“WHAT TIME IS IT?”
How long had she been lying there looking up at the ceiling far above? In the bed, alone, the luxurious comfort tempted her to stay. Except she was in someone else’s home… and thirsty.
She got to the edge of the bed, his side probably because there was a phone dock and a lamp right there. The light was off and the dock empty, just like the bed.
Two guitars stood in the corner. One acoustic, the other electric. Did he play the guitar?
It was no mystery why he hadn’t brought her there before. Just being around his things revealed so much of him.
She couldn’t go wandering around without clothes and wouldn’t call out to him like he was her butler. They’d gone through the closet on the way to the bathroom when they arrived. She went in there seeking something to wear. The first thing she snagged was a shirt. One of his, so the arm was big enough for her splint. Thank goodness. While buttoning it, she noticed…
“Is that my…?”
Women’s clothes hung at the other end of the closet. Her clothes. When the hell had…? In the drawers, there was underwear, socks, all hers.
She put on a pair of her panties and forgot about looking for her sling. If they’d had time to get things from her apartment and put them in his closet, she must’ve been out for hours.
No wonder she was so thirsty, though even that was taking a back seat to finding her host. What had they talked about? Had she agreed to…? Were they living together? She remembered the shower, how he towel dried her whole body and moisturized her skin. Then he’d… She stopped on the threshold of the bedroom. He’d blow-dried her hair. It was surreal. That had to be a dream… didn’t it? Except when she touched her locks, they were sleek. As they would be if blow-dried, rather than just left to dry as she slept.
“The thirty-eight?”
A male voice. Somewhere. Where?
There were only a dozen stairs up to the bedroom. Beneath was the living room, all open, airy. The ceiling towered above, and windows dominated the back wall. Dark furniture and metal accents made it all very industrial, very masculine, very Connel.
Male voices carried again. But from where? No one occupied the living room below.
Going down the stairs, she peeked into the perpendicular hallway. Geez, a square tunnel to another big room with an oval dining table and chairs around it.
“No,” Connel said in that room. “Less than an hour… no.”
Was he on the phone? She’d thought there were other voices. Someone crossed the other end of the hallway to go sit at the table.
Strat. Daly wasn’t far behind.
“No,” Connel again. “Make me say it again.”
She shivered. Did he have to use that growly voice when her defenses were low?
Rolling on the wall, she rounded the corner to traverse the hallway.
Strat noticed her first. “Hey! Was beginning to think he’d sent you away somewhere.”
She smiled. “Only to his bed,” she said, going over to rest a hand on his shoulder.
Connel stood at the other side of the broad kitchen island, phone to his ear.
Daly was still on his feet. “How you doing, Ser?”
“Better,” she said, arching her shoulders back. “Stiff.”
“That’ll be taken care of.”
Connel.
She hadn’t heard his call end. Maybe he’d just hung up. He only looked for a second, then went to the fridge.
“Me and the guys are around,” Daly said. “Want us to pick anything up for you?”
“Front and center, Ser,” Connel said. She left Strat to go over as he turned from the fridge with a glass of juice, which he put in her good hand. “Where’s your pain? Gimme a number.”
“I’m not sore,” she said, sipping the juice. “No more than I have been since the thing.”
“A number.”
“Four, maybe.”
“Go back to bed.”
“What time is it? I feel like I’ve slept for a week.”
“A day,” Strat said, and she spun around. “It’s Tuesday.”
“It’s Tuesday,” she said, her eyes bugging at the dark wall of night beyond the far window. “But it’s night.”
“It’s almost ten.”
“The club’s open.”
“The club’s open?” Strat said. “That’s your first thought?”
Stupid. Yes. “Stag’s my security,” she muttered.
Her rock, the place that kept her safe. Only when she wasn’t there did fear or tragedy visit.
The glide of Connel’s hand up her shoulder blade under her hair loosened her tension. It came around to her throat and eased her back against him.
“Your security is here,” he murmured, squeezing just a little. “Where are you always safe?”
“With you,” she breathed, arousal thick in her panting tone.
How did he do that? She’d thought it was his eyes, but the pulse in her pussy begged otherwise.
Guiding her head aside, he bowed to kiss the side of her neck, right on her carotid pulse.
“So you living here now?” Daly asked.
“I didn’t even know here was here,” Strat said.
“You only know now because she vouches for you,” Connel said, once again all business. “Fuck her over and it’ll be over for you.”
“Threatening my friends?” she asked. He kissed her neck again and let go to walk away. Without his contact, her body ached. She turned to the concerned Strat, still sitting at the table. “Did you talk to Lach?”
“I leave that to Im, but yeah, she has. He wants to talk to you.”
“I bet he does,” she said, drinking some more.
“Your cop brother know about you and the boss?” Daly asked.
“No,” Connel said before she could open her mouth. “Niall’s got word out to the guys. Mention her name next to mine and you’re finished with me.”
They’d come far from the guy threatening to broadcast their intimacy to the whole world.
“You got it, Boss.”
“Go do your jobs.”
She opened her mouth to stall Strat but thought better of it before she spoke. Yeah, she didn’t want her friend to leave, but she also wanted to find out what was going on in Connel’s head.
She drank some more juice, turning to meet Connel’s eye as the other men walked away. The door closed and then… silence.
She put the juice on the counter, licking the sweetness from her lips.
“No more games?”
He sauntered closer and leaned in, planting his hands on the edge of the counter on either side of her, penning her in.
“Do you want to play games, Macushla?”
She smiled. “Tell me what that means.” The corner of his lips rose as he unlocked his elbows to dip down and kiss his favorite spot above her clavicle. “Thank you for letting me sleep.”
Kissing her neck, his fingers popped one of her buttons, two buttons, and kept on going. “Mm,” he said in acknowledgment.
“Are there cameras here?”
“You want there to be cameras?” he asked, stooping to kiss along her collarbone and back.
When his lips brushed her pressure point, she exhaled ecstasy. “You always do that.”
“Turn you on?” he asked, opening her shirt to crouch lower and kiss her breast. “You make the most incredible noises.”
He boosted her onto the counter and her lips curved. “You ask me what I want. Do I want cameras? Do I want blondes?”
“The blondes don’t come here.”
“I don’t want the blondes,” she said, combing her fingers into his hair as he kissed her nipple.
“How careful do I have to be?”
“My bruises are still tender, but I know you’d never hurt me.” She laughed, raising her knees to rest her calves against him. “Outside the playroom anyway.”
“That’s not what I was talking about,” he said, rising to plant his hands on the counter again.
No, the somber demeanor he landed on her betrayed his meaning.
The answer to that question was she didn’t know. What she did know? She wanted no other man close to her.
“Maybe you’ll have to be patient.”
Skimming his hands down her thighs, he coiled them around his hips and cradled her ass, picking her up.
Without her sling, she could rest her forearm on his shoulder and loop the other around him. “Don’t you want to go to the club?”
“No.”
“Why?” she asked, her fingers toying with the hair at the back of his head. “Stag’s where you do business.”
“Not tonight.”
He carried her upstairs, back to the bed she’d left not long ago. He sat her on the edge to take the shirt from her body and pushed her hips further onto the mattress before slipping off her panties.
“Why the star treatment?” she asked, watching him undress. “Not that I’m complaining about having the McDade patriarch’s undivided attention…” She smiled. “But it feels like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
He shed his boxer-briefs and climbed onto the bed to brace himself over her.
“People follow my orders, or they die.” As demonstrated in his basement. “They piss me off, they die. I don’t like them?”
“Let me guess, they die,” she said, resting her injured arm in her cleavage.
“I do what I want when I want. I don’t ask permission. I don’t apologize. I do things my way.”
“Okay,” she said, scratching her nails in his stubble. “How does that answer my question?”
“We heard the sirens before we knew about the attack.”
“You think they were coming for you?”
“No. I was pissed they were on my turf ‘cause I decide what happens on my turf.”
“Of course,” she said, her fingers finding his hair again. “And you probably sent your guys to check it out.”
“When they said it was you… They call me Ire, but I’d never known such instant, visceral rage.” As he hissed in a breath, he bared his teeth. “They touch my woman in McDade territory…”
Mm, his form was delicious. Hanging over her, no part of his upper body touched her. Much as she wanted skin-to-skin contact, she didn’t mind his muscles working. Either way worked for her.
“I think you sent a message.” Being both her attackers were already dead. “No one will start anything in McDade territory without your say so.”
“I went to the hospital.”
Her gaze sprang to his. “What?”
“You say I have power. I say I do things my way, but… I knew you didn’t want me in there.”
“You stayed away for me,” she said, her fingertips learning his brow. “So my family wouldn’t know about us.”
“I could’ve marched in and taken over. I’m fucking good at being in charge.”
That wasn’t his only strength.
She laid a palm on his cheek. “It’s not because I’m ashamed of you. I’m not embarrassed about being attracted to you, it’s just… complicated.”
“I didn’t hear your account until later. When we found out what happened, that they targeted you for being a McDade… that you kept your mouth shut.”
“I told you, they’d just have killed me.” Her fingertips trailed down to his torso. “They didn’t call me a McDade.” As far as she remembered. “I think they knew I wasn’t.”
“Wasn’t what?”
“A McDade.”
“You sure?” Their eyes met again. “If you’re not born a McDade, you join the ranks through graft or initiation. You bled for us. Showed your loyalty. You are a McDade now. Like it or not. You stood up to the other side for us. You have a target on your back now. One all McDades wear.”
Which was probably why he had Daly and Strat staying so close. Manzani, Gambatto, Byrne, they all had it too. Anyone entangled in the world of organized crime wore a target recognized by the other sides.
“My McDade,” she whispered.
He descended slowly, meeting her mouth with his while he kept his weight braced. She appreciated his concern for her injuries, but really wanted to feel him, on her, in her, everywhere.
Breaking the kiss, his eyes landed on hers, though their mouths were just an inch apart. “You want us to trust each other?”
“Yes,” she said. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“Is it what you want? I can give you everything, Cushla Machree, but you have to give all of yourself in return. This is not a life, a world, that’s easy to abandon.”
What did this mean? Neither of them could know until they were in it. Yes, it was unexplored territory for her, but she had a feeling Connel didn’t have a manual for it either. They were feeling their way. His actions proved his willingness to go the distance. How did she show her gratitude and faith in him?
How was she supposed to…?
Licking her lips, certainty boosted her determination. “I am your subordinate,” she whispered, fixated on him. “I exist beneath you, under you.” Understanding seeped into him. He recognized his words. “I don’t think. Don’t make decisions.” She paused, hooking a hand around the back of his neck. “My life is yours. I am yours.” He tilted his head to hold his lips near hers, tasting the words as she spoke them. “McDade property on your terms. Your limits. I obey. Yield. Surrender. I don’t resist or get in your way.”
Pressing his lips to hers, they lingered there and raised a whisper, holding just at the threshold. “What is your job?”
“My job is to support you.”
“Give yourself to me, submit to me, and I’ll look after you, Macushla, in a way no other man can or will.”
He shot a man for invading their intimacy and killed two men for touching her. His capabilities were no joke. The life hadn’t seduced her, the man had, but God knew why her connection to him was so strong. Whatever the reason, they definitely weren’t done with each other yet.