By the time dinner was ready the next night, Olivia felt like she’d run a marathon. Two marathons. She’d spent the day with Hadley, cleaning and doing laundry and trying her best to stay busy so she didn’t keep double-checking to make sure the lock was secured on their front door. She knew all too well that the flimsy mechanism wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop Sergei if he put his mind to it, but it still helped. “Dinner’s ready, baby girl.”
Hadley toddled into the kitchen, a bright grin on her face. “Mama!”
This is why I’m doing it. This is why I can’t take the money and I can’t let Dmitri have his way. Not this time. “We’re going all out tonight. Chicken nuggets and apple slices.” She lifted Hadley onto her booster seat at the small two-person table and set her sippy cup full of milk and her plate in front of her.
It didn’t matter how hard her life was sometimes—it was all worth it when her daughter gave her that smile, like chicken nuggets were the greatest gift she’d ever received.
She sat down across from Hadley, nibbling on a piece while she monitored her daughter’s progress. Sometimes she ate like she was starving to death, but more often than not lately, she seemed to pick at it or half the food would end up on the floor. It’s just a stage. Knowing that didn’t stop the worry from lingering in the back of her mind that Hadley wasn’t getting enough to eat.
A knock on the door had her climbing reluctantly to her feet. Their neighbor Mrs. Richards watched Hadley when Olivia was at work. She wanted to sit here all night and just be, but that wasn’t an option.
She had to go so she could pay their bills.
Because she was absolutely not taking any money from Dmitri. Goddamn Romanovs and their goddamn money and power plays.
She slipped out while Hadley was occupied, pausing to whisper, “Thanks,” to Mrs. Richards. Some days Hadley was fine with her leaving—or barely noticed at all—but Olivia didn’t want to make things harder on the older woman than she had to. Mrs. Richards squeezed her shoulder and smiled, and then headed for the kitchen.
Olivia grabbed her purse and headed out. She locked the door behind her, the small hairs on the back of her neck rising, though she didn’t actually see anything suspicious. That didn’t stop her from looking over her shoulder more times than she could count on her way to work. There was no sign of Sergei, but she swore she could feel his eyes on her.
Maybe I should have called in and stayed home with Hadley.
“Hey, Olivia.”
She pasted a smile on her face for Benji. It wasn’t his fault she was in a foul mood. Not to mention—as if she needed yet another reminder—this job paid her bills. Pissing off her boss was a good way to get her ass kicked to the curb. “Hey, Benji. Slow night?”
“It’ll pick up.” He filled a drink order, each movement so natural it was obvious he’d spent years behind this bar. “If you want to grab another case of Bud, that’d be great.”
“Sure thing.” She didn’t mind hauling things from the industrial-sized walk-in fridge in the back. It gave her some much-needed time to compose herself. Olivia ducked through the door leading back to the supply rooms and then into the fridge itself. She closed her eyes and inhaled the icy air. It would be okay. She’d figure this mess out. She just needed time.
The problem was that time might be the one thing she didn’t have.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she cursed when she saw Sergei’s name on the screen. I don’t have it in me to deal with this tonight.
She headed back out to the bar area. A group of tourists huddled around a table, pressed closely together as they flipped through pictures on a tiny camera screen, and a set of businessmen at the bar who’d obviously just gotten finished with work, though they hadn’t left the job at the office if their conversation was anything to go by. And, finally, tucked in the back corner was a couple so focused on each other, Olivia was pretty sure she could dance naked around the room and neither of them would pay her the slightest bit of attention.
The thought of dancing naked brought back memories of him. Cillian. She’d been so busy with the mess of Sergei and worrying about Hadley being a picky eater that she hadn’t had a spare minute to really consider the possible consequences of her actions.
Okay, that was a lie.
She crouched down behind the bar and started unloading beer bottles. It was mindless work, for which she was grateful. She wasn’t ready to face actual customers yet.
“I know you don’t like me much, sweetheart, but hiding behind the bar is a new low.”
Oh God. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. Sure enough, Cillian was still there, peering over the bar at her, his dark eyes lightly mocking. Her body burned, the taste of him filtering through her memory as if it had been seconds since he’d kissed her, minutes since he was inside her, instead of a little less than twenty-four hours.
She shoved to her feet. “What are you doing here?”
“Your customer service is seriously lacking.” He leaned back, his gaze skating over her in a move she could almost feel. It made her reconsider her clothing—a worn pair of perfectly faded shorts over black tights, her spiked knee-high combat boots, and her favorite white T-shirt—which only served to irritate the hell out of her. She’d been comfortable when she left the house, and now she wasn’t. The fact that he didn’t have to say a single thing to make her skin heat just aggravated her further.
She crossed her arms over her chest. First Sergei, and now this. It wasn’t fair to compare the two, but she wasn’t feeling particularly fair right now. She was feeling cornered. “You’re in my bar.”
His eyebrows rose. “I was under the impression this was Benji’s bar.”
“It is.” She couldn’t tell if the heat pulsing beneath her skin was from embarrassment, or the fact that he’d left a few buttons undone on his perfectly pressed blue dress shirt and she could see that the tattoos on his neck extended south. How far south?
Why in the world had her hormones decided to wake up for this guy? She’d been doing just fine on her own—with regular assists from her buzzy toy BOB. Her life had been going okay until yesterday and, sure, she had so much pent-up desire that she’d been the one to jump him after that initial kiss, but that didn’t change the fact that O’Malley’s presence here now heralded all sorts of trouble for her. Last night she’d let herself get out of control and then, less than an hour later, Sergei had been on her doorstep. Blaming that on Cillian didn’t make the slightest bit of sense, but she couldn’t help linking up the two in her head. Both were bad news. She wanted no part of their family entanglements.
If Dmitri found out you were even talking to him, let alone that you had sex with him…
The thought was like a bucket of cold water on her insane desire. This guy was nothing but complicated, and her life was too complicated as it was. When she spoke, she managed to sound halfway normal. “Apple juice?”
“You remember. I’m touched.”
Maybe touched in the head. She busied herself getting a glass and ice and the juice, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He’d looked rough last night, but tonight he looked absolutely haggard—while still being unbearably hot. Hell, whatever burden he seemed to carry around only made him more attractive. It didn’t make a damn bit of sense. She’d never had a thing for the dark and brooding types before, and she wasn’t about to start now.
Even if a part of her did wonder what put that lost look on his face when he didn’t think anyone else could see.
She slid the apple juice across the bar to him. “Last night was a onetime thing.”
“You said that already.”
She had, hadn’t she? There was that damn heat again, pushing against the inside of her skin in a way she knew he could see. “All the same, I don’t know why you’re back here, but you’re not getting a repeat.”
“I didn’t ask for one.”
If embarrassment could kill a person, she would have turned to ash on the spot. She opened her mouth, and then closed it. Why had she assumed he’d want to hook up again? He might have said as much afterward, but guys were known for saying things they didn’t mean before, during, and after sex. She should have known he wasn’t interested. For fuck’s sake, she had practically strong-armed him into going there with her. He probably thought she was…She didn’t even know, but definitely not a woman he wanted to spend more time with.
Which is exactly what you want.
“Right. Of course.” She grabbed a rag and started wiping down the bar, hating how tangled up she felt inside. Twenty-four hours ago she’d had a clear picture of what she wanted and how she was going to get it. There had been no distractions, and her past was firmly in the rearview. Now everything had changed and she felt like the world was shifting beneath her feet.
“I do, though.” He tilted his glass, watching the liquid move in the low light.
She blinked. “What?”
“I want a repeat—preferably somewhere a little less public.” He looked up and pinned her in place with his gaze. “Somewhere I can take my time, until you come so many times you lose count.”
The world stopped spinning so suddenly, she had to grip the bar to keep from keeling over. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his, no matter how hard she tried, but she wasn’t even sure she was trying at all. She wasn’t sure of much of anything except that Cillian could do exactly what he was promising. He’d more than proven that last night.
Why the hell couldn’t someone else show up and demand drinks? At least then she’d have a legit excuse to end this conversation in a way that didn’t look like she was running away—even if that’s exactly what she would have been doing. “No.”
“Why not?” He asked the question like he already knew the answer.
“Because, frankly, it wasn’t that good.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“Funny that you say that, because it sure as fuck felt like you were having a good time. Especially when you made that little moaning sound when I—”
“Shut up.” She looked around, but Benji was on the other side of the bar, chatting with the businessmen, and there was no one else close enough to hear his low words. Thank God. But she couldn’t keep scrubbing at the bar and pretending that she was busy while he was talking like this. She had to lay things out for him, and hopefully he’d take a hint. Olivia straightened and made herself look him in the eyes.
He’s seriously wounded.
She shook her head, not sure where the thought had come from. It didn’t matter. Cillian O’Malley would be off-limits even if he weren’t part of a notorious crime family. She didn’t do damaged, and she didn’t do complicated. She didn’t do anything these days that would take away from Hadley, and maybe if she told herself that enough times, her body would finally get the hint. She pressed her lips together for a long moment, striving to come across unaffected and ice cold. “I’m not interested.”
“Okay.”
What? She’d been so prepared for him to argue that it took her a half second to catch up. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” His gaze was intense on her face despite his relaxed body language. “I feel like you’ve gotten the wrong impression about me somehow.” He took a drink of the juice. “Maybe because of my last name.”
She jumped, guilt beating in time with her heart. “My life works right now.” Sort of. “I don’t need the kind of trouble that comes with dating the son of an Irish mob boss.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to convince me. I’m not exactly a catch.” If anything, his attention only got more intense. “But I’d be lying if I said last night didn’t make me stop short and take notice. I know you felt it.”
Was still feeling it, even with the bar between them. Her skin tingled and her nipples tightened just from the look he gave her. The sex was so good. Maybe one more time couldn’t hurt…
No. Absolutely not.
She twisted the rag, realized what she was doing, and dropped it. “I didn’t feel a thing except a mildly pleasant orgasm that took the edge off. I don’t want anything more from you.”
Her words didn’t faze him. If anything, he looked even more interested. “I’m not offering to take you home to my parents, sweetheart. I’m talking about sex—the hot and sweaty kind—where we fuck until we can barely remember what day it is, and then both walk away better off than we started. Simple. Uncomplicated.”
“That’s some line.” And it was—a seriously good one. A date didn’t tempt Olivia—or at least that was what she told herself when loneliness became too much to bear—but a few hours? What could go wrong with a few more hours of escape? It was all too easy to picture what he meant. Maybe he had a place around here where they could slip off to after her shift. He’d shove her against the door and kiss her and…She realized she was pressed against the bar, as close to him as she could possibly be without climbing over the scarred wood.
What the hell is wrong with me? Last night was a onetime-only kind of thing. Doing it again was too dangerous to even consider. Too selfish.
She had Hadley to think about. It was one thing to have Mrs. Richards watch her daughter while she was working to bring in money that they desperately needed. It was entirely another to request a babysitter so she could go get her rocks off with an O’Malley, who was just a different shade of Romanov. She knew the type. She’d grown up surrounded by them. This man might seem like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he’d cleave to his family’s wishes time after time. Nothing else would be permitted to get in the way.
He’s not asking for forever. He wants to blow your mind a few more times and get his blown in the process. And it would be good. You know it would be good.
Yeah, she did. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t risk it.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” Olivia took a step back. “I need to do my job.”
“By all means.” He motioned with the glass.
“I don’t need your permission.” She hated how sharp and brittle she sounded. Hated that she could feel him watching her hurry over to the vacationers to refill their drinks. Most of all, she hated that she didn’t completely hate the feeling.
*
Cillian drank his apple juice and watched Olivia work. She was as skittish around him as a wild animal. He’d been around the block enough times to recognize the desire written across her face when he’d talked about another night of uncomplicated sex, but she’d shut him down so fast, it was a wonder his head didn’t spin.
Last night she’d said it was a onetime thing. That should have been the end of that, but that sex…fuck. It had been quick and dirty and hotter than it had any right to be, and even with what happened afterward, he couldn’t get that bright spot in his memory to leave him alone. He knew it could be good between them if she’d give him a chance at a repeat.
Doesn’t matter. She said no tonight, and so I’m backing the fuck off.
Even in his idiot party days he was a big fan of that little thing called consent. There was nothing that pissed him off more than watching some fool chase after a woman who obviously didn’t want him, and seeing that slide from annoyance to fear on a woman’s face…Yeah. Cillian had thrown down more times than he cared to count over that sort of thing when he was in college.
He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. That was the last thing he wanted. This was her workplace, and he’d just made things worse by coming on to her after she expressly told him there wouldn’t be a repeat. I should leave, but I’m not ready to give up Jameson’s. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
There was no help for it. He’d have to apologize. It was the only chance to put them back on the right foot. Or it would have been if they’d ever been on the right foot.
He rotated on his bar stool and watched the bar. There’d be no trouble tonight. The energy of the place was low-key and comfortable, and he let it roll over him, wishing some of the atmosphere would rub off on him. It was a good place, nothing like some of the hole-in-the-wall pubs he’d ended up in over the years. He turned to find Benji watching him. “Hey, man.”
“You know what I’m going to say.”
Yeah, he did. “I’m going to apologize.” An apology was just empty words, but it would make them both feel better. Theoretically, at least. “What’s her story?”
“Didn’t ask and she didn’t offer.” Benji’s brown eyes didn’t leave his face. “Don’t pry. She’s a good girl, and I’m not going to have you running her off.” It was a variation of the same conversation they’d had six months ago.
It hadn’t bugged Cillian then, but now it grated on him. “What do you think I’m going to do to her? Club her over the head and take her home with me?”
Benji didn’t blink. “I like you, Cillian—you’re a good kid for the most part—but trouble follows you around like stink on a pig. She doesn’t need any more trouble in her life.”
Which meant she already had some sort of trouble. Benji might play at the fun, lovable oaf, but he obviously knew more than he was saying—kind of like how he was on the O’Malley payroll and never mentioned it. Not high up, but there all the same. Cillian had found his name on the roster last week when he was going over the family finances, though he hadn’t put much thought into it before now. Seventy-five percent of the business owners in their territory paid to one degree or another for various things—protection, favors, random shit that he was still having a hell of a time decoding. He’d spent the last six months with the old moneyman, Bartholomew, learning the various tricks of the trade—the kind of stuff you couldn’t pick up in college. Now Cillian was officially handling the family’s money; it was his job to keep track of that sort of thing as well as the investments that kept them flush.
But for Benji, the O’Malleys paid out.
He sat back. He was going to have to think about that. He could ask Benji, but he had a feeling the man wouldn’t tell him anything useful. No, the answers would be found in the ledgers that were now Cillian’s responsibility. All the O’Malleys’ dirty little secrets were there, secreted in Bartholomew’s code. He had the key. He just needed to buckle down and do the work to find the information he wanted.
The puzzle almost—almost—distracted him from the conversation. “I’m not looking to bring her trouble.” That was the last thing he wanted. Too many people had already been hurt because of him. He couldn’t stand it if anyone else bore the weight of his shitty decisions.
“You weren’t looking to bring trouble to that brother of yours, either.”
The words lashed him, leaving a blistering pain in their wake. No, he hadn’t meant to bring trouble to Devlin. He’d thought it was an excuse to let loose a little with his brothers the way they used to, and he’d drank too much—as was his usual back then. Cillian gripped the bar as the room swayed around him. No. I’m not doing this shit tonight. The steel band around his chest tightened, making it damn difficult to draw a full breath. “Low blow, Benji.”
The bartender held up his hands. “I’m sorry to bring it up, but I need you to understand this girl isn’t for you. I don’t know how else to make this clear to you.”
A perverse part of him wanted to push just for the sake of pushing, but that wasn’t the man Cillian was anymore. He released the bar and stood, wavering only slightly on his feet. “I got it. Loud and clear.” It didn’t mean he’d listen, but he wasn’t going to start a conflict about it right now. He downed the rest of his juice and set cash on the bar next to the empty glass—enough to pay for the drink and a tip that was exactly thirty percent.
He pushed to his feet and strode over to where Olivia had just dropped off a set of drinks to the couple who looked half a second away from sneaking off to some dark corner and banging their brains out. He envied them, just a little. Their lives weren’t shadowed by past traumas. All they cared about was the here and now and each other.
He focused on Olivia. “I’m sorry.”
She stopped short. “What?”
“I was out of line, and I’m sorry. I haven’t exactly been at my best lately.” Lately being the last fucking year, with no signs of it getting better in the future.
She pressed her lips together, considering him. In their limited interactions, he’d noticed that she flipped between mouthing off and looking at him like she was half-sure he’d transform into a monster when she wasn’t paying attention. Which one was the real Olivia? The cautious woman or the snarly spitfire? He wanted to know, even though he’d already promised himself he’d leave her alone.
Finally she propped her tray on her hip. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah, well, you made your position pretty clear, and I still came here tonight looking to change your mind. It was kind of a dick move, and for that I’m sorry.”
“I see.” But her tone said she still wasn’t sure what to think of him.
He should leave it at that and walk away. But the old Cillian, the part he couldn’t quite banish and wasn’t sure if he even wanted to, piped up. “Don’t get me wrong, the offer’s still on the table if you change your mind. I’d love to spend a solid week making you scream my name while you come around my cock. Or a single night. Or somewhere in between. Your call. But I won’t bring it up again.”
Her dark eyes went a little hazy. “You’re bringing it up right now.”
“To make sure we’re on the same page. I want you. You want me, too. You’ve got your reasons for not taking what I’ve offered, and I respect that.” Or at least he was doing his damnedest to respect that. He shrugged, trying to work out some of the tension in his shoulders. “But if you change your mind, I’m all over it.”
“I’m not going to change my mind.” She didn’t sound sure, though.
If he didn’t miss his mark, Olivia would spend the rest of tonight thinking about the possibility of them fucking until they forgot their own names. Good. He permitted himself a grin. “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.” When he hit the street, even with the sticky heat of the July night trying to cling to him, he had the insane urge to whistle for the first time in too long.