BACK IN THE archives that afternoon, putting together the McDade family tree complicated her attempts to rid Ire from her mind. Tough not to think about the guy when reading his name every twenty seconds.
Should she tell him about her conversation with Evander in the deli? Should she not? Ire assumed she’d chosen Stag for protection. Yes, fine, true. That didn’t mean she’d ever intended for their paths to cross. Yet, somehow, not only had she got the McDades involved in her mess, but she’d ended up holding the detonator between the two factions.
Okay, so the families wouldn’t be breaking bread anytime soon; that wasn’t on her. But there was a tentative peace between the McDades and the Manzanis. Each had their own territories, their own strengths. They stayed away from each other’s business as much as possible. By all outward appearances anyway.
How many news reports had she read that day? Hundreds? Thousands? However many it was, by the time she left The Chronicler building, it was dark out, and she didn’t feel any wiser.
“Thought you’d ditched us again,” Daly said, opening her car door. “Stag?”
“Home.”
Before she could get in, he pushed the door to block her way. “Boss is expecting you.”
And that was part of the deal.
“I’m hungry,” she said. “And I’d bet he doesn’t want me showing up without taking a shower and changing my clothes.”
“An hour, max.,” he said, determined, widening the ingress again.
“Did he say something?” she asked. “If he’s giving you shit, just tell him the truth. I’m working. I have to do my job.”
“This started as watching Manzani’s mark.”
One related to the other, how? “I don’t—”
“Watching the boss’s woman is a different gig. A whole different ballgame.”
She smiled, ready to dismiss his concern. “Yeah, but it’s not—”
Wait. Did Daly know about the deal? He had to know the relationship wasn’t real. Didn’t he? Hmm, best ask Connel and get some clarity on who knew what.
Daly stayed serious. “I have a job to do too.”
Even if Daly was aware the relationship was a sham, others weren’t. Did being Ire McDade’s woman put her in a different kind of jeopardy? Avoiding Evander was one thing. Being queen in the hornet’s nest was a new angle that could lead to worse trouble.
No one else should take heat for her choices. “I’ll talk to him.”
“You don’t want to do that,” he said.
“I don’t?”
He shook his head and gestured inside. “Fifty-nine minutes.”
Okay, right, he wanted to get moving. Now she did too. She and Ire needed to have a conversation.
***
THE EMBROIDERED NARROW straps of her red dress descended into a plunge that revealed her cleavage. It was just lucky she had a thing for buying dresses. Both her work and family lives required her to attend a bunch of functions, giving her plenty of excuses to splurge.
Haste. Yes, Daly wanted her to be quick. Still, things took as long as they took. More than an hour passed while she cooked, showered, and prettied herself for Stag. Her routine was the same as always… wasn’t it? Okay, so she lingered over hair and makeup, and even did her nails. Either she cared about impressing Ire or was delaying the inevitable.
Both were probably true.
By the time the car pulled up to Stag, necessity drove her on. She got out with purpose in her step. How often was that purpose played through to the end? Never. Each time, Ire pulled the rug out from under her, and she ended up flat on her back. Literally. Being around him got her dizzy. Getting close… too close…
It wouldn’t happen again. She’d have a drink, screw her head on straight, and complete her objective.
Guards at the foot of the stairs to the office moved aside, but her trajectory remained the same. Going straight past them, she strode on into the club. Something about the music grounded her. As always, the club delivered. Oblivion. Anonymity. Safe harbor.
Everyone needed to forget their lives sometimes. Forget who they were and everything going on around them. How could her life have become such a hot mess?
She ordered a drink and sat at the bar, pretending nothing was different. Like she could just sit there, protected by the surrounding shell, the illusion of safety.
“Let me get that for you.”
Fuck. A guy. A random guy. It never failed.
Her shoulders dropped as she exhaled. “No, thank you.”
The guy, whoever he was, it didn’t matter, sidled up close. Too close for a woman who wanted to be alone.
“Back up there, buddy.”
Daly. He must’ve followed her because there he was, right behind her.
“Just talking to the lady.”
“Yeah, you don’t want to do that.” Daly’s arm came down on the bar between her and the guy she hadn’t even looked at. “Back up.”
“Who are you?” the guy asked. “She your girlfriend?”
Daly’s head turned her way to murmur. “You don’t want to do this, Sersha.” The warning came in his words and his serious gaze. “They call him Ire for a reason.”
“Hey, dude…” the guy said.
The bartender came over with her drink. “Daly, there a problem?”
Daly’s eyes stayed on hers. “No problem, Biggs. Right, Sersha? Tell Biggs there’s no problem.”
Drawing in a breath, she picked up her drink. “No. No problem.”
Her leash was short.
As she slipped off the stool, Daly’s protective arm closed around her waist, guiding her through the tables, toward the exit again. But there was no reprieve. The security guys stepped out of the way to let them ascend the stairs toward the office.
“Playing with him isn’t like playing with other guys,” Daly hissed.
“I wasn’t playing with anyone,” she said. “Can’t a girl just want a drink?”
“There’s a fully stocked bar upstairs,” he said, stopping at the top, holding the door handle. “You want a bartender up there? Just say the word.” Their eyes met again. “But you cannot be around other guys like that. Women don’t leave McDades. And you sure don’t screw around on Ire McDade.”
“Because Ire has a rep to protect?”
“Not for his sake.”
“Mine?”
“Theirs,” he said and edged in closer. “Shit, Sersha, you understand what he’s capable of, right? He shot Dingo for walking in on you two together. What do you think a guy they call ‘Ire’ will do to any man who touches you? Who flirts with you? Who buys you a drink?”
Concern brought her brows closer. “Are you telling me to be afraid of him?”
“I’m telling you to be afraid for them. You want to fuck around with other guys? Their injuries, their deaths, will be on you.”
She blinked in surprise. “Their deaths? You’re exaggerating… aren’t you?”
He snickered in contradiction. Someone pulled the door from his hand, opening it from the other side.
Niall stood there before them. “Just her. We’re going out,” he said to Daly, who turned to descend again. “Miss McLeod.”
The acknowledgement came with Niall putting a hand on her lower back to push her inside. He closed the door behind her.
Ire was at the desk, on the phone, fixated on something in the corner. As she went a few steps, the long nook opposite his position opened up. The two blondes were on the chesterfield again. Sans clothes.
“Bring her…” Ire said into the phone, beckoning her with two straight fingers and pointing at the chair at the end of his desk. He smiled as his attention drifted, but it wasn’t for her. “Make you no promises… I’ve heard…” She went to sit, putting the glass and her purse on the desk. “Not sure I do. Your Doherty puts on a show…” His light tone wasn’t typical. Was it the blondes? Them enjoying each other seemed to be his focus. “I was there that night… Think every guy did…”
The blondes were beautiful, no denying it. Long silky hair. Perfect skin. What was it men enjoyed about women enjoying each other? Not that she judged them. Having never been with a woman, she couldn’t say whether it would be satisfying to touch one like the pair on the couch touched each other.
Over the years, more than a dozen men had groped her. They’d used their hands and fingers to please her. She was used to men’s bodies. The hard angles. The ridge of their arousal. How it felt to be filled by them.
The touch of his lips on her shoulder startled her. Was he finished on the phone? She tried to turn on a smile. With the women present, they couldn’t talk about their situation, their deal, or about Evander.
Ire’s narrow eyes stayed close, his lips a breath from her shoulder. What was it with men kissing her there?
Looking into him, a weight of need settled over her. Tired suddenly, but not in need of sleep, she licked her lips, aching to feel his against her again.
“Did I interrupt?” she asked, reaching for some semblance of sanity.
“My cousin.”
That was a shock. The blondes, over there…
“They’re your cousins?”
“On the phone,” he said, sweeping her hair from her shoulder as he stood up.
Good, because that would be weird. Creepy… Perverted. They didn’t look Irish either. Scandinavian? Russian? What did she know? Ire’s father had dark hair. He looked just like him; she’d been looking at pictures of McDades all day. The women over there, kissing, touching, they didn’t have the family’s authority. Even in 2D, the McDades presented formidable figures.
Yet, something about the women entranced her. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Did they enjoy being on show? A hand on a breast slid lower. Sensing it, the second woman parted her thighs, moving into the caress.
“Want to join them?”
She jumped. How could she be unaware of him when he was her reason for being there?
His question filtered in and she breathed out an awkward laugh. “No. God, no.”
“You’re used to living with rules,” he said, rounding the desk, whiskey in hand, to prop himself on the corner, observing the women too. “Those rules don’t exist here, Sersha. Learn to be a bad girl. Satisfy your curiosity.”
That lilt, the way he said her name, even that didn’t quite land right. Mesmerized by the delicate fingers sliding through soft hair, the allure tempted her.
“I wouldn’t—I mean I’ve never…” Her mouth dried. His glass landed on the desk, then his open hand was in front of her. “What?”
She slipped her hand into his and with one tug, he pulled her to her feet. His other hand drifted up her arm, along her clavicle to her throat.
“We don’t need a reason to do something in this house,” he said. The back of his finger ascended the front of her neck to ease her chin higher. He ducked to kiss her slow. No tongue, just a long, gentle press of his lips to hers. Her eyes stayed closed when his mouth ebbed. “We need a reason not to do it… No one expects you to be a good girl here. You don’t need to behave. What reason is there to resist what feels good?”