Not that he blamed them if they did—he enjoyed losing himself in Penny’s body. But as much as he liked fucking her, and as much as he appreciated her company, there were definitely a few things he didn’t like about her.
Like how she always demanded to know where he was and who he was with.
She got upset when he didn’t text her back right away.
She’d told him she loved him after three months.
He’d overlooked all that, because, hell, were those really major red flags? He knew lots of women with clingy tendencies and they weren’t all psychos. Besides, after lusting over someone who wanted nothing to do with him, it was a nice ego boost to be around someone who wanted to be with him all the time.
Right now, though? Not so nice.
“Where do you need to be?” she asked tightly.
He hesitated again. He didn’t like discussing his former job with Penny or his family. They just didn’t get it. When he’d joined the DEA, his father flat-out told him he was insane. Why do you want to get shot up by drug dealers, you feckin’ idiot? The Irish brogue always came out when Callum Macgregor was angry or annoyed. Liam’s mom, meanwhile, had clucked in worry, moaning about how she didn’t want her baby boy to get hurt. His brothers, of course, called him stupid for not joining the police force like every other Macgregor male before him.
After he’d left the DEA and hooked up with Morgan’s team, he’d kept the details about the new gig as vague as possible, telling his family he was doing contract work for the government. They would’ve flipped out if they found out what he was really up to. Jumping out of helicopters. Trekking through jungles and taking out rebel soldiers. Getting shot . . . though in his defense, that only happened once and that was because he’d been distracted by Sullivan’s disappearance.
Either way, his family didn’t need to know the specifics and neither did Penny.
“A friend of mine is in trouble,” he finally answered. “He’s hurt. I need to make sure he’s okay.”
“Oh, really? Do you tell all your friends you miss them?”
Liam froze. How long had she been standing outside the door?
“Yeah, I heard that.” She crossed her arms even tighter, and her cleavage nearly spilled out of her thin V-neck sweater. “Who is she?”
Annoyance skated through him. “It wasn’t a she. I told you, I was talking to an old friend.”
“You’re lying to me.” Her expression clouded over. “You’re keeping things from me, Liam, and you’ve been doing it since we started dating!”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is! You hardly ever talk about yourself. I don’t know anything about your past relationships or even the names of your ex-girlfriends.” She huffed. “You know everything about my exes. I tell you everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell on my end.” Frustration gathered in his stomach. Penny was still blocking the door, and he was tempted to plant both hands on her waist, lift her up, and forcibly move her out of his way.
That’d probably get him a slap to the face. Penny’s family had Irish roots too, which meant she’d inherited the Irish temper. Not only that, but she was a redhead and that came with the redhead temper. Double whammy.
But Kane wouldn’t have called if it weren’t important, which meant Liam needed to go, ASAP. He had to track down a private charter. Commercial would take too long, and he had no idea if he could even find a place to land in Guatana. Last he’d heard, most of the private airfields in the region were either shut down or completely unreliable. The other month he’d had drinks with an old DEA buddy who’d admitted that the cartel situation in Guatana was getting unmanageable. A private airstrip had been blown up just a few months ago, the Rivera cartel’s way of sending a message to a rival about who controlled the country’s distribution channels.
“I heard your voice,” Penny was saying, alerting him to the fact that she was still mid-lecture. “You weren’t talking to ‘just a friend.’ It was someone you care about. And you told her you missed her!”
Liam clenched his teeth.
“And I heard the part before that too, when you wanted to know why she didn’t call you anymore.” Penny flattened her lips. “So who is she? Some girl you dated before me? Was it serious? Were you going to marry her? Just give me something, Liam! Who the hell is she?”
“He!” he burst out.
And regretted it instantly.
Penny’s eyes widened. “What?”
He drew a ragged breath. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Please”—he gently touched her arm—“I really need to go. A friend of mine is in trouble.”
She ignored him. “What do you mean, he? He . . . as in . . . you were in a relationship with a man?”
Horror descended on her face, which only raised his hackles. “I wasn’t in a relationship with him.”
Her laser gaze pierced into him. He could see the wheels in her brain working overtime, her woman’s intuition kicking into high gear.
“But . . . you had feelings for . . . him?” She shook her head in dismay. “For a man?”
He didn’t answer.
“Are you gay?” The second she voiced the question, she glanced over her shoulder in panic, as if someone might be eavesdropping.
“No,” Liam ground out. “I’m not gay.”
Her breath came out in a hiss. “If you have feelings for a man, then that means you’re gay, Liam!” Penny’s jaw began to open and close in rapid succession, as if she couldn’t quite form the right words. “Oh my God. Oh my God. This makes so much sense. This is why you’ve been holding back. This is why you haven’t asked me to marry you—”
Marry her?
“Because you’re gay.”
He probably would’ve kept quiet if not for the disgust that flashed across her face. He’d known Penny was conservative—she went to church every Sunday like a good Catholic girl—but he hadn’t taken her for homophobic.
“I’m not gay,” he replied in a frigid voice. “But if I was? I sure as shit wouldn’t appreciate the way you’re speaking to me right now. There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”
Rather than acknowledge her insensitivity, Penny seemed to grasp only one thing he’d said. “You’re not gay?”
His jaw tightened. “No. I’m attracted to women.” He paused. “And men.”
She gasped.
It took all his willpower not to snap at her again, because finding out someone was bisexual wasn’t exactly gasp-worthy.
Though in her defense, it had come as a helluva shock to him too.
“And I haven’t asked you to marry me,” Liam continued, “because it hasn’t even been a year yet. I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy.”
“An old-fashioned kind of guy?” she echoed, her cheeks redder than the fire hydrant out front. “Old-fashioned guys—Catholic guys—don’t go around screwing other men!”
“I don’t go around screwing other men,” he retorted through gritted teeth. “And if that’s what you’re worried about, that I’ve been cheating on you, well, I haven’t. I haven’t been with anyone since you and I got together.”
“But before that?” she pushed. “Were you with a man?”
He hesitated.
“It’s a yes or no question, Liam. Were you with a man?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Oh my God.” Tears glistened on her eyelashes as she weakly lowered herself onto the nearest bed. Her gaze turned pleading. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
A different man, or hell, maybe a better man, would have walked over, put his arm around her, and professed his undying love. But Liam stayed rooted in place. Great sex aside, his relationship with Penny had always felt like a way to . . . pass the time.
Shit. He was a grade-A jackass. That kind of attitude wasn’t fuckin’ fair to either one of t
hem.
“Look at me,” she wailed.
He briefly closed his eyes, then forced himself to meet her gaze.
And there it was again—the disgust. Seeing it evoked not only another spark of anger, but resignation too, because when he’d entertained those foolish ideas of him and Sullivan being together, he’d pretty much expected his family to react with the same revulsion Penny was broadcasting right now. Especially his father. Callum Macgregor was a good man. He was loyal and tough and he’d kill for his family, but he belonged to a different era. A generation that still threw around words that, nowadays, caused a national outcry if you so much as thought them.
“You really haven’t been with anyone since we got together?”
He kept his eyes on hers. “It’s only been you, Pen.”
“Do you”—her voice cracked—“love me?”
His stomach twisted in discomfort. He’d never told anyone he’d loved them before. Not any of the women he’d dated. Well, if you could even call it dating. Most of his encounters hadn’t lasted more than a few weeks. Ditto for friendships, at least not before he’d joined Morgan’s team.
At the thought of Morgan, a sense of urgency overtook him. Fuck. He really needed to get out of here.
“Do you love me?” she repeated, leaning forward with her hands on her knees.
The new position caused her skirt to ride up, but not even the sight of her firm, creamy thighs could ease the tension hanging thick in the room.
“Because if you love, and if you tell me you see a future with me, then—” A shaky breath slid out. “Then maybe I’ll be able to . . . overlook . . . this . . . this . . .”
She was stuttering now, as if it was impossible for her to fathom that the man in her life could be, God forbid, bisexual.
When he still didn’t answer, her expression darkened. “That’s all I need to know, Liam. Do you see a future for us?”
The back of his neck started to itch.
“Do you see us getting married? Having kids? Buying a house in Southie? Growing old together? Do you see that?”
Her voice rose at the end and he flinched at the screechy pitch. He was many things, including a liar when he needed to be, but he never lied to the people he cared about.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t.”
Painful silence stretched between them. Ten minutes ago, Penny was on her knees with her lips around his dick, and now she was looking at him like he was a complete stranger.
“I can’t believe this,” she whispered.
Before he could blink, she shot to her feet, smoothed out the bottom of her skirt, and hurried to the door.
“Penny,” he called after her.
“No,” she snapped without turning around. “We’re done here. You can go back to your boy toy or whoever the hell he is. Thanks for wasting a year of my life.”
Panic hit him as she stomped out into the hallway. Yes, she had every right to be pissed. Sunday brunch was the worst time and place for her to have found out about his . . . history. But that didn’t change the fact that his family was right downstairs. He didn’t need Penny making a scene.
She was already halfway down the stairs when he caught up to her. “Penny,” he said firmly.
She turned, visibly reluctant.
Liam nodded toward the lower landing. His father’s booming laughter and the shrieks of his nieces and nephews pealed out of the living room. “My family . . . ,” he started awkwardly.
Bitterness flashed in her expression. “What, they don’t know you’re a fag?”
A breath hissed out through his teeth. Christ. He hoped to hell it was the anger talking and that he hadn’t spent the better part of a year with a woman who had that word in her vocabulary.
Penny’s cheeks were flushed as she stumbled down to the landing. He took off after her again—only to freeze when he spotted his sister standing near the bottom of the staircase.
Becca was in her early thirties, a year younger than him, with the same blue eyes and jet-black hair that every Macgregor child had been born with. But at the moment, her usually rosy complexion was whiter than the wallpaper behind her head.
“Liam?” Becca said uneasily. “Pen?”
Penny marched past her friend without a word.
Liam helplessly stared over Becca’s slender shoulders at the front door. All he saw was a whirl of red hair, and then the door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame.
“What did she mean by that?” Becca asked in a confused voice. “Why would she say that you . . . that you’re a . . .” Her bottom lip quivered. “What did she mean, Liam?”
“Nothing. Just . . . nothing, okay?” He walked toward the front hall on unsteady legs.
“Where are you going?” his sister demanded.
“A friend of mine is in the hospital. I need to go check on him.”
“Liam?”
Another voice stopped him before he could turn the doorknob. Jesus. Why couldn’t he just leave this frickin’ house in peace?
“What’s wrong?” His mother had poked her head out of the kitchen and was eyeing him with deep concern. Her copper-colored hair was tied up in a messy bun atop her head and she had his sister Monica’s one-year-old daughter on her hip.
Fuckin’ hell. His mom and Becca and that damned baby were all fuckin’ staring at him, and he’d never felt more suffocated in his life.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” he mumbled. “Thank you for brunch, but there’s been an emergency. I have to go.”
“An emergency?” she trilled. “What kind of emer—”
He was out the door before she could finish, leaving their stunned faces in his wake.
Chapter 11
Two years ago
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Cate asked as she took a seat next to Ash on the stone steps.
The backyard of the Gateway Providence Country Club was lit up like an airport. Ash felt damn out of place here, but there’d been no changing Morgan’s mind about this venue. The boss was still trying his damnedest to separate Cate from his life as a mercenary, which meant vacations were never spent at the compound in Costa Rica, but stateside. Ski resorts, beach getaways, country clubs. As if somehow, by stuffing Cate into these places, he could make her forget that the money that funded all of this came from guns and blood.
“Beer tastes as good here as anywhere,” Ash said, carelessly raising his longneck bottle.
“My girlfriends are talking about you.” She gestured toward a collective of pretty college freshmen all decked out in their nighttime best.
He followed her gaze and was instantly hit with a wave of undisguised female interest. The girls preened, flipping long swaths of hair over bare shoulders. Even in swanky resorts like these, Morgan’s crew had no problem drawing attention. As the only single guy on the team, Ash knew he wouldn’t have to spend the night alone unless he wanted to. It was crazy what these prim girls would do behind closed doors.
But he couldn’t be less interested. These college chicks looked as bland as dry wheat toast. “Thought you had no friends,” he reminded Cate. “Isn’t that what you were saying in your last e-mail?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I said that I was tired of all the stupid, petty bullshit. Last week the girl in yellow—Emily—stopped talking to the girl in blue because the girl in blue—Natalie—sat next to Brock Gordon. Emily and Natalie have been friends since they were toddlers. I don’t get it.”
“I don’t either. How could anyone name their kid Brock Gordon?”
“You know what I mean.” She nudged him with her knee. “They think you’re hot and dangerous.”
Ash moved away slightly and stared out at the crowd to avoid the hurt expression on her face, but the last day he saw her at the compound was never far from his mind. He’d nearly made a mistake that day. One touch from this girl a
nd all of his defenses crumbled.
He took a sip from the bottle of some designer beer that Ethan had foisted on him earlier, then said, “They’re smarter than they look.”
Cate rolled her eyes. “Those girls wouldn’t know what to do with a man like you.”
And you do? he wanted to ask. You been with a man? You let one of these pansy-ass college boys touch you? But he knew better than to go there. Plus, he had no right.
“Maybe it’s the other way around,” he suggested.
She didn’t answer right away. Instead she reached forward to pluck a white blossom from a bush near the steps.
Ash tried to avoid looking directly at her tits, but it was nearly unavoidable. The filmy printed crop top she was wearing pulled up, and he could see the lush under curve of her firm breast along with the shadow of her beaded nipple.
He hastily tipped the bottle back and drained it, but his mouth stayed dry, his tongue thick.
The image was branded in his mind. She was beyond beautiful. He wanted to slip his hand underneath her shirt and cup that perfect breast. The nipple already stood at attention. It wanted his hand, needed his mouth. His tongue tingled and swelled at the thought of drawing that nub between his lips.
He could imagine her straddling him in front of all these fine folks. Her lithe thighs would dangle on either side of his legs. She’d brace her hands behind her and curl her fingers around his knees. Her back would arch and her breasts would offer themselves to him like two ripe peaches aching to be plucked. Firm and juicy.
Christ almighty.
Ash dropped his hands casually between his legs, praying it hid his erection.
“I know more than you or Jim think I do,” Cate finally said.
She leaned closer, sticking the flower into the button of his polo shirt. When her hands brushed against his pecs, he had to take a deep breath to remind himself that he could not throw this girl down on the steps of a country club and ravish her in front of her father and all her college friends.
“Just keep pretending for our sakes,” he tried to joke. “It helps us sleep at night.”