Cillian cursed himself for being an idiot and walking away from Olivia. But staying wasn’t an option. He could still taste her on his lips and feel her coming apart because of him. It was all too tempting to turn around and finish what he’d started. He pulled on the edge of his collar, the move doing nothing to help him cool down. He couldn’t even blame it on the warmth outside. It was all Olivia. She’d practically begged him for more.
That was the issue. More was exactly what he wanted.
He’d had no problem being a booty call in the past, but the thought of being only that for her left him feeling…dirty. And not in a good way. He couldn’t blame her for being pissed that he’d pulled a disappearing act. He would be, too, in her situation.
A man stepped out of the shadows at the end of the alley, and Cillian jerked to a stop. Stupid to get so distracted you aren’t aware of your surroundings. He frowned into the darkness. The guy was big and blond and looked like a serious bruiser with his sloped brow and nose that had been broken one too many times. Cillian couldn’t claim to know every person on Halloran’s payroll—though he knew most of them these days—but he didn’t recognize this guy.
Then he spoke, and his Russian accent confirmed him as a stranger. “Cillian O’Malley.”
What the hell was going on? He affected a relaxed pose, as if he wasn’t considering his exit options. “You have me at a disadvantage.”
“That woman Olivia. She is not for you.”
He blinked. Of all the things he’d expected the guy to start with, that hadn’t even made the list. “What’s she to you?”
She’d mentioned a past, but he’d imagined an asshole family or maybe even an abusive ex. There was no reason to think this man might not be exactly that, but Cillian’s spidey senses were tingling. He knew organized crime. Hell, he had to be able to recognize the signs. While it was entirely possible that this man asking about Olivia was a coincidence, when he thought about his family’s history with the New York Russians…
Yeah, he didn’t like his odds that this wasn’t somehow connected. It was a crazily paranoid thought, but he couldn’t shake it.
While he’d been thinking, the man seemed to have done his own inspection. “I don’t know what she sees in you, pretty boy, but she is not for you.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that. I think that’s up to her.”
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was all about Olivia and he was taking paranoia to a whole new level. The O’Malley family had had a shitty year, and no one could blame him for immediately jumping to the worst possible scenario. But if Olivia really was connected with a rival family, he had to find out about it. “Is there a reason you cornered me in a dark alley, or did you just want to chat?”
The man lowered his head, reminding Cillian of a bull about to charge, and held up a single finger. “One warning, O’Malley. That is all you get. Leave her alone, or you’ll regret it.”
“I’ll think about it.” I have no intention of leaving her alone, though she and I obviously need to have another talk.
The man considered Cillian for a long moment, then turned and walked away.
That’s it? No tossing me around to prove his point? How disappointing. Cillian shook his head. He must have hit the brick wall harder than he’d thought the other day, because he was obviously off his game in a huge way if he was thinking that.
“Cillian? Are you okay?”
He turned around to find Olivia picking her way through the puddles in the alley toward him. He frowned. “I thought you went back inside.”
“Considering your track record with this alley, when I heard voices, I thought I’d better make sure you were okay.”
He glanced to where the Russian had stood. “It was just some drunk.” He needed to know more about Olivia, but telling her that some meathead was warning him off her wasn’t a good way to go about it. If she had a past like he was beginning to suspect—and all signs pointed to that—then it was entirely possible she’d spook and take off. Maybe for good.
He had to tell her. Just…not yet.
Cillian held his arms out. “See. I’m in one piece.”
“I guess.” She looked at him like she expected him to start bleeding from the head again. Considering what they’d been doing not too long ago, it was borderline insulting. But…
She worries about me. That’s not a bad thing.
“Let me walk you back.”
“Cillian, it’s an alley. There are no entrances between here and there. I’ll be fine.”
She would, but he wasn’t quite ready to leave her. “Humor me.” He touched the small of her back, the tiny contact washing away his questions in a cascade of desire. It was all too easy to take a half step back into what they’d been doing not too long ago against that very wall. If he concentrated, he could feel the slide of his fingers against her soft skin and her hands digging into his shoulders.
Fuck, the things this woman did to him. They finished the walk back into Jameson’s in silence. She stopped just inside the door and turned to face him. “Think you can manage not to get your ass kicked for the next few days?”
He shrugged, warmed by her concern, even if it was wrapped in barbs. “I make no promises, but I’m not going looking for trouble.”
“Somehow, I think trouble finds you all on its own.” She sighed. “I might have been…hasty…in shutting this whole thing down.”
Hope flared, but he did his damnedest to not let it show on his face. “Oh?”
“You’re right. There’s something there between us.” She fiddled with the bottom of her shirt, the movement flashing him a slice of tanned skin. “My days off are for my daughter, but if you want to get dinner or something before my shift on Friday, I’d be okay with that.”
Despite everything, he let himself poke at her a little. “Just okay?”
“I’m saying yes, Cillian. Take it or leave it.”
He grinned. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m going to take you in every way that counts.”
*
Olivia paced through her room, staring at the piles of clothes she’d already tried and thrown to the side. She didn’t do this. She didn’t get nervous and twitchy and worry about what she’d wear on a date.
How would you know? You’ve never been on a date in your life.
She was really starting to hate that little voice inside her. The feel-good emotions from her last encounter with Cillian had worn off sometime around when she rolled into bed last night, and now all she had to focus on was all the things that could go wrong. What if he got into some kind of turf war while they were having dinner? What if they went out and then ended up staring at each other awkwardly over the entirety of a meal? What if Sergei showed up?
Sergei.
The tank top she held dropped from nerveless fingers. She hadn’t heard from either him or Dmitri in nearly a week, and the end result was that she was constantly looking over her shoulder and jumping at shadows. It was only a matter of time before he showed up, and with her luck it would be when she was actually on the verge of moving on. The thought of Sergei and Cillian sharing the same space made her sick to her stomach.
“That’s it. I’m calling the whole thing off. I knew this was a mistake, and I was right.”
Hadley chose that moment to toddle into the room, wiping sleep from her eyes. She’d passed out on the couch in the middle of Finding Nemo an hour ago—long enough for Olivia to sneak a shower and lose her mind over nerves. She smiled. “Hey, baby girl.”
“Mama.” Hadley lifted her arms to be picked up, and Olivia was only too happy to comply.
Just holding her daughter settled something inside her. “It’s us against the world. Nothing else matters.” Not her ex, and not Cillian. “I’m going to cancel.” That was the only choice. She’d been right to reconsider this the first time, and if she didn’t go pathetically weak in the knees whenever he got too close, she would have stuck to her guns.
I’ll just have to make sure we aren’t alone again. Easy.
The sound of the front door opening had her peering out into the living room. Mrs. Richards slipped into her apartment, her arms filled with a wire grocery basket. “Hello, hello. Where’s my Hadley?”
Hadley squealed and shimmied to be let down. Olivia set her back on her feet with a laugh and watched her daughter hustle over to the older woman. The way Mrs. Richards’s face lit up warmed her heart. She’d told Olivia back when they first met that she didn’t have any grandchildren of her own, though she’d always wanted a few to spoil. She was the kind of grandmother Olivia’s mother wasn’t capable of being—wasn’t even interested in being. The woman had never even met Hadley. Even knowing what kind of person she was, Olivia had still managed to be surprised that her mother was so damn cold. Spending time with Mrs. Richards filled a void she’d barely been aware had existed.
If we have to run again, we’ll lose this. She’ll lose this. Life had been so much easier when she didn’t have close ties or anyone to worry about but herself and Hadley. The knowledge that their absence hurt Mrs. Richards—that leaving the older woman behind would hurt both Olivia and Hadley, too—might make her hesitate when she needed to act. Damn it.
Mrs. Richards frowned at her. “Why aren’t you dressed? I thought you said you’re meeting him at six.” She glanced at the ancient watch on her wrist. “If you don’t hurry, you’re going to be late.”
“I don’t think I’m going.”
She frowned harder. “Olivia, you’ve lived in this apartment for six months, and the only time I’ve ever watched this little bundle of joy is when you’re working. It’s not healthy. You’re only twenty-four years old, hardly the over-the-hill old woman you act like. You need to take time for you.”
How was she supposed to do that when she had to work as many hours as possible to keep them afloat? Not to mention she didn’t exactly have a stellar track record of picking people to care about. It made it hard to put herself out there and meet new people. Cillian was a perfect example. The first man she’d been attracted to in longer than she wanted to think about, and he was an O’Malley. She was batting a thousand when it came to her hormones getting the best of her.
She leaned against the doorjamb. “This guy is nothing but trouble. Just like my ex.”
I don’t want that life for myself and Hadley. We got out. We’re not getting sucked back in.
“If he was, you never would have given him the time of day.” Mrs. Richards set her basket down in the tiny kitchen and crossed over to take her hands. “I know it’s hard to put yourself out there, especially when someone has been burned as badly as you have. But if you never take that first step, you’re going to end up closing yourself off for good.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” At least then she could stay out of trouble that came with a penis attached. From the very beginning, there hadn’t been a single man—family or otherwise—who was willing to put her first. She’d thought she’d found that with Sergei, but it had all been a lie. When she needed him most, when she was pregnant and terrified and Andrei was diagnosed with cancer and trying to find peace by forcing a father-daughter relationship with her, Sergei had chosen the Romanovs over her.
After that, she’d realized that she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself—especially now that Hadley was in the picture.
Mrs. Richards shook her head. “Take it from an old woman who’s seen too much of life pass her by—it’s too short not to take a leap of faith every once in a while. This man lit something up inside you. Maybe it’ll develop into something, maybe it won’t. But it’s guaranteed to wither and die if you don’t give it a chance.”
She tried to picture it—never seeing Cillian again. Never having him walk into Jameson’s and give her that grin that made her toes curl. Never getting to know exactly what it was that put those shadows into his dark eyes. Never getting to kiss him again, never letting him sink between her thighs, never being able to follow through on the rough promise of his words and actions.
It made her stomach ache like she’d lost something valuable. It didn’t make any sense. She barely knew the man—it shouldn’t matter if he dropped off the face of the earth.
Olivia sighed. “One date. That’s it.”
“Good.” She made a shooing motion. “Now, go get dressed. You don’t want to be late.”
Since she wasn’t even sure she wanted to go in the first place, being late was the least of her worries, but she went back into her room and threw on the first thing she laid hands on—a pair of holey jeans, her boots, and a tank top that did great things for her minuscule chest. It wasn’t fancy, but she had to work afterward, and that was more important…and she might just be digging in her heels in protest in any way she could.
She stopped in the kitchen to drop a kiss on Hadley’s head. “Be good for Mrs. Richards.”
“Tell your mommy that you’re always good.” Mrs. Richards grinned. “You look great. Now git.”
Olivia shook her head and snagged her purse on her way to the door. “I’m closing tonight, so feel free to use the pullout couch.”
“I always do, dear.”
She knew that. God, she had to stop micromanaging and get her ass out the door. “What would I do without you?”
Mrs. Richards smiled. “You’d do just fine. Now go meet your man and have fun.”
“Night!” She waited at the door, just like she always did, to hear the click of the lock before she hurried down the stairs. Mrs. Richards was right. She’d cut things too close, and now she was going to have to catch a cab instead of the T. She tried not to think too hard on how many tips she’d have to earn to make up for this splurge.
Cillian will pay it if you let him.
No way. She wasn’t going on this date to find a sugar daddy to take care of her problems. She’d picked Sergei because she thought being with him would make her feel whole, and look where it took her. No, fulfillment, whether financial or emotional, couldn’t be found in another person. She’d make her own way or sink while trying.
She caught a cab down the street and rattled off the address Cillian had texted her earlier. As the cab pulled up, she discovered it was a tiny restaurant in the West End—close enough to Jameson’s that she wouldn’t have to take another cab, but also far enough away to be outside Beacon Hill. It struck her that Cillian had known this and planned it out like that—close to work but outside his family’s main stomping grounds.
It still blew her mind that so much criminal activity went down in one of the most prestigious neighborhoods in Boston, but she shouldn’t be surprised. The Romanovs rubbed elbows with thugs and politicians alike. There was no reason the O’Malleys wouldn’t do the same.
Stop it. Stop comparing them. They aren’t the same.
Weren’t they? There was only one way to tell for sure, and she wasn’t ready to throw herself back into that life on the off chance that she might be wrong.
She shoved her hair back. And if she waffled any more, she was going to have to douse herself in syrup and serve herself on a plate for Sunday breakfast.
This wasn’t like Olivia. She usually knew what she wanted and she went for it. She didn’t change her mind as the wind blew. What the hell was Cillian doing to her?
She paid the driver and stepped out onto the street. There was an eclectic mix of people moving on the sidewalks, their clothing anywhere from hers to the after-work special to hipster to half a dozen other things. She’d fit right in.
He thought about this, too, she realized. He picked a place where they’d both feel comfortable. The thoughtfulness of the gesture beat back some of her uncertainty. She checked the sign hanging out on the wall and ducked through the door into the restaurant. Inside it was dim and relaxed and cozily intimate, the walls lined with deep booths and a scattering of table and chairs across the open floor. Mouthwatering smells came from the kitchen and the tables that had already been served their food.
“Olivia.”
She turned, a smile already slipping through her defenses when she saw Cillian. He wore yet another three-piece suit, this one in shades of dark gray with a lilac shirt. He looked perfectly put together and downright edible, and all she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and then tow him to the nearest spot where they could be alone. Down, girl. “Hey.”
“I hope you’re hungry. This place has the best lobster rolls in town.”
“I’m starving.” And, suddenly, she was. She’d been too nervous to eat lunch today, and if anyone had asked, she would have been sure those same nerves would keep her from eating during the date itself. But as soon as he guided her to a table with a light touch at the small of her back, she inexplicably relaxed. Here, in his presence, it was harder to remember why this was such a bad idea. “How was your day?”
He pulled out her chair. “Tedious. The numbers are being difficult, which isn’t a challenge that I thought I was going to have to deal with when I took over the accounts.”
“Accounts.” She blinked. “You’re an accountant?” When she pictured accountants, she pictured tightly wound men in cheap suits who didn’t get enough sun. Cillian couldn’t be further from that image. “How…how did that even happen? You don’t seem the type.”
He grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He nodded as a harried waitress appeared with two glasses of water and disappeared just as quickly. “In my family, everyone has their place—their job. I’m the middle son of seven kids, so I had a bit more freedom than some of my siblings.”
“So you decided to be an…accountant.” Every time she said it, her disbelief deepened.
“If you prefer, you can call me the head of finances instead.” His grin widened. “I like numbers. I’m good at numbers. And there’s the added bonus that it puts me right in the middle of things without having to shoulder any of the responsibility that’s crushing my oldest brother.” Just like that, the grin faded. “Or at least, that was what I thought when I took on the job. Turns out, things are never that simple.”
“No, they wouldn’t be with your family.” She regretted the words almost as soon as they were out. What the hell was wrong with her that she had to keep poking at this particular issue? “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay.” He motioned at her menu. “Why don’t you figure out what you want to eat and then we can skip straight to the hard stuff.”
“Sure.” It dawned on her that if he was willing to open up about his family and the “hard stuff,” then he was going to expect her to do the same. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that. To distract herself, she looked over the menu. “You said they have amazing lobster rolls?”
“The best.” He hadn’t even picked up the laminated plastic menu.
She set hers aside. “That’s enough of a recommendation for me. I’ll get that.”
The waitress must have been keeping her eye on them, because she swooped in, took their drink and food order, and was gone inside of thirty seconds. Then there was nothing standing between Olivia and all the questions she had for Cillian. Nothing except knowing she’d have to respond in kind. She used her straw to stir the ice around in her water glass. “Now that we’re here, I’m not sure what to say.”
“Should I have picked a fancy restaurant with unpronounceable entrées?”
She gave a brief smile in acknowledgment of the shared joke, but it fell away when faced with the reality of their situation. “I promised myself I’d never get involved with someone like you.”
“Sweetheart, there is no one like me.” He held up a hand when she burst out laughing.
“How about I give you the basics, and if you have any questions, you can ask them?”
He was actually offering to open up to her. It blew her mind. The Romanovs were all about their secrets and never letting the left hand know what the right hand was doing. She was pretty sure the only one with all the information was Dmitri. Everyone else was expected to take orders and keep their mouths shut. Olivia took a deep breath. Cillian isn’t Dmitri—or Sergei. How many times do I have to remind myself of that before it actually sinks in? Apparently one more than she already had. “That sounds great.”
“So you know I’m an O’Malley and that we’re one of three families that run the majority of Boston. There are other players in the city, but they ultimately have to answer to one of us.” He took a drink of water. “A year ago, we were on the brink of war because of, well, a variety of things. We managed to hash out an alliance with the Sheridans, and we’re also on pretty good terms overall with the Hallorans.”
She frowned. “The Hallorans being the same men who were beating you in a back alley less than two weeks ago?”
“Yeah, well, nothing is ever simple. The people in charge might have decided on peace, but that doesn’t mean that everyone feels that way. They did it without their boss’s consent.”
“You know that for sure?”
He shrugged. “I’ve passed word along and been assured that it will be dealt with. Since my sister is currently engaged to the guy in charge, I’m willing to take his word for it.”
She blinked. There were a whole lot of undercurrents to what he just said, but she wasn’t sure she was willing to delve deeper. “It sounds like things are good in Boston.”
“As good as they can be.” He straightened the paper-napkin-wrapped silverware. “That almost-war left a lot of scars and bullshit for us to work through. Our family still hasn’t managed to get past most of it.”
From the pain in his voice, she wasn’t sure if he was talking about his family in general or him specifically. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. None of it is your fault. It’s just a by-product of the life we live.” His mouth twisted. “Or that’s the line my father likes to use.”
“I’ve heard similar.”
His dark eyes focused on her. “In that case, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”