Simon gave a puzzled frown. “You knew Jenna came to live with us?”
Seamus nodded. “I’ve made it me business to know everything about Sarah and Jenna from the day I allowed ye to put me in this place.”
“The day you allowed me to put you in here?” Simon echoed slowly.
The Irishman snorted. “Well, ye didn’t think you managed it all on yer own, now did ye?” he mocked. “As soon as Sarah told me she was pregnant, we knew things had to change. But in such a way that only the police wanted me and not me own people thinking me or Sarah had sold them out.” He sobered. “Still, what we planned to do was a risk for Sarah even so.”
“Are you saying you deliberately let yourself be captured and locked up in prison in exchange for a new life for your wife and daughter?” Simon stared at the other man incredulously.
Seamus shrugged. “It’s been worth every day I’ve spent in here to now be able to see me daughter sitting here both strong and free to be herself.”
“All these years…” Simon muttered. “All these fucking years—”
“Hey, hey, ye’ll not be using that language in front of me daughter,” the other man chided Simon.
The past few minutes’ conversation between the two men had given Jenna a chance to recover from the shock of what it now seemed had been a deliberate plot between Sarah and Seamus to protect their unborn daughter.
Her.
It was too overwhelming for Jenna to know how she felt about that yet. Something else for her to think about later. Right now, there were other, more urgent, matters to deal with. “Could we possibly get back to the reason the two of us came here?”
Seamus focused those pale green eyes on her. “Which is?”
“To ask if you’re responsible for the deaths of Edward Jervis and Jon Worthington.”
The plastic chair creaked as the Irishman leaned back in it. “Yer as straight-talking as yer mother was,” he mused affectionately. “Saddest day of my life when I learned we’d lost her.” He gave a pained frown.
As overwhelming as it was to know who her father was, to actually be in the same room as him, to be able to see the likeness and differences between the two of them, Seamus O’Malley was still a stranger to her. A somehow familiar stranger, but still not someone Jenna knew or was sure she ever wanted to know, let alone share the grief of losing her mother with.
What would her life have been like if Sarah and Seamus had stayed together? It sounded as if the two of them had loved each other very much, and Jenna had no doubt she would have been included in that love for the first eight years of her life at least, and that Sarah would have tried to protect her from the harsh realities of Seamus’s life as an enforcer. But what would have happened to Jenna after Sarah died? Would she have been enfolded into Seamus’s world of death and danger? Perhaps even met someone, fallen in love, and married into that world herself?
Jenna shuddered at the thought of how different her life might have been.
She especially disliked the thought of never having met Atticus. Never having loved him. Never having made love with him.
“Worried about yer man, are ye?”
Jenna refocused on Seamus O’Malley. “What?”
“Because if ye are, I have it on good authority Atticus has been released, through lack of evidence.” Seamus folded his arms across his still-powerful chest. “He and the rest of the family are on their way back to the hotel where Joanne and Simon are staying.”
Jenna blinked. How could this man possibly know those things about Atticus? About any of them?
She straightened in the chair. “Did you kill those two men?” She had noticed Seamus didn’t looked puzzled or surprised when she mentioned their names a few minutes ago.
The Irishman glanced at the two guards standing across the room. “Now how could I have done something like that when I’m shut up here all day and night?”
Jenna’s smile was rueful. “I’m presuming in the same way you’ve done everything else the past twenty-three years.”
Seamus shrugged. “The English justice system is a wonderful thing. Reliable and predictable. But before I answer your question, I want a promise from ye.” His expression darkened. “One ye’ll not break or suffer the consequences.”
Simon sat forward protectively. “I won’t allow you to threaten Jenna or anyone else in my family.”
Those pale green eyes narrowed. “Then keep them under better control,” Seamus rasped. “I’ll make sure evidence is provided to exonerate Atticus of all involvement in the deaths of Jervis and Worthington.”
Meaning he’d really had those two men killed?
Because he believed they posed a threat to her?
Oh God…
It was…terrifying to think Seamus could just issue an order like that, both inside and outside the prison, and it would be carried out, no questions asked.
“In exchange for what?” Jenna prompted warily.
“In exchange for ye never coming near this prison, or me, again,” he stated harshly. “We should get away with it this once, but I’ll not have it happen again.”
“You’ll not…?” Jenna gripped her hands tightly together, aware that if she stood up, as she wished to do, this meeting would be over, and she still had a few things to say. “You might well rule your little fiefdom in here, Mr. O’Malley, but you don’t rule me! And if I should decide I want to come and visit your sorry arse again, then that’s what I’ll damn well do.”
Temper flared in those green eyes so like her own. “And undo everything yer mother and I tried to do to protect you, so we could give ye a better life than being the daughter of an Irish thug?”
Jenna met the challenge in those steely eyes. “If that’s what I decide, yes.”
He stared at her for several seconds longer before the corners of his mouth began to twitch in an effort to hold back a smile. “Jesus, Steele, you’ve raised her to be a little firecracker!”
Simon chuckled. “I think Jenna did that all on her own. Maybe with a little help from Joanne,” he conceded ruefully.
O’Malley grinned. “Me daughter has the balls of a prizefighter.” His expression softened. “And the beauty of her mother.” He nodded. “Very well, Jenna Jane—yes, I know your full name,” he mocked as her eyes widened. “Sarah chose Jane for me dear mother, God rest both their souls.” He turned to Simon. “Get her out of here and reunited with your son. And let us hope Atticus has more control over her than you or I do,” he added self-derisively.
Jenna gave a snort. “If that were true, I doubt I would be here in the first place.”
“True,” the Irishman conceded before standing up as an end to the meeting. “That other problem will be sorted before the end of the day,” he promised.
She nodded. “And don’t…don’t ever do anything like that again out of a misguided sense of protecting me.” It devastated her to think two men had lost their lives because of her.
Seamus shrugged. “There’ll be no need for it as long as yer man keeps ye safe.”
Jenna had no intention of Atticus keeping her safe or being her man.
Now or in the future.
Atticus was up and crossing the sitting room of his parents’ hotel suite the moment he heard the keycard in the lock. He reached the door just as his father held the door open for Jenna to enter ahead of him, her gaze avoiding meeting his. “What the hell were you thinking?” He tightly grasped the tops of her arms as he shook her.
His father winced. “I think she’s already suffered enough emotional turmoil for one day, Atticus.” Simon had called Joanne as soon as they left the prison, but it wasn’t too difficult to see that Jenna was still slightly dazed by the events of this morning.
Atticus ceased shaking her. “Did that bastard say or do anything to hurt you?”
Jenna shook her head. “On the contrary. He’s going to ensure the police have someone else other than you to focus their attention on. Hopefully the real culprits.” Although she couldn
’t be a hundred percent sure of that. One thing she had ascertained from that meeting with her father—Seamus O’Malley was a law unto himself, even locked away in a high security prison. “I hope none of you mind if I leave now.” She gave a blanket smile that encompassed all the Steele family present. “I’d like to go back to my apartment and maybe take a nap.” The last three days and nights of worrying about Atticus hadn’t been conducive to sleeping.
“I’m coming with you—”
“No! No,” Jenna repeated in a calmer voice as Atticus’s eyes narrowed. “I need to be alone for a while.” Again, her gaze dropped away from meeting his. “A lot has happened these last three days, not least meeting my father.” The most significant event of the past three days was having made love with Atticus. But that was something she daren’t allow herself to think about again just yet.
Atticus’s expression softened. “Do you want some company?”
“No.” She still couldn’t look at him. “I—I’ll give you a call later, okay?”
No, it wasn’t okay with Atticus when he wanted to be with her. But Jenna really did look as if she had taken an emotional beating this morning, and Atticus didn’t want to put any more pressure on her. He’d waited years to be able to love Jenna; he could wait a few hours longer for the talk the two of them had needed to have for the past three days.
An hour later, he received a phone call from Ben that warned him that conversation would have to wait a little longer still.
Not only did Ben alert him to the fact Jenna had left her apartment shortly after entering it, a heavy backpack on her shoulders, but she also succeeded in evading having him follow her when she left the building.
And Atticus had no idea where she had gone.
Chapter 14
Jenna left the beach to pause at the bottom of the hill to look up toward where she could hear the sound of a motorbike engine approaching. Not just any motorbike engine, but the familiar sound of a Harley.
She’d been staying at this remote cottage on the coast of Southern Ireland for four days now, with not a single interruption to her self-imposed solitude. The location was so remote that the narrow lane led only to her cottage and the beach, and she had the latter to herself except for the occasional seagull soaring overhead.
She had so desperately needed to get away from London. From everything familiar. From Atticus. To clear her head and decide what she should do next.
Having already thought of maybe returning to Ireland for a visit one day, now had seemed like the ideal time for her to do so.
She’d contacted the bank and explained she needed to get away for a couple of weeks, then she’d booked an airline ticket to Dublin. She’d managed to hire a car at the airport and just driven toward the coast. She’d seen the sign for a cottage to let several hours later and brought the car to a halt to go and talk with the owners. The cottage to let was a mile farther down the rugged track, small, just two rooms upstairs and two rooms down, but it was more than adequate enough for what Jenna needed. There was a small shop in the village a couple of miles away where she could get any supplies she might need. Her initial visit the day after her arrival had shown her the headlines in all the newspapers was that two men had been arrested in connection with the deaths of Edward Jervis and Jon Worthington. So at least she knew Seamus O’Malley had kept his word and ensured Atticus was no longer a suspect in either of those two murders.
It would be a lie for Jenna to claim she had made any life-changing decisions for herself while being here. But she did feel physically better from the long daily walks she took along the rugged and windy coastline.
She also knew she didn’t belong here, that any of the Irish heritage still in her blood had long ago been replaced by her years of living in London as part of the Steele family. One Steele in particular.
The same Steele who now sat astride the powerful motorbike, booted feet moving to the ground for balance as he brought the machine to a halt at the top of the hill before turning off the engine.
Jenna’s pulse jumped as Atticus removed his helmet, dark gaze hidden behind wraparound sun glasses, his long hair blowing in the warm breeze rolling in off the ocean, and wearing a black leather vest over a black T-shirt.
It made Jenna’s heart ache to look at him as she slowly continued up the hill until she stood on the road beside him, able to note the extra lines beside his eyes and mouth in the pallor of his face.
“It’s time for you to come home, Jenna,” he told her gruffly.
She swallowed. “I’m not sure I know where home is anymore.”
His gaze remained locked on hers as he put the stand out for the bike before swinging off it to then straighten and hold out his arms. “It’s right here, where it’s always been.”
She hung back. “I ran away,” she reminded guiltily.
“I found you. I’ll always find you, Jenna.” It was a promise not a threat.
She gave a choked sob before she threw herself into those welcoming arms, clinging tightly to Atticus. Her head was pressed against the hardness of his chest, where she could hear the rapid and reassuring beat of his heart. “I’ve missed you so much, Atticus.” Her arms tightened about his waist. “So much.”
It was only Atticus’s hope that might be the case which had held him back from coming here sooner.
After the initial shock of Jenna’s flight from London had worn off, it hadn’t taken Atticus long to have Haydn find out exactly where Jenna had gone.
The hard part had been Atticus having to restrain himself from immediately following her here.
“Give her time,” his mother had advised.
“Let her come to terms with herself and who she is,” his father had added.
“Give her time to miss you,” Haydn recommended.
“Then find her and give her arse a good spanking,” Logan had encouraged with obvious relish.
“Then fuck her brains out,” Rourke had added dryly.
“But make sure you tell her you love her first,” Lucan encouraged as he gave the twins a frowning glance.
Even Bryce had got in on the act when he telephoned from New Orleans, his advice being to tie Jenna to the bed before spanking her, just in case Jenna got angry rather than aroused.
But the only advice Atticus had listened to came from his parents.
Give Jenna time and let her come to terms with herself and who she is.
Atticus placed his hand beneath her chin and lifted her face so he could see her expression. Her eyes were no longer that stormy green of four days ago. There was color in her cheeks, and more importantly, she was smiling at him.
“Welcome home, Jenna Riley,” he murmured gruffly before his head lowered and his lips claimed hers.
Atticus was her home, Jenna acknowledged as she returned his kiss with every ounce of emotion inside her, and she never wanted to be parted from him ever again.
Atticus released her lips to place his forehead against hers. “I love you, Jenna. Will you marry me?”
She moved sharply back. “I— What?”
His hands moved up to cup either side of her face, his smile gentler than any she had ever seen on his face before. “This last four days without you has shown me I can’t do this anymore, that I’m through pushing you away and telling myself I’m too old for you. I love you, Jenna,” he repeated firmly. “I always have. I know I always will. Remember, you asked me what my kink is?” he mused. “It’s you. Anything and everything to do with you. And I can’t fight it any longer, need and love you too much to want to be without you ever again.”
“I… But… You…”
He grinned. “Shit, I would have told you all this sooner if I’d known it would render you speechless!”
“Very funny,” she snorted. “But… You really love me and want to marry me?” She looked at him searchingly, but could only see utter conviction in his face and eyes.
He nodded. “Not that I’m expecting for a moment it will succeed in keeping you out of
trouble, but I want you as my wife, as Jenna Steele—as mine—more than I’ve ever wanted or will ever want anything else in this world. I really do love you, Jenna,” he added huskily.
She lowered her lashes, suddenly shy. “I love you too.”
His eyes darkened. “Enough to marry me?”
She gave a pained frown. “But my father is Seamus O’Malley!”
Atticus nodded. “And he’s already given us his blessing. I went to see him yesterday,” he explained as her eyes widened. “Dad told us everything, and I wanted to thank Seamus for giving up his own life to protect you and your mother. If he hadn’t, the two of us would never have met.” He smoothed a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “And that really would have been a tragedy.”
“But he’s a…an Irish gangster and a murderer,” she reminded.
Atticus shrugged. “And considering the role Dad played in the English government for forty years, I’m pretty sure that if we asked him, he has more than a few skeletons in his closet he would rather weren’t made public.”
“But he would have killed the bad guys, and then only when he absolutely had to!”
“Death is death, Jenna, however and why it comes about.” He paused for a few seconds. “I’m not exactly squeaky clean myself. Nor are any of the brothers. We locate and retrieve people, Jenna, and not all those retrievals are made without bloodshed.”
She knew that, was well aware that Logan had been shot a few months ago when he and Rourke rescued several children from a warehouse in France. She also knew from August that Logan and Rourke had eliminated several of the people responsible for the child sex-trafficking ring.
She winced. “Again, they were bad men.”
“Edward Jervis wasn’t exactly innocent, now was he?” Atticus reasoned. “It’s unfortunate Worthington became caught up in that situation too, but I had the distinct feeling he was still in love with Jervis, and the other man’s death would have come as a severe blow to him.”
“But—”
“Jenna, you aren’t responsible for what your father has done in the past or will do in the future,” he insisted.
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