Page 56 of Legacy Of Ashes
"I'm listening," I say carefully.
"Not over the phone. Meet me at the Seaport Hotel bar in an hour. Come alone."
The line goes dead.
"Well?" Conall asks, though his expression says he already knows it's bad.
"Morrison wants to meet. He says there's something I should know about O'Brien."
"It's a trap."
"Probably." I sit up, mind racing. "But what if it's not? What if he has information we need?"
"Then I'm coming with you."
"He said come alone."
"I don't give a shit what he said." Conall's eyes flash with fury. "You're not walking into a trap without backup."
I study his face, seeing the fear beneath the anger. He's terrified of losing me, and honestly, the feeling is mutual.
"Fine. But you stay hidden unless things go sideways."
"Deal." He kisses me hard, claiming and desperate. "But if that bastard tries anything..."
"You'll kill him. I know." I smile against his lips. "My very own guard dog."
"Damn right."
As we dress for what could be another trap, I realize something has shifted between us tonight. The careful distance we've maintained, the professional boundaries—all of it burned away in the face of real danger.
Whatever Morrison wants, whatever game Petrov is playing, we'll face it together. As partners. As lovers.
As equals who would burn the world down for each other.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
The conference roomfeels like torture tonight. Rain pounds against bulletproof windows while my family gathers around the mahogany table, but all I can think about is bending Saoirse over this polished wood and fucking her until she screams.
She sits beside me, close enough that her perfume drives me insane. Close enough that I catch her scent mixed with arousal. She wants this as much as I do.
One week since we crossed every line, and I'm obsessed. Addicted to the taste of her, the sounds she makes when I'm buried inside her, the way she claws my back when she comes.
"Focus," she whispers, but her voice carries that breathless note that means she's remembering this morning. How I bent her over the bathroom sink and took her hard while she watched in the mirror.
My cock throbs at the memory. Her hands gripping marble while I slammed into her from behind, her ass bouncing with each thrust.
Tiernan wheels himself to the head of the table. His good hand grips whiskey while his damaged voice struggles with words.
"The Russians move tomorrow," Saoirse begins, standing to spread papers across the table.
I watch her lean forward, the movement making her skirt ride up her thighs. I know exactly what's under that skirt. Black lace that I'll be ripping off her the moment we're alone.
"Petrov expects chaos when he strikes," she continues. "He won't get it."
Her finger traces routes on the map, and I imagine those same fingers wrapped around my cock. The way she strokes me while looking into my eyes, driving me to the edge before pulling back.
