He looked down at her to see the wicked grin on her face. “You’d better not play here,” he warned her. His restraint was razer-thin.
“Or what?” she asked, running her hand up and down his length, stroking him before taking him in her mouth again, this time deeper, harder.
Mitch threw his head back in an ecstatic stupor, his breath ragged as he wrapped his fist in Juliana’s hair. He looked down at her in his lap, as she dragged her lips up and down his shaft which was already glistened with her saliva. Her cheeks hollowed as she looked up at him. She moaned, the vibration reverberated throughout his entire body. “That’s so goddamn good, Jules,” he moaned in return.
He could barely think, and the way his blood rushed in his ears, he almost didn’t hear it when his phone rang. “Goddammit,” he muttered, trying to decide whether or not he should answer it. But the job won out, and he reached down and put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to push her away. “I’m sorry, babe. I’ve got to get that. It’s probably work.”
With her mouth still on him, her head bobbing up and down, she hummed in agreement, and continued her work.
He reached for his cell phone on the end table, still breathing heavily. “Are you serious?”
In response, she stopped and looked up at him, withdrawing him from her mouth. “What do you want more, this or the job?” she said, before her tongue crept from her mouth and circled his crown. She took him deeper.
Part of him wanted to throw his cell phone against the wall. “Fuck,” he muttered. Even though Juliana’s lips were wrapped tightly around his cock, the job won out. “Someone had better be dead.” He exhaled between clenched teeth, trying to regain his composure before answering the call. “What?”
“Aye, is this Mitch Swanson?” an unfamiliar Irish brogue greeted him on the other end.
Mitch’s posture stiffened immediately. “Who is this?” Juliana’s head stopped its movement in her lap, and she pulled away, standing and turning away from him. He could tell by her posture that she was upset with him. She had every right to be. He turned his attention back to the phone.
“We’ve never met, but we’ve got some mutual friends. I believe you know my uncle.” It was Declan O’Connell.
“What can I do for you?” Mitch asked him, straightening himself and zipping his jeans.
“I just got into town. I want to arrange a meeting. My uncle has been telling me some very interesting things.”
“Not on the phone,” Mitch warned him. “Where are you?”
Declan gave him the name of one of the O’Connell’s one few remaining properties. An Irish pub located near the downtown core of St. John’s. Mitch checked his watch. It was after two a.m. “I can be there in ten minutes.”
“Aye, that’s good. Come alone. I look forward to meeting you, Detective.”
Mitch disconnected the call, wishing he could say the same thing. He heard Juliana in the kitchen and went to her. “Jules, I’ve got to go,” he told her. “I won’t be gone long.”
“That’s fine.” Her response was curt, and she didn’t look at him as she poured herself a glass of water. He knew he’d fucked up. But he’d done the right thing. He had too much to concentrate on to think about sex… No matter how mind-blowing it was between them.
“I really am sorry, Juliana,” he told her. “But this just solidifies the fact that we can’t do this. I need to focus on work. It’s too important to fuck up.” He closed his eyes against the image of her destroyed café. The fact that he’d come so close to losing her pulled painfully at his chest. “The consequences just aren’t worth it. I’ll be back soon. Call if you need me.”
When she heard the door close, signalling that he’d left, Juliana sighed and leaned over the counter. She was hurt, angry, embarrassed. Every time she thought that she and Mitch were getting closer, that they were making some progress breaking through that tough exterior, he managed to erect another wall.
She slammed his fist down on the counter in a flash of frustration, and looked around. His home had felt like a sanctuary in the midst of all the violence and chaos in her life. But with Mitch’s emotional distance it now felt more like a prison, and she had to get out of there. At that moment, in the midst of a swirl of frustration and longing, there was only one place she could go.
Chapter 26
Mitch wasted no time getting to the pub. He’d hated nothing more than pushing Juliana away, during what was one of the best blowjobs he’d ever received. He also couldn’t dismiss the hurt and anger on her face when he pushed her away. “It’s for the job, Mitch,” he told himself, but it didn’t do him much good, as she still dominated his mind.
He rolled his window all the way down, and let the cool night air blow over him. He had to clear his mind, to rid it of all thoughts of Juliana and focus on what lay ahead. Meeting with a mobster, especially one who’s father he helped imprison, was a dangerous proposition. Mitch wished he could call his team to back him up, but there was no way that would have worked. Declan had told him to come alone and he needed to keep his team as far away from this situation as he could. There was no need to burn their careers along with his own if this deal went sideways.
It was early in the week, so thankfully parking downtown was easy to find. He walked into the pub, and a quick survey of the crowd told him he wouldn’t find any friends here. He recognized many of the faces from mug shots and court appearances, and he was sure that a few had recognized him as well.
An imposing security goon stepped in front of him. “You sure you’re in the right place?”
“I’m here to see Declan.”
“What’s your business?”
“I believe that’s between us.”
The man sized him up for a moment before walking away without further comment, leaving Mitch to wait in the doorway. The brute soon came back and waved over his shoulder, indicating Mitch should follow him. They walked across the floor of the bar, passing drunk people at small tables, some of whom looked like they were one wrong word away from starting a fight. Passing pool games and dart boards, Mitch kept his back up, a keen eye on his surroundings. The weight of his gun, heavy in his shoulder holster, was a comforting feeling. The security man ushered Mitch down a dark staircase.
“After you,” Mitch said, not willing to put his back to the stranger. The other man shrugged indifferently and walked ahead of him.
When they reached the bottom of the staircase, the behemoth turned to him. “Spread ‘em.” Mitch didn’t like it, but he did as he was told. He was on someone else’s turf and acquiesced. He spread his legs and raised his arms.
“I’m carrying,” Mitch told the man as he frisked him.
“Give it here.”
“It’s police issue,” Mitch told him. “Not gonna happen.”
“Well, neither is this meeting.”
Mitch didn’t stand down. He wasn’t giving up his gun, no matter how much he needed this meeting to happen. They stared each other down for a moment. “Compromise?” he asked. “I’ll leave the bullets with you.”
“That’ll work,” the man grunted, and held out his hand.
Not breaking eye contact, Mitch slowly, carefully reached under his jacket for his gun. He withdrew it, ejected the magazine and handed to him. “Better?” he asked.
The man didn’t respond, but instead moved past him and pushed open the door beside him. “Go on in.”
Mitch did as he was told and walked into the darkened room. It was damp and smelled of beer and cigarettes. A table sat in the middle of the floor, illuminated by an outdated brass light fixture that hung from the ceiling. Mitch made eye contact with the handsome young man that was seated there, and when he got closer and sat, the other man held out his hand for Mitch to shake. But he refused.
“Mitch Swanson,” the greeted him with a smile. His Irish accent was thick.
“Declan O’Connell.”
“Thanks for meeting me. I heard from my dear uncle Colin that you had some interes
ting views on this city’s future.”
Mitch blew out a heavy breath. “Are you wired?”
Declan chuckled, glancing askew at the heavyset men standing by the wall, “I think that’s my line, Detective.”
“There’s no reason for me to wear a wire here. I have as much, if not more, to lose in this as you do.”
“Didn’t stop you from bringing your gun.”
Mitch took a moment to size up the few men standing in the periphery. More bodyguards, no doubt, likely all armed. The uneven weight of one man’s jacket was certainly a handgun, another had his hands clasped behind his back, probably for easy access to a piece in his waistband.
“I’m pretty certain that I’m not the only one armed here,” Mitch stated, slowly pulling his sidearm out of its holster to dissuade anyone from getting too aggressive. His move only elicited another chuckle from Declan.
“You’re the only one without any bullets, though,” Declan commented, again glancing back at his peanut gallery for a few more chuckles. “I’m starting to think my uncle was wrong about you detective. You fancy yourself a kingmaker, but you don’t have a shot in hell.”
Mitch weighed his response for a moment as Declan looked about to leave. “Well your man forgot about the round in the chamber, so you could say I have exactly one shot. I only need one.”
The goons’ laughter was cut short by this sudden realization and they reached for their own weapons, moving to advance on Mitch before the Irishman halted them with the raise of hand, which held a large calibre handgun, trained between Mitch’s eyes. Mitch was silent for a moment as he stared, unflinching, at Declan over the barrel of his gun, before the Irishman threw his head back in laughter, and lowered the pistol.
“You’re good, Swanson. Can I get you a drink?” He waved to a man by a small bar that Mitch hadn’t seen when he walked in. The goons took this as a sign to relax, if only for the moment.
“No thanks.”
“Come on, I’ve been flying all night. Join me as I unwind with a drink. How about something from the homeland? Guinness? Whiskey?”
“Whiskey’s fine,” Mitch relented.
Declan waved another man over who brought one bottle and two glasses. He poured them each a finger and saluted. Mitch ignored him, brought his glass to his lips and drank.
Declan turned serious. “So what am I doing here in your lovely province?”
“The Russians are tearing apart the Irish ranks here, no secret there. Bodies are piling up, overdoses and drug-related violence are increasing, and because my hands are tied by the law, Yuri Petrova is untouchable. He’s got connections in the department and city hall. We can’t stop him.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Well, his rise to power came about since the death of your father.”
“Since you killed my father,” Declan corrected. “And jailed my uncle.”
“You aren’t wrong,” Mitch told him.
“And now that you’ve upset the delicate balance in the city, you’re mad that you’ve lost control.”
Mitch sighed, and poured another shot of whiskey. He hated that he had to come to the Irish for help. “Do you want to run St. John’s, or not?”
“You know, I’m not a criminal.”
It was Mitch’s turn to laugh. “What’s that expression? You’re taking the piss outta me? I know what you do in Ireland, I’ve read your record. I know you have the ties, the influence and the resources to do this. We both know what we can do for each other.”
“Honestly, I’m interested and intrigued. So, lay it out, detective. We know my place in this. What can you do for me?”
“You want me to lay it out for you?” Mitch said, leaning in. “We can give you time to rebuild. Give you a wide berth to conduct your business, as long as it’s within our agreed-upon parameters. In that time, we’ll do what we can to weaken Petrova’s position. And then when you’re strong enough, we want you to hone in on the Russians and their business.”
“How can I be certain that you won’t then turn on us?”
Mitch shrugged. “I guess you can’t. But you have to ask yourself if you want part of something or all of nothing. Because nothing is what you’ll have if you don’t take action soon. Stay in line with our goals and I’ll do what I can to keep my people out of your way.”
“A compelling proposition.” Declan made a show of thinking about the offer. He picked up his glass and watched Mitch over the rim. “Detective Swanson,” he extended the glass. “I believe we have a deal.”
Mitch reluctantly clinked his glass against that of the Irishman, and down the drink in one large gulp. The burn of the whiskey filled his throat. Something told him that wouldn’t be the last tough thing to swallow after tonight.
Mitch felt the weight of his decision bearing down on him.
He’d just made a deal with the Devil.
Chapter 27
Juliana stirred her drink with her straw, and took a sip. She looked around the blue room that, tonight, wasn’t stocked with any masks or blindfolds. He would be angry. She knew that. She hoped for it. She checked herself out in the mirrored wall. She didn’t have any of her nice lingerie or a selection of sexy dresses at Mitch’s apartment, so she’d settled on wearing only a pair of high heels and her black trench coat, the one that only came to the middle of her thigh. She thought that Mitch would like it, when he was done scolding her, of course.
He’d called her cell phone at least three times, but she hadn’t answered it. She assumed that he’d found the note she left for him, telling him that he knew where to find her, signed by Kitty Cat. She grinned when she pictured how red his face probably was at that moment.
The approach of heavy, hurried footsteps broke through her mental picture and she turned to the door as he swung it open.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Her shrug was indifferent. “I needed to get out of the house.”
“How did you get here?”
“A cab.”
“I can’t believe you did that,” he sputtered. “Don’t you know how grave a situation you’re in right now? Anything could have happened to you.”
“Right, we wouldn’t want anything bad to happen, now would we?” She rolled her eyes and sipped her drink again.
“Let’s go.”
“No.”
“Jules!”
She played with the tie on her coat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked as he watched her, his eyes glued to the knot around her waist that kept her coat secured.
“Jules, we’ve been through this. It’s not going to happen.”
Juliana opened the trench coat and dropped it off her shoulders and it fell to the floor. “Are you sure.”
“Juliana, if you’re testing me…”
“I might be.”
He looked away from her, his eyes meeting at a point behind her, above her head, stubbornly averting his eyes from her.
Juliana took a step toward him, her high heel shoes making her movements languid and seductive. “Mitch, why are you so content to be miserable?”
“I’m not.”
“If you would open yourself to pleasure, you would realize that you don’t always have to look after somebody else. You’ve done that your entire life. You looked after Peter when you were both just children, you look after your team, now me.” She moved in close enough for her breasts to graze the hard wall of his chest. “Take a moment just for yourself.”
“Jules,” his voice was a low, gravelly whisper, she could tell that his restraint was crumbling. She was almost there.
She looked down and saw that, despite his reluctance, his was completely hard and the denim of his jeans had a tough time containing him. She reached down to grasp his hard cock and squeezed him. He exhaled and she felt him shudder. It thrilled her that this strong, powerful man could be so responsive to her, that she could hold his desire in the palm of her hand, literally. Well, may
be in both hands.
“Just let go, Mitch.”
His growl was a feral noise that erupted angry and impatient from his throat. His hands went to her hips, and he quickly, forcefully pushed her against the mirrored wall. He kissed her, his mouth rough, and his tongue demanding against hers.
The glass of the mirror was cold on her back, but his body was warm. Her fingers worked quickly, as she pushed his jacket from his shoulders, and made quick work of his shirt, lifting the hem over his head.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he tried again, but showed no sign of stopping. “You’re clouding my vision of everything I do. I have to use every ounce of my control around you. But the minute I touch you, I can’t stop,” he muttered, roughly in her ear.
“Then don’t,” she urged him on, unbuttoning his jeans to put her hands inside and grip his ass, pulling him toward her aching core. She needed him. “Mitch, now,” she pleaded.
He grunted in her ear and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him and gripped his waist tightly, his body a solid core of desire. He shifted below her, she felt him position himself, and then he was inside of her. She threw her head back, the pleasure of him burned, starting low and rising with each of his quick, hard, frenzied thrusts.
She flashed back to their first time together. At the club, when he’d pinned her against the wall in a similar fashion and took her in front of the interested crowd. She hadn’t known her mystery man was Mitch at the time, but it made perfect sense, there shouldn’t have been any doubt about his identity.
He pumped his hips, his muscles flexed, but she found it difficult to focus on anything but the way he looked at her, his normally light blue eyes, darkened into deep pools, boring into hers.
Double Shot to the Heart (Brewed Moon Book 2) Page 17