Dublin Nights Series Box Set: On the Edge & On the Line

by Brittney Sahin

  Was I really about to get back in that cage after five years? Ma’s face came to mind, and a slow burn of shame blew across my skin. I held my arm out in front of me and eyed the ancient Gaelic tattoo on the inside of my forearm. The message should have been enough to stop me. Ma’s refusal to sanction the act should have been enough to stop me, too. So why was I here?

  Les. Anna.

  Were there other ways out of this? Would it be as simple as sending Les away with enough money to keep him safe? Hell, I could tell Anna the truth, or even get her fired. She could go back to Kentucky. I wasn’t afraid of whatever Donovan threw my way as long as Anna and Les were safe.

  So what the hell was I doing here? And why couldn’t I get myself to leave?

  I had finally told Les this morning I was going to fight, but he’d already heard it from Donovan. I wasn’t sure if he was more upset that I was saving his arse, or that he wouldn’t get a rematch with Frankie in November. I couldn’t blame him, though. Fighting was his livelihood, but for me, it had been something else. Something much worse.

  My gaze flickered up to meet the eyes of the arsehole that had cornered Anna outside Les’s apartment Monday night. My body stiffened as I fought to maintain my thin grasp of restraint.

  I removed my earbuds and draped the thin cord around my neck. The noise of the crowd began to register in my ears.

  “You actually feckin’ showed. There are side bets that you wouldn’t. Or that you’ll run off like a pussy just before the fight.” His voice elevated over the sudden wave of cheers exploding from the crowd.

  The match must’ve been over—there was only one reason for such pandemonium, and it was either a tap-out or a knockout.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” But I shouldn’t be. I should leave.

  I tensed, attempting to swallow back my disgust for Tommy—I’d learned his name the other day and spent yesterday training with him in mind, thinking about how much I wanted to break his face after seeing him threaten Anna.

  Jesus. I’d only met Anna a week ago. We barely knew each other, but for some bloody reason, she was almost all that I could think about.

  It was her sweetness I was drawn to. At least I tried to tell myself that. My soul craved the need of something pure after all that I’d done. I thought I’d changed in the last five years. But that moment in my office when I’d almost punched my brother made me realize I was still the same man.

  And a man like that could never be with someone like Anna.

  “Do you have something else you want to say?” My hands balled at my sides as I bit my lip, fighting the urge to knock Tommy out.

  “No, but I’m gonna enjoy watching you get your arse kicked. Then, I’m gonna take care of Les. And after, I’ll have another visit with Anna.” He sniggered. “She’s feckin’ hot. I just want to—”

  I lunged at Tommy, grabbing his shirt like I had that night outside the apartment, my fist pulled back taut.

  But I stopped myself at the sight of a grin spreading across his face, which told me this was what he wanted. He was trying to get a rise out of me. Did Donovan send him here to bait me? To get me steamed before the fight so I would win? Because Donovan might be a disgusting piece of shite, but he was a man of his word. And he wanted me to fight in November, which meant he needed me to win tonight.

  “You’re not fucking worth it.” I let him go. “For now.” I grabbed my hoodie from the ground and brushed past him and stopped behind the thick band of people crowded around the ring.

  I nodded to the announcer, giving him the greenlight that I was ready.

  When I heard the sound of my name from his lips, the crowd roared and cheered, electrifying me. I jogged in place for a few seconds, then bounced on my feet as I moved, the audience parting for me as if I was Moses and they were the Red Sea. Some began chanting my name, but their words became white noise as the Octagon rose up in my view.

  I tucked my music and earbuds into one pocket of my sweats and grabbed my mouth guard from the other. I shoved my sweats down and stepped out of them, tossing them and my hoodie to a stool outside the ring.

  I was down to my fitted boxing shorts and nothing else. I entered the Octagon, moving like there was fire beneath my feet. My body became less tense as I snapped out practice punches and hooks.

  I stopped moving when I saw my opponent climb the stairs and enter the ring. Dark hair and even darker gleaming eyes stared back at me. What kind of game was Donovan playing? My fingertips buried into my palms as memories hurdled back to my mind.

  It isn’t him. It can’t be Owen. Get your shit together—Donovan’s just fucking with you.

  He was younger. Twenty-five, maybe. Not quite as tall as me. Maybe five eleven. He looked strong enough to go against me. Muscular. Fit. But he wouldn’t be able to take my left. No one could take my left hook.

  I barely heard the ref talking, or the sounds of the audience as I caught sight of Donovan outside the ring. His thugs flanked him on each side, and he tipped his chin up and flashed me a smile. Fucking arse.

  I conjured images of Tommy. Of Frankie hitting Les. Anything to fuel my anger, to help me get through this.

  When the ref finished talking, my opponent came blasting at me like a gunshot to the head.

  “Congratulations, mate. But hell, you could have made it a little more entertaining.” Donovan’s eyes twitched with amusement.

  I was standing outside in the parking lot in front of Donovan’s Benz. He was leaning against it, looking smug, and I wished it had been him in the ring earlier, not the poor sap who’d gone down in less than two minutes.

  I swiped at the little bit of dried blood at my brow. He got in one good shot at my temple, but it was the only shot. Tonight proved one thing: I’d remembered how to fight. It was like riding a bike. A twisted, sick bike.

  “You’re still undefeated,” Donovan said with almost an air of pride, and it bugged me. “Which is a damn good thing.”

  “Why’d you choose him? He looked just like . . .” I couldn’t say his name. I couldn’t do it.

  Donovan waved his hand dismissively. “Coincidence.”

  Yeah, sure. With Donovan there was no such thing.

  “The guillotine move was very unlike you.”

  Yeah, well, I was too afraid to throw the left hook, and I knew the guillotine would make him tap out. The fight had been a mind trip, yet I was more pumped up than ever. The adrenaline still soared through me, even twenty minutes later. It was how I used to feel after all my fights—energized, ready for more. Ready to run a marathon or have sex all damn night.

  I always got high off the feeling of a win, and I’d always kept chasing the high. Until the day I had to stop. I wanted to hate that my body was more alive now than it had been in years. It was so goddamn wrong to feel like this.

  “You loved it, didn’t you?” Donovan laughed and opened the door to his Benz. “Felt good to hit again—I can see it in your eyes.” He slid onto the cream leather interior and grasped the wheel. “Welcome back.”

  Donovan tore out of the parking lot, dirt kicking up behind the wheels. People began to exit the building, and I rushed over to my Porsche. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to play fifty questions about where I’d been the last five years.

  I started up my car and reached into the glovebox for my phone.

  Three missed calls from Anna. She’d called almost an hour before I’d entered the Octagon. But why?

  Using the Bluetooth connection through my dashboard, I called her back as I drove, heading for her hotel, which was less than five minutes away.

  I tried twice more and got her voicemail each time.

  “Damn.” I pushed the pedal, increasing the speed, worry pumping through my already charged body.

  I didn’t have time to deal with parking in Dublin on a Saturday night. I pulled up to valet and darted into the hotel, hoping that she was there, that everything was okay.

  Why hadn’t she left a message, though? If it h
ad been an emergency, she would have left a message, right?

  My fist hammered her door.

  No answer.

  What the hell?

  “Anna?” I called out and pounded the door again.

  I dug into my sweats for my phone, ready to dial her when I heard the rattling of a chain.

  She was inside. Thank God.

  The door opened, and Anna stood in front of me with narrowed, sleepy eyes. I had woken her up. But she looked okay. Hell, she looked more than okay.

  And she was in one of her tiny nightshirts again.

  “Adam? Wh—what are you doing here?” Anna’s voice was low, raspy, and sexy as fuck. Her sleepy voice was about the hottest thing I’d ever heard.

  I brushed past her, entering the suite without permission, and spun around. She shut the door and faced me, her eyes widening as her mind woke. “What are you doing?”

  “You called me three times, Anna. Then, when I called you back, you didn’t answer. Are you all right?”

  Her soft, full lips parted as she stared at me.

  “Anna?”

  Her arms crossed her chest, and I was pretty sure she had realized she was braless. I had done my best not to notice the full swell of her breasts beneath the thin cotton material, or her hard, raised nipples.

  “I’m still trying to figure out if you’re real or not.” She released a small laugh.

  If she was laughing, she had to be okay. My pulse started to slow, and I stalked toward her minibar.

  “Did you come from the gym?”

  I forgot I was still dressed in sweats and a hoodie. “Yeah.” I grabbed a beer.

  “Hey! That stuff isn’t cheap.”

  I popped the top and looked over at her, trying not to laugh. “I’ve got the bill, love. No worries.” I guzzled the beer, trying to relax. But it’d been an intense night. “So—why didn’t you answer when I called you? I was worried.”

  “My phone is on vibrate. I was sleeping.” She wet her lips, tucking her bottom one between her teeth, and I wondered if she had any idea how sexy she looked right now with no makeup and her hair flowing free over her shoulders. Her long legs and perfect curves . . .

  Jesus, I was strung tight—wound from the fight. The blood was rushing through me, and all I could think about was taking Anna in my arms.

  I lowered the bottle to the counter and dropped my hands to my sides. “You going to tell me why you called?”

  “I, um . . .” She took a step closer until there was barely any distance between us. She smelled like flowers and soap.

  She reached up, her fingertips brushing across my forehead, and I forced myself not to snap at her wrist and drag her arm away. Still, I couldn’t help but flinch at her soft touch on my hot skin.

  “What happened to you?”

  I swallowed and stepped back.

  A chill must have moved over her because her nipples strained against the fabric of her nightshirt.

  I turned around, unable to stop from going stiff. Did she have any idea exactly how beautiful she was?

  “Adam?”

  “What?” I grumbled, crushing my palms to my face, hoping to kill my arousal and calm my nerves. My hands dropped as I faced her in one quick move.

  She inhaled sharply and took a step back. Had I scared her? “What happened to you tonight?”

  We were playing a game of avoidance, apparently. “I’ll tell you if you tell me why you called,” I lied, feeling like a teenager.

  “I was out with some coworkers and drunk dialed you,” she said after a moment of silence. “So, what happened to you?”

  “I had an unfortunate accident with the door at my gym.”

  “Why are you lying?” She narrowed her eyes.

  I shook my head. “And why are you?”

  She took another step back, bumping into the sofa in the living room of the suite. “I’m not.”

  “Sure.” I walked past her, preparing myself to leave. I couldn’t be in the hotel room with her. I needed to fuck. I needed to use someone, to come down from the high of a fight. Bloody or bruised, it had never mattered. That’s just what I did.

  And there was no way I would use Anna, no matter how much I wanted her.

  “Adam, wait.” I stopped in front of the door and pressed my palms to it, lowering my forehead.

  “What’s going on? Is this about those guys who came to Les’s?”

  I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. She didn’t need to know the truth. It was too late for the truth.

  I’d fought. I’d won. And I’d do it again in two weeks.

  And I would like it. No matter how much I shouldn’t.

  I was screwed. Eternal damnation beckoned me.

  “Please.” Her hand was on my back.

  “Why’d you really call?” I didn’t want her to see this side of me. She didn’t need to see the dark, broken me.

  “Because . . .”

  Her hand slipped from my back as I faced her. I touched her chin, tipping her face up so I could look into her large, green eyes.

  “I work for you.” Her lower lip quivered a little—almost unnoticeable, but I noticed it. How could I not? “But, I—”

  My restraint snapped, and my mouth came down over hers, stealing her words. Both my hands went to her cheeks, holding her face as I deepened the kiss—and she responded. Her tongue was in my mouth, finding mine.

  She moaned against my lips, and I pulled her against me, my back to the wall. I clutched her body, my hands slipping beneath the fabric of her nightshirt. I grabbed hold of her arse, moving my fingers under her silk knickers, burying my fingertips into her flesh.

  She tipped her head back, her lips breaking from mine, her eyes shutting as I squeezed her flesh harder. My lips found her neck, and I kissed there, too. I wanted to kiss her everywhere. Her skin was like vanilla. Or maybe honey.

  Shit, she was too sweet.

  I couldn’t do this.

  Stop! My mouth left her neck and my spine straightened. I raised my hands between us as if on guard.

  She stumbled back, breathless, her chest heaving as she tried to make sense of what had happened.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her cheeks red, a glow to her skin. She ran her fingers through her hair and chewed on her lip as she turned away from me. Embarrassed.

  “Are ya kidding? You don’t owe me any apology. I crossed the line.” I pressed my hand to my chest, even though she couldn’t see me. “I did it. Not you.”

  “No, it’s my fault. I’m the one worried about what people will think. Afraid they’ll get the wrong idea. And yet . . .”

  “What?” I came around in front of her, needing to see her face.

  She lowered her eyes to the floor, protecting herself. “I don’t know. From the moment I met you, there was just something—”

  “Between us,” I finished, not meaning to say the words aloud.

  “And even if I wasn’t working at your company,” she looked up at me, her eyes a darker shade of green, “I shouldn’t be with anyone. I don’t want anything serious with a guy.” She laughed a little. “Not that you’d want something serious with me, but I—”

  I couldn’t help myself. I did it again.

  I practically barreled at her full force, my paw of a hand roping around the back of her neck, pulling her to me. She lost her footing and landed against me, her hands on my chest. Her soft lips came to mine, pliable and open, ready for the taking.

  My hard-on pressed against her stomach. The woman was pushing me to the brink of control, my body tensing as the blood rushed south.

  “Jesus,” I whispered after breaking our kiss and backing up.

  Her eyes wandered down to my sweats, where my erection was obvious. “I should go.”

  I couldn’t use her. I couldn’t do it.

  “Adam?”

  My back was to her now. “Aye?”

  “Can we forget this ever happened?” Her voice was low.

  I opened the door a
nd stole one last look at her over my shoulder. “We can pretend it never happened . . . but I won’t forget.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Anna

  “More coffee?”

  Rick was standing before me with a steaming hot mug of liquid fuel. “Yes. Thank God.” I grabbed the mug from him, my eyes drawn to the capital blue letters scrolled across its face. “McGregor,” it read.

  “How’d you get on?” Rick settled in next to me at the conference table.

  I had learned by now that this was lingo for “What’s the news?”

  I set the mug down and stared at the table in front of us, which was covered in mock-ups of the ads we had created. “John said he’d stop by after lunch.” Since we had nailed our marketing pitch on Friday, we now needed to smooth out the details. We’d be presenting to upper management next. Fortunately, I had learned that upper management was not Adam. No, there were many more layers between Adam and me, which was probably a good thing.

  I wondered where Adam was—I hadn’t seen his Porsche or bike in the parking lot.

  My fingertips brushed over my lips at the memory of his kiss. How had I let that happen?

  I wished I had never panicked and called him. Once I had calmed down that night, I realized he would have probably swooped me out of the hotel and put me somewhere else, or even send me back home if he thought I was still in danger. It was most likely a coincidence that the guy from the apartment had been at the bar.

  Although I couldn’t regret that Adam had shown up at my hotel door. That kiss . . .

  “You okay, love?” Rick’s hand was on my forearm, and I stared down at it.

  “I—” My words remained stuck in my throat when I glanced up and spotted Adam. He was walking by the conference room, sunglasses perched on his nose like a rock star. Why was he wearing sunglasses inside? Was this another Irish thing?

  He looked over his shoulder, right at me, as he walked past. No wave. No nod. Nothing.