Yup, he was a selfish bastard, all right.
“It wasn’t a conquest for me.” His voice came out rough, and his pulse careened as the truth spilled out, the words he’d wanted to say for months now. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you, Bailey. You were beautiful and smart and so different from the women I’d been with in the past. Strong and elusive—”
“See, so it
was
about the conquest. The chase.”
“No, damn it! It was about
you
.”
She glared at him. “You pretended to be your twin brother to get me into bed. Do you honestly think I can forgive that?”
“No, but you can at least try to understand why I did it.” He reached out and touched her cheek. A part of him expected her to flinch, but she didn’t. She simply went still, silent, visibly uncomfortable as he gently traced the soft line of her jaw.
Her breath hitched. She didn’t lean into his touch, but she didn’t recoil from it either.
“I’m sorry for lying to you,” he said gruffly, “but I need you to know . . . that night meant something to me.” His chest went tight, achy. “I know I’m not Oliver—”
“Damn right you aren’t.” She stumbled backward, and his fingertips felt cold and empty without the warmth of her cheek beneath them. “And that night meant nothing, Sean.”
Her harsh words made his chest ache even harder, while her cruel dismissal of their night together sparked his anger. “You can’t deny it was good between us. No. It was fucking earth-shattering.”
Even as he spoke the words, he knew they’d have no effect on her. She’d slept with him thinking he was someone else, for Christ’s sake. If Bailey’s earth had moved that night, it was because she’d believed Oliver was the one moving it.
“Wow. You really are an arrogant bastard,” she snapped. “You want to hear what a great lay you are? Is that it? Then, fine. You’re a spectacular lay.”
His nostrils flared. “Bailey—”
“But guess what—I’m not sleeping with you again. I’m not sleeping with Oliver either, if that makes you feel better.”
“Bailey—”
She cut him off with another sardonic interjection. “But I can see how important it is for you to hear that the sex was good—sorry,
earth-shattering
—so here you go: it was
awesome
. You made me come
so
hard. You’re such a stud.”
Her taunting set his temper off like a lit fuse. “Go ahead, be as sarcastic as you want. But don’t you fucking pretend you didn’t like it. I remember the way you moaned when I was buried inside you. The way your fingernails gouged my back when your pussy was squeezing the life out of my cock. I can still fucking hear your screams when you came.”
Her cheeks turned red. “If you say so, Sean.”
“Fuck that, Bailey. I might be a liar, but you aren’t. You wanted me that night.” His mouth twisted in a smirk. “You want me now.”
She took a step back. “Whatever helps you sleep better at night.”
Before she could retreat, he yanked her toward him and crashed his mouth over hers.
Bailey was helpless to stop the kiss. And in the back of her mind, she knew she’d goaded Sean into it. You didn’t antagonize a man like Sean. You didn’t question his sexual prowess, not unless you were prepared to face the consequences.
And God, the consequences were terrifying.
He kissed her like he owned her, and in that moment, he did. The kiss was rough and punishing, his tongue forcing her lips open and sweeping into her mouth with greedy precision. Electricity raced up Bailey’s spine, red-hot and powerful, as powerful as the deep strokes of Sean’s tongue and his tight grip on her waist.
“You want me,” he muttered into her lips without breaking their mouths apart.
Oh God, she did. She craved him as badly as she had last year. She’d known it was Sean the second she’d opened that hotel room door, but he’d kissed her before she could speak, and then he’d pulled back without revealing his true identity. Pretending he was his brother, and goddamn it, but she’d let him. She’d played along because after just one second, she’d been dying for him to kiss her again. She’d wanted to experience the kind of passion she’d only ever read about.
The same uncontrollable passion swept through her now, as Sean’s tongue slicked against hers, drawing a desperate moan from her throat. She heard a soft rustling sound, realized his towel had dropped to the floor. He was naked, gloriously naked, and her hands moved of their own volition, roaming his rock-hard chest.
He growled when her fingernails scraped one flat nipple, deepening the kiss as he backed her into the closet door. He rotated his hips and his erection brushed her belly, teasing the top of her mound.
Stop this. Now.
No, not yet. She hadn’t gotten her fill yet. Her eyes were squeezed shut but she didn’t need them open to explore his warrior body. Her fingers ran over his hot flesh, encountering smooth planes and roped muscles, bumpy scars that reminded her of the violent life he led.
Sean’s teeth sank into her bottom lip, sending a jolt of excitement between her legs. She shamelessly rubbed up against him, sliding her tongue in his mouth as the kiss went from blistering hot to downright explosive.
Stop. This.
Common sense prevailed, penetrating her foggy mind. She wrenched her mouth away and staggered backward. Her breath came out in unsteady pants. Every inch of her trembled, sizzled with unquenched need.
Sean was breathing just as hard, lust burning in his green eyes, but when he spoke, it was with unmistakable regret. “Goddamn it. I lose my bloody head when I’m around you.”
His muscles flexed as he bent down to retrieve his towel. He hastily secured it around his waist, but the terry cloth couldn’t hide his thick ridge of arousal.
Bailey couldn’t even muster up any anger toward him. She’d challenged his restraint by provoking him, and it wasn’t fair to blame him for losing control.
“You’re right.” She could barely hear her shaky voice over the thudding of her heart. “The attraction is there.”
Surprise flitted across his face.
“I won’t pretend it’s not, okay?” A sigh slipped out. “But I won’t act on it either.”
Sean met her eyes. “I’m sorry I pretended to be him. I truly am.”
The earnest apology evoked a pang of guilt. It was wrong to let him apologize again. To let him think she’d been ignorant of what he’d done.
But admitting that she’d been onto his charade from moment one . . . that meant admitting she’d
wanted
him that night. It meant revealing her weakness. Exposing herself to a man she’d never intended to let get close to her.
She’d worked so damn hard to become the strong, capable woman she was now, but Sean Reilly made her feel weak. Not just with desire, but with the way he took control of every situation. Some women might like being bossed around, but Bailey wasn’t one of them. Sean treated her like she couldn’t take care of herself, and then he wondered why she resented him for it.
“You’re in love with Ollie. I get it.” His voice rippled with anguish. “I’m a shit for putting you in this position. You pushed Ollie away because of what I did, and that’s not right. What I did wasn’t right.”
Did he honestly believe she was in love with his brother?
Bailey swallowed, searched his face, and realized that, yes, he really did believe it. The need to correct him bit at her tongue, but she choked it back. Maybe it was better if he thought she loved Oliver. At least then he’d back off. Stop tempting her with . . . with everything. His potent masculinity. His seductive taunts. His addictive kisses.
“We need to stop going around in circles,” she said quietly. “Let’s just put the past behind us, okay? Right now we should be focusing on getting Oliver away from O’Hare.”
After a long beat, Sean nodded. “You’re right.”
“Look, if we’re not meeting O’Hare until tomorrow night, we may as well get some sleep.” She headed back to the couch, placing much-needed distance between them. “Oh, and I’ll send Paige an e-mail asking her to track down any of O’Hare’s safe houses that you don’t know about. We can do some recon in the morning.”
His features strained at her use of the word
we
. “I really don’t want you involved in this.”
“It’s too late for that.” She stretched out on the couch, reaching for the red-and-black afghan hanging over the edge. “And I’m really not in the mood to argue again.”
She covered herself with the blanket. It smelled like Sean. She tried hard not to breathe, but the spicy scent of him snaked into her system and sped up her pulse again.
“For fuck’s sake, luv, you can’t sleep on the couch. You can take the bed.”
“I’m already comfy,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “Night, Sean.”
She heard his aggravated expletive, followed by soft footsteps and the creak of the closet door opening. There was the rustle of clothing being slipped on, the telltale flick of a light switch, and then the mattress squeaked as Sean settled on the futon.
Bailey kept her eyes shut, refusing to look over at him, refusing to see that powerful body sprawled on the bed. She should be in England right now, snuggled up on the couch with her best friend. Instead, she’d spent the evening playing the part of bank hostage and was now having a slumber party with Sean fucking Reilly.
She had to sleep, regroup, and armor herself against the man. Most likely, tomorrow would be as strenuous as today had been, and she needed rest if she wanted to keep up with Sean.
It was weird being in his loft, his personal space, but Bailey was used to sleeping in worse, more dangerous places. Her years with the CIA had taught her to sleep with one eye open, to block out the lingering adrenaline and catch some shut-eye whenever and wherever she could get it.
She wasn’t sure how long she slept. Several hours, at least, and it would’ve been longer if not for the loud buzzing that awoke her.
Bailey flew into a sitting position, pistol in hand as her gaze instantly sought out Sean, who dove off the futon in a blur of motion.
The loft was shrouded with darkness, but she could see him racing to the security screens. She blinked when light flooded the room, and then she bolted to her feet.
“What’s that noise?” she said as she hurried over to Sean.
“Motion sensor went off.” He entered a sequence of numbers on the keyboard and the buzzing stopped, but the severe set of his shoulders didn’t ease. “We’ve got visitors.”
Bailey glanced at the time stamp on the corner of the screen: 3:07. Then she shifted her gaze to the monitor Sean was staring at, which provided a clear view of the downstairs lobby. She couldn’t help but be impressed when she realized Sean must have left the loft at some point to fix the security panel she’d disengaged. She hadn’t heard him exit or reenter, but clearly he’d snuck past her because the keypad had been rearmed.
“Oh shit.” Her breath caught when a figure suddenly appeared on the screen. A narrow face, dark eyes gleaming with displeasure. “Who’s that?”
Sean looked over at her. “Ronan Flannery,” he said flatly.
Every muscle in her body coiled tight. Jesus. Flannery? As in the man whose flash drive Sean had stolen?
She studied the man on the screen. Angular features, reddish brown goatee, shaved head. She couldn’t see anything below his shoulders, but the thickness of his neck told her he wasn’t some puny Irishman you could easily take down.
Sean typed another series of numbers, then leaned into the microphone next to the keyboard.
To Bailey’s dismay, he addressed their late-night visitor.
“Yeah?” Sean said briskly.
A chuckle floated out of the speakers, and then a pleasant voice echoed in the loft. Pleasant . . . but only on the surface. The cold menace simmering beneath it was unmistakable.
“Good evening, lad,” Ronan Flannery said in greeting. “Why don’t you press your little button and let me in?” A deadly smile filled the screen. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
Porto, Portugal
Sullivan had been dreading this reunion for weeks.
He’d known it would happen eventually. After all, he was still a member of Jim Morgan’s team. So was Liam. Which meant there was no way the two of them
wouldn’t
reconnect at some point.
But hell, he’d been hoping for more time. Time was a man’s best friend—it was the one infallible truth Sully had discovered over the years. Death, breakups, frickin’ food poisoning . . . you let enough time pass and you’d get over anything.
He wondered if his time theory applied to the you-kissed-your-best-friend-and-now-he-wants-to-fuck-you debacle Sullivan found himself in.
A groan escaped his mouth but was quickly carried away by the crisp morning wind rolling off the ocean. A bluish light blinked in the inky black sky—Morgan’s jet, making its descent. Sullivan peered up at it, his breath floating out in a white wisp. Shit, it was chilly out. He zipped up his Windbreaker as the breeze picked up, cursing his teammates for scheduling the rendezvous at the crack of dawn.
The small airfield was dark and silent, not a soul around except for Sullivan and the airport owner, who was puttering around in the hangar. Sully had been killing time outside for more than an hour, wishing he had a pack of cigs or a cup of coffee—anything that would stop his eyelids from drooping in fatigue.
It had been a total bitch getting here. He’d sailed right into a squall, nearly lost a jib to the sudden and violent gusts that had repeatedly struck his boat. But
Evangeline
was a trooper. She could weather anything, and she’d gotten him to port in one piece, as she always did.
He’d docked her at a marina outside Porto, and as he stared up at the sky, he found himself longing for her. Gleaming decks and pristine white sails, a forty-five-foot slice of pure freedom.
Maybe it made him a total pussy, but he missed his boat when he wasn’t on her. His entire life he’d obeyed orders, followed routines. First at the orphanage, then in the army. But there was no routine on the open sea. He never knew what to expect when he was out there.
Eventually he’d live on the water full-time. He’d do it now if he could, but that relentless itch for action always crept in sooner or later. Working for Morgan helped scratch that itch, though Sully certainly hadn’t expected to land a best mate out of the deal. His friendship with Liam had crept up on him too. Who would’ve thunk it—the brash Australian and the reserved DEA agent hitting it off, becoming closer than frickin’ brothers.
And idiot that he was, Sully had nearly destroyed the friendship with his impetuous actions.
The light in the sky grew brighter as the small jet sliced through the darkness. Lower and lower. Closer and closer.
Liam was on that jet. D and Ash too. But Sullivan wasn’t tied up in knots waiting for those other two. He hadn’t kissed either of
them.
Christ almighty. What had he been thinking? Was he bloody
mental
?
He stood in silence, watching the sleek aircraft’s descent. Sam, Morgan’s pilot, was a pro. He landed the bird with ease, smoothly rolling down the dirt runway before coming to a stop a hundred yards from the hangar. There was no need to refuel, so Sullivan grabbed his go bag and headed for the plane.
He was two steps away when the door opened with a mechanical whir. Ash, the team’s dark-haired rookie, appeared in the doorway, his green eyes alert and playful despite the fact that it was the middle of the night. Or morning, rather. Christ, it was early.
Ash flashed his trademark lopsided grin as he stuck out his hand. “Hey, Sully.”
“Rookie.” He grinned back and grabbed the outstretched hand, allowing the younger man to haul him on board.
“How was the vacay?” Ash asked as Sully’s boots connected with the cabin floor.
“Good. Hit a couple storms, but mostly it was smooth sailing.”
They moved deeper into the cabin, and Sullivan spotted D first. The tattooed mercenary was sitting in one of the plush seats with his eyes closed, but they snapped open when Sully took a step forward. Those coal black depths flickered with acknowledgment. There was a nod of greeting, and then D’s eyelids snapped shut again.
Sullivan hadn’t expected anything more. Derek “D” Pratt was the scariest bastard he’d ever met, and not exactly a chatter mouth.
He strode forward, discomfort tightening his chest when he saw Liam at the far end of the aisle.
“Boston,” he called in greeting.
“Aussie,” Liam called back, a faint grin on his face.
Sullivan stashed his bag in one of the overhead compartments and made his way across the cabin, where the two men exchanged a quick side hug that was fraught with tension that only Sullivan could feel. Or maybe Liam did too, because when he drew back, there were a hundred unspoken questions lurking in his vivid blue eyes.
Which only made Sully feel like a total shit, because he’d purposely been keeping his distance since they’d left Paris. But what the hell else was he supposed to do? Sully hadn’t expected to be attracted to his friend, and he absolutely hadn’t expected Liam to feel it too, but no way was he going there. Their friendship was too important to destroy over a case of misplaced lust, and he’d wanted to give Liam time to get over what had happened, to put it behind him.
“You look like a beach bum,” Liam remarked.
He dragged a hand over the full growth of beard on his face. “Yeah, well, you know I don’t shave when I’m with
Evangeline
. She likes me au naturel.”
His teammate snickered. “Uh-huh. I bet she does.”
The tension faded as they settled in seats opposite each other. Sully rested his hands on the table that was screwed into the floor between them. “Any word from Bailey?”
Liam shook his head. “Nothing since her last text. All we know is that she and Sean made it out of the bank and now they’re holed up in one of his safe houses. Oh, and apparently she didn’t tell Sean we’re on our way. He’s insisting he doesn’t want any backup.”
“Tough shit, because he’s getting it.”
Sullivan was kind of pissed that Reilly hadn’t made contact with any of them yet. He’d liked the cocky Irishman from the moment he’d met him in Monte Carlo on an op a couple of years back, and he’d thought the two
of them were chums. He didn’t know what Reilly was tangled up in, but there was no bloody way he was letting the man fend for himself.
“Noelle thinks he’s back in the IRA,” Liam said grimly.
Both men buckled up as Sam called back into the cabin that they were ready to take off.
Liam continued as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “One of her contacts reported seeing Sean at O’Hare’s Pub in Dublin.”
“Eamon O’Hare, right? The Irish Dagger bloke?”
Liam nodded.
“I remember Reilly saying he goes by Rabbit. Pansy-ass nickname if you ask me.” He pursed his lips. “We both know Sean doesn’t give a bloody hoot about politics. There’s no way he’d willingly join up with the Dagger again.”
“I agree. So does Bailey, which is why she wants our help.”
Liam raked a hand through his hair, drawing Sullivan’s attention to those thick black waves. The guy had great hair. Great everything, in fact. The hair, the piercing blue eyes, the male-model face that Sullivan had seen too many women go apeshit for.
The operative word?
Women.
Because Liam Macgregor was as straight as they came.
Except Sullivan had recognized the wild streak running through his friend from day one. He’d seen a man who was dying to let go, and Sullivan had helped him do that. He’d encouraged Liam to unleash his dirty side, to revel in it, turning him from a well-mannered gentleman to a filthy playboy who was willing to try anything.
But somehow he’d lured his friend to an even darker place, a place he knew Liam would regret venturing into. The man came from a big Catholic clan, for fuck’s sake.
He was supposed to marry a sweet, docile female who’d pop out his kids and have dinner waiting for him on the table when he got home—not get involved with his best friend, a man who didn’t even know the meaning of monogamy.
“You’re not listening to me.”
Liam’s dry voice made Sullivan jump. “Sorry.” He rubbed his beard, tired of thinking in circles. Pissed at himself for not being able to let it go, when it was the one thing he was trying to get Liam to do. “I spaced. What were you saying?”
“Just that we should try to figure out what Sean’s involved in ahead of time, if we can. I think I’ll contact Paige.”
Sully nodded. “I’m sure Bailey already has, but it wouldn’t hurt to call her.”
A note of unhappiness entered Liam’s voice. “I really wish Holden would come back.”
The reminder of their former teammate and technological wizard brought a twinge of sorrow to Sullivan’s stomach. Holden McCall had disappeared off the face of the earth after he’d lost his wife during an ambush on the team’s compound a while back, and after more than a year of radio silence, Sully had given up on hearing from the grief-stricken man.
“He’s gone, mate,” Sullivan said roughly. “And I don’t think he’s coming back. Fuck, even Morgan has stopped hoping for that.”
“It’s that easy for you, huh? Just accepting that he’s not coming back?”
Sullivan meant to keep his tone casual, but it came out gruff and thick with meaning. “I’m very good at putting the past behind me.”
And they both knew he wasn’t talking about Holden anymore.
* * *
Dublin
Bailey watched in amazement as Sean’s fingers moved over the keyboard. She was no computer expert, but from where she was standing it looked like he was actually unlocking the door remotely to grant Ronan Flannery entrance to the building.
“You’re letting him in?” she exclaimed.
He glanced over as if she’d just asked him if the sky was blue. “I don’t have a lot of other moves.”
“We can get the hell out of here, for one.”
He brushed past her and went over to the overstuffed chair next to the futon, where he grabbed a threadbare T-shirt with the Manchester United logo on it and threw it on. The shirt, gray sweatpants, and bare feet made him look like he’d just rolled out of bed, and he seemed completely unperturbed that a criminal kingpin was on his way upstairs.
He caught her expression and sighed. “Bailey. If you honestly think he doesn’t have his goons surrounding the place, then you need a refresher course in gangster etiquette. We wouldn’t be able to get out of here without one or both of us getting killed.”
“What the hell is your plan, then?”
“Don’t have one. We’ll play it by ear.” He strode back to her, a rogue grin lifting his lips. “So . . . seeing as these might be our last few minutes on earth, how about a kiss good-bye?”
She clenched her fists to stop herself from decking him. God, his cavalier attitude drove her up the fucking wall. She wasn’t used to working with someone who didn’t think five moves ahead.
She, on the other hand, could find a way out with her eyes closed. She already had a car parked around the corner, courtesy of Rafe, along with the strategically
placed explosives he’d planted around the building. One phone call and Rafe would set off the charges, creating a big enough distraction that she could slip away unseen.
But the determined look in Sean’s eyes told her he wasn’t going anywhere, and damn it, she wasn’t leaving without him.
As if reading her mind, Sean chuckled softly. “I’m sure you have several escape plans in motion. Feel free to use them.”
“I’m not going without you,” she snapped.
“And I’m not running.” He gave a careless shrug. “Look, I might as well deal with Flannery right here and now. I don’t have time to be chased around by that thug—I need to get Ollie.”
“Which is gonna be hard to do when you’re
dead
.”
He didn’t get a chance to respond, because the front door swung open and then Ronan Flannery strode inside.
Bailey’s fingers tightened around her weapon as the man lingered in the doorway, his tall, stocky body clad in a tailored suit. Who wore a suit at three in the morning?
“You should really get that door fixed,” Flannery said politely. His voice was deep, his brogue deeper.
He took a few steps forward, flanked by four black-clad men armed with assault rifles.
“AKs? Really?” Sean sounded amused. “Don’t you think that’s a tad much?”
Bailey’s lips puckered when Sean swiftly stepped in front of her, shielding her from the thugs. Like she was a damsel in need of protecting.
“One can never be too prepared,” Flannery answered with a chuckle.
Sean approached their visitor with cautious strides, pausing when five feet separated them. He slanted his head as he studied the older man. “So. I don’t mean to
insult you, mate, but who are you and why did you show up on my doorstep in the middle of the night?”
He was playing dumb. Interesting. Bailey wasn’t sure it was the way to go, but the ploy didn’t succeed anyway. Sean’s stab at ignorance simply summoned a hearty laugh from Flannery.
“You know exactly who I am, lad.”
Flannery nodded at his bodyguards, who stepped back at the unspoken command. Two of them moved toward the door, while the remaining two stuck close to their boss but still allowed him some space. All four were somber faced and silent. They weren’t body-builder types—only one was as tall and built as Sean—but their guns were big enough to make up for their size.
“And I know exactly who
you
are.” Flannery eyed Sean. Up and down, side to side. “You look like your father.”
To anyone else, it might seem like Sean was unaffected by the remark, but Bailey didn’t miss the tic in his jaw.
“Colin was a good man,” Flannery went on. “A loyal man.” He shrugged. “Bloody shame his loyalty was misplaced.”
When Sean didn’t answer, Flannery’s gaze shifted to Bailey. “Pretty bird you’ve got there, lad. Hello, sweetness. I don’t remember you scowling like that when you were inside the bank, but security footage doesn’t always provide the best picture.”
Bailey wondered how he’d gotten his hands on the bank footage so fast, until she remembered he was a filthy-rich criminal who not only had members of law enforcement on his payroll, but apparently every important person in Europe under his thumb too.