Aaron scowls at the hand I offered him, but his head weaves and he sways as he tries to get up. He slips back onto his ass. That makes him even angrier.
For this moment, I feel like I’m her protector. Her hero. That’s what the look in her eyes says. But the thoughts rising in the back of my mind are so filthy.
I cannot be thinking like that. Not about a girl her age. She’s pure. Maybe totally. If I start to think that way, I know I’ll want to act. And then, nothing can stop me.
Aaron scrambles and stumbles to his feet. I shrug at the glare in his eyes. His face bunches tight, all hurt rage. An angry, wounded mutt.
I narrow my eyes. He snarls and drags his sorry ass out of there.
We’re alone in the kitchen. Her eyes bat.
It feels too quiet.
She looks down. Holding her thumb. “I should have apologized.”
“What for? Don’t even think about it.”
“Your suit. I’m…”
I laugh. “God gave us dry cleaners. You gave them business. All’s right with the world.”
Then I ask her, “Are you okay?”
She nods. Her smile lights a charge in me. I have to get out of here now, or I won’t leave her at all.
She breathes, “Thank you,” softly. And she reaches out. When her hand touches mine, I feel a bolt of lightning struck us both. I can see she felt it too.
I’m turning to get out of there. Then she stretches up to kiss me.
I grab her. Hold her. Feel her soft curves pressed against me. Grip her hair and pull her to me. She feels like heaven.
Her body presses and molds to mine. My tongue meets hers. They twist and explore each other. It feels like I just got home.
I have to stop before this goes too far. The girl is probably a virgin. She’s too young. Or, more to the point, I’m too old for her.
As I pull back, she says, “Thank you. My silverback bear.”
Leaving her in the kitchen could be the hardest thing I ever did.
I call Gavin before I turn in. “How’s your room there?”
He’s in an Air B&B that’s practically across the street.
“Room? I’ve got a massive apartment here, stuffed with gorgeous antiques.” He asks me, “How’s yours?”
“Nowhere near as nice by the sound of it. You’ve seen the size of this big old house? I’ve got a room right at the top that was probably meant for a servant. This whole place has zero style. Jack has obviously come into money, but he hasn’t bought any taste yet.”
“Met anybody curvy with strawberry blonde curls?”
I chuckle. “Mind your fucking business, Gavin.”
All night, I still feel her. Every part of her that touched me. My hands remember her. And my cock throbs for her. I can taste her, still.
As I undress, I brush my suit to my nose. Savor every faint trace of her.
Finn Connolly waits for me next day, in Boston’s south shore district in an empty bar at the back of the Molly Malone. Finbar, as he sometimes styles himself, nurses a cold Guinness in the gloom between the dreamy slats of morning sunlight.
Finn looks at home on the unvarnished wood bench, sat by the bare wood table. He sips at his black Guinness and reads from an actual newspaper. He looks for all the world like he could be asleep.
You’d be making a mistake if you underestimated Finn.
He hears me from along the benches, all the way from the far end of the long bar. He doesn’t show it till I’m just a step away.
A killer I would trust with my life. That rare thing, a great-looking man who’s quiet. No arrogance, not full of himself. A top-class operator who’s happy with his work and is never scheming after the throne.
Finn is like the fourth son I never had. I don’t undersatnd why some Coleen hasn’t got a rope around him yet, but I guess he’s happy as he is, just burning beds.
He gets to his feet like a prizefighter.
“Liam, you old fucking fox,” his soft, musical brogue brings back memories. “Have they still not caught you yet?”
“And they never will, Finn. As long as they don’t set you on my trail.”
“You know I would take them straight up the wrong creek. What can I get you?”
“I’ll join you for a Guinness.”
“And a Bushmills malt for company?”
I accept his hospitality. Finn raises his hand. He lifts a couple of fingers to make signs to someone in the dark of the bar.
“Finn, how’s your mammy?”
“Oh, she’s grand, Liam. And she’ll be glad to know you were thinking of her.”
“I remember she keeps about the most welcoming table in all of Beantown.”
He smiles. “Oh, she’d never let you get away before she’d put a few pounds under your belt.”
“Best stews in Boston.”