Bits and pieces of my memory returned as Brigid and Briana did my hair, makeup, and nails.

They chattered away in the most adorable accents ever, asking what I’ve seen and done in Dublin. I had to fight to recall even those bits and pieces.

“I’m pretty sure we danced in a pub?” It came out as a question because even though the hazy recollection was there, it was hard to picture Mount, who I apparently called Lachlan, doing such a thing.

“Sounds like the craic was mighty,” one of them said. I’d gotten their names mixed up as soon as they walked in the door.

“Crack? I don’t do that. Crack is whack.”

Both the girls laughed at me. “Not crack. The craic. The fun. A good time. You need to work on your Irish. You’re definitely American, even though you blend in here lookin’ like you do.”

As they continued teaching me Irishisms, my mind went elsewhere. Back to last night where I felt like I was trying to fit together a thousand-piece puzzle with no box to guide me.

Now, as I walk toward Lachlan in our suite, something has shifted. I feel that in my bones, and it terrifies me.

Then I remember what I said.

“Dance with me, Lachlan. Dance with me in Dublin.”

And he did. I remember the feel of his body pressed against mine as we swayed to the slow songs, and the grip of his hands around my waist when he lifted me into the air like I weighed nothing.

The man I’ve thought was a monster has given me the best week of my life, and from what I recall, the best night of my life, and I have absolutely no idea how to handle that information.

This was only ever supposed to be sex. Repayment on a debt owed. But it has spiraled out of control, and now I’m terrified it’s becoming something else entirely—which is impossible.

I know I have to shift the focus back to where it started. Sex. I need to wipe away my incomplete memories of last night because they’re too good to be true.

The man who danced with me in a bar in a city I’ve wanted to see my entire life can never give me the happily-ever-after I thought I was getting once before. And not because he’s a con like Brett was, but because he’s Lachlan Mount.

I need to remind myself that I’m nothing but a possession to him, and we can never be anything more.

I stop a foot away from Lachlan. No, Mount, I remind myself. I reach out with a new boldness and grab a handful of cock.

He sucks in the barest of breaths, no doubt shocked by my action.

See? I can do this. Whatever happened last night will be forgotten, and we’ll be right back where we belong.

“No, it’s definitely not minor.” I lick my lips, devoid of lipstick because I told Brigid and Briana that I’d take care of that myself in case we were going to eat first.

“That’s not exactly helping the problem either.” His voice is rough and deep, like it takes everything he has to keep himself in check.

“You want to go downstairs like this?” I lift my gaze to his for a beat before dropping it again. His gaze is too intense for me. “If you walk into the ballroom like this, I can guarantee none of those wives will be able to look away.”

He tilts my chin up, careful in his movements but still forcing my attention to his face. “Would that bother you?”

A blast of possessiveness blows through me as though I stepped in front of a raging fire. “Maybe,” I say with a shrug.

“Then by all means, take care of it.”

His words are a dare, one he thinks I won’t take. But after last night, I don’t have a clue what I want anymore, except to destroy any of the fairy tales I let myself believe, even if they were only for a moment.

I sweep my dress to the side and lower myself to my knees before him, then shoot a pointed look up at him. “Don’t you dare mess up my hair.”

His palms flex as though dying to do it anyway, but he forces them to grip the edge of the bar behind him.

I work his button and zipper free and finally wrap my hand around the hot thickness of his cock. This time, I feel powerful.

“What about your makeup?” he asks, his tone strangled.

“As long as you don’t come on my face, we’ll be fine.”

When he doesn’t answer, I lower my lips close enough to dart out my tongue and lick a bead of pre-cum from the head.

He groans, and I pull back.

“Deal?”

“Yes. Sweet fucking Christ, woman. Are you trying to make me beg?”

“It would be a nice change.”

He growls down at me. “Go ahead and try.”