Complicate (Deliver 9)

He kept the gun trained as he stepped toward the bottom stair, steadily, quietly. Until the shadows moved in his periphery.

The darkness beside the staircase dispersed, and Mike prowled forward, blocking the path to the stairs. He wore a heavy coat, no doubt concealing a myriad of weaponry.

“What do you want, Cole?” Mike asked in a heavy, distinctive brogue.

He felt his eyebrows shoot up. “You’re Irish?”

“Born and raised in this house, you thick knacker scumbag.” Mike folded his arms across his chest, his expression etched in hostility. “Why are you trespassing on my property?”

Blood thrashed in his ears, his fingers aching with tension. “Where’s Lydia?”

“Leave.”

“Move. Don’t make me shoot you.”

“You won’t.” Mike smiled cruelly, repeating Cole’s words from Rome. “She won’t forgive you if you do.”

“Who is she to you, Micheál O’Sullivan? Is her real name Shannon? Your wife?”

“Shannon was my mam. God rest her soul.” Mike’s mouth tilted down. “And no, Lydia and I haven’t tied the knot.”

Relief thrummed through him, but it still didn’t explain their relationship.

He glanced at the top of the stairs, probing the thick blackness. Was she up there, standing just beyond the reach of his sight? He was seconds from knocking Mike out and scaling those steps.

“Who is she to you?” Mike cocked his head, his body rigid and unmoving.

“She’s a risk,” he said honestly. “A risk I want to take.”

“Of course, you want to take her.” Mike laughed, his accent thickening. “You’re a manky stalker. Following her around for months and months. You have a problem, pal. An obsession.”

“Yeah, I have an obsession, one that takes dedication, discipline, and sacrifice.” His voice vibrated with a growl. “I’m not walking away from this. Nor will I leave it up to chance or fate. Not this time. I’m taking this risk because, without her, there can only be a lonely goddamn existence.”

Mike blinked, his expression cast in shadows. After a long, fraught silence, he opened his mouth, but Lydia’s voice cut him off.

“I love you, Micheál,” she said from the dark landing above. “More than anything in the world. So I say this with the utmost respect and adoration.” Her tone turned to steel. “Get lost.”

Cole’s breathing quickened, and he wrestled to control it. A swell of heat spread inside him, blooming into a fire so intense it made his pulse spark and flutter.

Cautiously, Mike stepped forward until his chest pushed against the barrel of the gun, which brought a playful smile to his face.

“If you hurt my sister, I’ll remove your bollocks with a bloody spoon.” Mike clapped him on the shoulder and strolled toward the door. “Merry Christmas, fecker.”

Sister.

Not lovers.

The door shut, and he closed his eyes, just for a moment, savoring the pure and utter joy in that revelation.

Siblings.

“Lock the door,” she said.

His skin heated with buzzing energy as he stowed the gun in the pocket of his jacket and engaged the outrageous number of locks, bolts, chains, and bars on the house’s only entry point. “Mike won’t be able to open—”

“He’ll be gone all night.”

“Where?” He stepped toward the stairs, straining his eyes, trying to see her at the top.

“Wherever there’s pussy. He hasn’t left my side in…I don’t even know. It’s been a long time.”

“He trusts me with you?” He climbed a step.

“He trusts you’ll be here all night and that you’ll shoot anything that tries to come through that door.” Her voice grew breathy, and she coughed, hardening it. “Did you mean it? What you said? Or are you just here for sex? I know you’re not going to kill me. You would’ve done that by now.”

“I meant it.” He felt his way up the railing, ascending into the dark. “Where’re the lights?”

“No electricity on this level. Old wiring.” She shifted, creaking the floor just a few steps away. “You never lost me.”

“No.” He measured his footfalls, his entire body strumming, attuned to her voice. “I followed you out of the desert and across the Atlantic. I’ve been following you ever since.”

“Four-hundred-and-forty-one days of dedication. Why?”

“Because you were mine, Lydia.” Hot anticipation coiled inside him as he reached through the dark and caught her nape. Then he hauled her gasping mouth to his. “You’re still mine.”

Their lips collided, tongues seeking and connecting. She flung her arms around his neck, and he lifted her, stumbling blindly until her back hit a wall.

The kiss caught fire, desperate and starving, building into a tameless, unholy fever. The aggressive savagery with which she met the strokes of his tongue only made him harder. Jesus Christ, he was so fucking hard for her.

His hands threaded through her hair. Long, silky, heavy waves of hair down her back. He found her delicate neck, her slim shoulders, and continued downward, searching for skin beneath her clothes.

She wore a baggy t-shirt. Nothing on her legs. By the time his fingers reached her pussy and sank deep into her heat, he was ready to explode.