn’t stop. “So I want you to leave. Because they’ve found me and they’ll hurt you. I can’t live with that.”

  The tears that welled in her eyes fell, one by one, down her cheeks. “So that guy is part of the Irish mob, like a hit man?”

  Sean nodded. “Yes.”

  “And he’s been searching for you ever since you left Ireland?”

  “Yes.”

  She wanted to make sure she had it straight. If Sean was making her leave, she wanted to clearly understand why. “Because you got mixed up in a bad bet with the mob boss and took his horse the night he tried to have you killed?”

  He cleared his throat. “Basically, yes.”

  “And now you want me to leave because you think they’ll hurt me to get to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that guy didn’t mention you when he spoke to me earlier. He asked me about my father.”

  Sean’s gaze sharpened. “He did?”

  “Yes, and I’m confused. Because if this guy is part of the mob and he only knows you, then how come he was asking me about my dad?”

  He shook his dark head wearily. “I don’t know.”

  She thought about it. “There has to be another way.”

  His face grim, his eyes bleak, Sean replied, “There’s not. They know about you now.”

  “What about going to the police?”

  “I’m not exactly legal, Shannon. I’ve got some forged documents and a fake name—and I’m in possession of a horse that had been reported stolen back in Ireland.” He pinned her with dark, stormy eyes. “You get the picture I’m painting? What’ll happen if the guards do any digging into me? It was uncomfortable enough having them here when the incident with the filly was reported.”

  She nodded, her eyes huge. Holy shit, was all she could think. “You can’t go to the police.”

  “And you can’t stay. We’re through, the two of us. We should have never been—never had a chance from the start.” He sounded so sad, even though he worked hard to hide it. She could feel his regret like it was a palpable thing.

  But she understood why he felt that way, and deep down she agreed. She’d never been honest about anything either. Knowing it was too late, but needing to put it all out there anyway, Shannon took a breath and admitted the truth. “I’m Callum Charlemagne’s daughter.”

  He froze. “You’re what?”

  “I’m Shannon Charlemagne.”

  He jerked, clearly disbelieving. “What are you saying?” Now he took a step in retreat, his body rigid.

  Scared to death that he was going to hate her, but needing to follow through, she explained. “He sent me here to find out why your horses were racing so well. He’s threatened by you. I’m so sorry that I’ve been lying.”

  Silence fell and they stared at each other, Shannon trembling slightly as she waited for his response. It seemed like forever before he even moved.

  “It can’t matter now. Please leave,” he finally said quietly, his face impassive, his eyes dark with unspoken emotion. “You have to, Shannon.”

  She didn’t want to—God, no. She didn’t want to at all—but she did.

  She left Sean standing in his living room, with a broken front window and her heart shattered into a million pieces like the glass at his feet.

  “HE FIRED ME, Dad. I’m sorry,” Shannon stated and sat on the bed at Fortune’s local B&B the next day. After she’d gotten a ride into town from Tim, she’d gone directly to the old Victorian at the end of Main Street. She could have gone anywhere—the donut shop, the coffee place down the street, or even the brewpub—but instead, she’d chosen to just get a room because deep down she simply wasn’t ready to leave . . . even if Sean wanted her to. “I got a room at the Sweetbriar Inn, so I’m still here in town.”

  Callum Charlemagne exploded, his voice blaring through the phone. “Fired? You got fired? How in the hell did you let that happen, Shannon? I was counting on you!”

  Anxiety flooded her, froze her momentarily in
place. It scrambled her system and had her stammering to apologize before she even knew what she was doing. But as soon as she opened her mouth to say she was sorry, an image of Sean crossed her brain and something inside made her stop.

  Shannon opened her mouth again and instead of an apology, she blurted out quickly before she lost courage, “You never should have made me do this in the first place, Dad. This isn’t my fault.”

  “Excuse me?” her father said with an exaggerated drawl. “How is this not your fault? You were fired, Shannon. Not me.”

  She closed her eyes and said the one truth she should have from the beginning. “You should have never sent me.” She saw that now very clearly.

  Her father scoffed. “Clearly.”

  Shannon frowned, not liking the tone of his voice. “What does that mean?”

  Callum sighed in the receiver, his voice deep and filled with restrained anger. “It means I’m flying to Fortune. Stay put. I’ll call you when I get there.”

  The line went dead.

  Shannon was left with nothing to do but wait.

  “THANKS FOR COMING,” Sean said as he opened to the door and waved Jake and Aidan inside. It had been less than a day since he’d made Shannon leave and he was downright miserable. Knowing that sending her away had been the right thing to do didn’t make his feelings any easier to bear. Christ, what he wouldn’t give to have her in his arms again.

  That’s why he’d called the guys.

  After cleaning up the mess from the broken window, he’d spent the rest of the night tossing and turning even though he hadn’t been able to stop from texting her to make sure she was safe before he’d gone to bed. Even when she’d texted back that she was, it hadn’t helped him sleep. In the dark hours before dawn he’d made a decision: It was time to take a stand. The only way he’d ever have a full life was if he stopped hiding from his past and faced it head on.

  It was the only way he could have Shannon.

  And even though she’d dropped that bombshell on him about being that bastard Charlemagne’s daughter, his heart was hers. Completely and totally. Forever. Granted, there were many things to sort out, but he just couldn’t take Shannon for the manipulative, lying type. Not of her own free will anyway. Because all the ways in which she got so nervous and fidgeted so often, or sported red-rimmed eyes from crying in secret, hadn’t escaped him.