Midnight Captive

  But he was no dummy. His friend still wanted him. He knew that, and if it were anyone other than Liam, Sully would be all over that like white on rice. He loved sex, and the fact that he was bisexual only doubled the pool of potential fuck candidates. Women, men, it was all good, as long as everyone was enjoying themselves.

  He couldn’t screw Liam, though. Nope, couldn’t do that to his friend.

  Besides, the worried flash in Liam’s eyes when he’d realized that Doherty and Doyle were buggering each other? It spoke volumes.

  It told Sully that even if he was interested in redefining their friendship, Liam was nowhere close to being ready for it.

  * * *

  Nearly eleven o’clock, and Sean still hadn’t returned. Bailey had to admit she was getting worried. And it didn’t help that Oliver was gone too. After he’d dropped her off at the one-bedroom flat in Rathmines, he’d hurried off to meet with some contacts. Ollie hadn’t given any details, but she knew he was on the hunt for information.

  She, on the other hand, was sidelined. Left alone to twiddle her thumbs while Sean spent the night “thinking.” She’d wanted to join up with Morgan’s men to help with surveillance, but Liam had told her they had everything covered. All of Rabbit’s top soldiers were being watched, including Cillian Kelly, who, frankly, creeped her the fuck out.

  She hadn’t liked the way he’d looked at her earlier, or the feel of his hand on her face when he’d examined her bruise. His touch had made her skin crawl, and that worried her. Bailey’s instincts never failed her, and right now they were telling her that Cillian Kelly was a threat.

  When she heard footsteps nearing the apartment door, she automatically reached for her Beretta. The gun trained on the door when it opened, then lowered when Oliver strode inside.

  Relief and disappointment mingled in her belly, but she refused to dwell on the latter. So what if Sean was still AWOL? He wasn’t her boyfriend. If he wanted to sulk in his loft all night, he could go right ahead.

  “Hey,” she greeted Sean’s twin. “How did it go?”

  “I put out some feelers.” Oliver paused. “Though I’m not sure what I’m putting out feelers for. My brother was pretty bloody vague about it.”

  “Because he doesn’t have a plan,” she muttered.

  “Sure he does. He just hasn’t come up with it yet.” Oliver ducked into the small kitchen, then popped back out holding a bottle of water. He twisted the cap off, and his strong throat bobbed as he drank nearly half of it.

  “Is he always like this?” she said irritably. “Flying by the seat of his pants?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.” Oliver grinned. “He’s not a planner. But he happens to be the best improviser I’ve ever known.”

  “You two were mercs at one point—he must have known how to follow orders back then.”

  “I didn’t say Sean can’t follow orders. He’s just not great at the whole planning thing. But if you’re on a mission with him and it goes haywire? He’ll get you out. Trust me—my brother’s damn good at acting on impulse.”

  “Good for him, but that’s not how I work,” Bailey grumbled.

  “I know that, sweets. But this is Sean’s game, so we play by his rules.”

  That’s what she was afraid of.

  Oliver flopped down on the other side of the couch. “So . . . are you going to tell me why you lied to him?”

  Her mouth fell open. “Me? How did I lie?”

  “Well, Sean’s under the impression that you and I are madly in love, so yeah, somebody must have told him that.” He offered a pointed look.

  Bailey’s cheeks heated up. “I didn’t tell him that.” She paused. “But I didn’t correct him when he said it.”

  “That’s the same thing as lying.” He shook his head. “It was cruel to let him think it. You know he’s crazy about you.”

  Argh. It was always about Sean, wasn’t it? His feelings, his orders. But what about her? The man refused to take her feelings into consideration. And neither did Oliver, apparently.

  “I don’t want to get involved with him,” she said darkly. “I never did.”

  “Oh, come on, are you honestly telling me that the night you slept with him you truly thought he was me? From start to finish?”

  She faltered. Her cheeks burned hotter.

  “That’s what I thought.” Oliver chuckled before going serious again. “My brother’s a good man, Bailey. He has his flaws, sure—”

  “Flaws? He’s a frickin’ Neanderthal!”

  “Yes, he’s possessive. He’s overprotective and stubborn and hotheaded.” Oliver shrugged. “But so are all the men on Morgan’s team, and you seem to like them just fine.”

  The words evoked a spark of guilt. He was right. Morgan’s men were alpha to the core, and she didn’t begrudge them that. But they also didn’t treat her the way Sean did. Like she needed a bodyguard, or a handler, or a man to guide the way.

  “I’m not interested in Sean, okay? And I’m certainly not interested in sitting around and doing nothing when we could be strategizing. Where the hell is he?”

  “Knowing my brother? He’s getting thoroughly sloshed right now.”

  She hollowed her cheeks in anger. “Are you kidding me? Why would he do that?”

  Oliver shot her a meaningful look.

  “Unbelievable. Really? Because of me? Well, fuck that,” she snapped. “He can’t use me as an excuse to get drunk in the middle of a job. A job, I might add, that would be over in a heartbeat if he just kills Flannery.”

  “You know better than that,” Oliver said gently. “Actions have repercussions. You can’t kill a man like Flannery without putting a lot of careful thought and preparation into it.”

  “Fine,” she conceded. “But that’s my skill set, Ollie—thought and preparation. Give me a couple days and I could take out Flannery without any of it blowing back in our faces.”

  “Sean’s game,” he reminded her.

  “Right, and Sean’s rules.” Setting her jaw, she got to her feet and fixed him with a hard look. “I’m taking the car. Where are the keys?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Where do you think?” She glowered at him. “And don’t give me that shit about how you need to stay with me until Sean gets here. I don’t need a handler. I had one for seven years and I’m done with it.”

  “I wasn’t going to give you shit,” he said lightly. He reached into his pocket and tossed her a set of keys. “I think it’s a good idea for you two to clear the air. It’s the only way you’ll be able to focus on what needs to be done.”

  What needed to be done? She still had no clue what that was. Sean had agreed to take down Rabbit to appease Flannery, but how long would he play nice with Flannery? And what happened when the gloves came off?

  She stifled a sigh, deciding to save those questions for Sean. Then, feeling guilty for being so grumpy, she leaned in and kissed Oliver’s cheek. “I really am glad you’re okay.”

  “Thanks, sweets.” He let out a breath. “And do me a favor? Go easy on him when you get there. He’s not the most pleasant guy when he’s bolloxed.”

  Wonderful. Sober Sean was asshole enough. Now she had to contend with Drunk Sean?

  She really should have stayed in England.

  * * *

  The loft was dark when she entered it nearly thirty minutes later. She didn’t see him at first. Not until her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she made out his long, muscular frame in the shadows.

  He was sprawled on the couch, one thick arm propped behind his head, the other holding the whiskey bottle from last night—except now its contents had been reduced to nearly nothing, only a few mouthfuls remaining.

  He was bare chested, wearing sweatpants that rode dangerously low on his trim hips, and his deep brogue broke the silence as she approached. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

  Bailey slipped her gun from her waistband and placed it on the table. “Oliver said you’d be drunk.”

&nb
sp; “I would be,” Sean agreed, “if there were any more liquor in this place. But I was too lazy to go and buy another bottle.”

  She walked over to the upright lamp near the couch and flicked it on. Light illuminated the cavernous space, revealing the slight flush on Sean’s cheeks. He had surprisingly high cheekbones for a man. It was . . . sexy. Too damn sexy.

  “You look drunk to me,” she remarked, doing her best not to let her gaze linger.

  He snorted. “You think half a bottle of Jameson would get me plastered? I’m Irish, luv. Takes a lot more than that.”

  She hesitated before settling in the armchair. It was still too close for comfort. Close enough that she could smell Sean’s spicy aftershave every time she inhaled. Close enough that she could make out every hard ripple of his chest, every faded scar.

  She wasn’t looking forward to dredging up the past, but she knew it needed to be done.

  “Sean—” she started.

  “He was always their favorite, you know.”

  The abrupt interruption brought a frown. “What?”

  “Ollie. He was my ma and da’s favorite.” Sean leaned over to drop the bottle on the table before rolling onto his back again. “This one time—we were five, maybe six years old. We’d just started learning basic math stuff in school, you know, like you’ve got four bananas and you take away two bananas so how many bananas are left. The first quiz we did, Ollie got every question right. I got about half right. No, maybe more. Two-thirds, I’d wager.”

  He rubbed his eyes and sat up, drawing her attention to his chest. God, his muscles were so defined it was like they’d been carved from stone.

  “Anyway, we went home and showed our quizzes to Ma, and she gave us big bear hugs and told us we’d both done exactly what she’d expected us to do.” He chuckled harshly. “She expected Ollie to get a hundred, and she expected me not to. Guess she knew who the smart banana in the family was.”

  Bailey’s frown deepened. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to your kids.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. She loved us both. I know she loved me. But she was prouder of Ollie. He was always better at everything.” Sean shrugged. “Guess what I’m saying is, it made sense to me that he was the one you wanted. And that even when you’re not with him, I’m still not someone you want.”

  Damn it. Her heart wasn’t allowed to clench like that. He wasn’t allowed to say things like that.

  “But I wanted you from the moment I saw you.” Sean’s gaze found hers, green eyes hazy with alcohol and regret.

  “Trust me—you made that more than clear.”

  “I wanted you for more than a fuck, Bailey.”

  She swallowed. “I know.”

  Bitterness colored his tone. “But you didn’t. You didn’t want a fuck, and you didn’t want more.”

  Her throat closed up on her, making it difficult to get any words out. “I’m not who you think I am,” she mumbled, averting her eyes. “You have this image of who I am, but you really have no idea.”

  “You haven’t offered to fill in the blanks.” There was an edge to his tone.

  Because it wouldn’t make a difference, damn it. He knew what she did for a living and yet he still treated her like she needed rescuing. She would never be an equal to this man. Or worse, he might end up resenting her independence, her strength, and she knew exactly what men were capable of when they felt like the women in their lives had more power than they did.

  “Knowing won’t change anything,” she said aloud. “We’re not the same, Sean. We think differently. We have different ways of getting things done. All we do is fight.”

  “You’re the only one fighting, luv.”

  The pitch of his voice lowered, became seductive, and Bailey suddenly felt very, very tired. “I can’t give you what you want, okay? I don’t want a relationship.”

  “You don’t want a relationship with me,” he corrected.

  She didn’t answer.

  “You admitted yesterday that you’re attracted to me. Were you lying?”

  She found the courage to meet his eyes again. “No. But lust is one thing. A relationship is a whole other matter.”

  “Give me the lust, then.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me. If you don’t want to get involved with me, then fine.” His eyes gleamed. “Just fuck me again.”

  Her lower body clenched. Hard. And her nipples tightened painfully. She shouldn’t be aroused, this tempted to surrender to him, but she was.

  “You’re drunk,” she murmured.

  “I already told you—I’m not drunk. Buzzed, maybe. But I know exactly what I’m saying and exactly what I want.”

  “And I already told you—I can’t give you what you want.”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “Forget that. A relationship is off the table—I heard you loud and clear, luv. But sex isn’t. Sex is very much on the table.”

  “According to you.”

  He lazily slid off the couch like a golden cat, muscles flexing as he bridged the distance between them. He loomed in front of her, six-plus feet of pure temptation. Those sweatpants were practically falling off him. She stared at one sleek hipbone and she wanted to put her mouth on it. Drag her tongue over his hot flesh and taste his masculine flavor.

  “You want it,” he said huskily. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  “So, what, you want to have a fling in the middle of an op? Is that it?”

  He gave a careless shrug. “I won’t be glued to Rabbit’s side. We’ve got plenty of time for other . . . activities. And it doesn’t have to be a fling. One night is fine too.”

  Bailey bit the inside of her cheek. “Why? What’s the point?”

  The fierce look in his eyes robbed her of breath. “Because I want it. I want to be inside you again, and this time, I want you to know exactly who’s fucking you.”

  Bailey almost revealed the truth biting at her tongue, that she’d known all along that she wasn’t in bed with Oliver, but her vocal cords were paralyzed. The look in Sean’s eyes was too intense. Smoky lust and flinty determination. Hot need, so potent it seared right through her clothes and heated her skin.

  He slid to his knees in front of her, inching closer to rest both hands on her thighs. The warmth of his touch seeped into her body and made her feverish, achy. Arousal gathered between her legs, tightening when his blunt fingertips traveled to her waistband and dipped beneath it, lightly stroking her hips.

  “I like these pants, luv. But they’re getting in our way, don’t you think?”

  This had bad idea written all over it. In permanent marker. Bailey was well aware of that, but she couldn’t stop staring at his hands, just inches from her aching core, and his mouth, curved seductively as he waited for her answer. She knew exactly what that wicked mouth was capable of. The pleasure it had to offer.

  “Well?” he prompted, toying with the elastic of her leggings. “What should we do with these pants, Bailey?”

  One teasing stroke of his fingers over her belly, and a breath shuddered out of her lungs.

  “Take them off,” she choked out.

  Chapter 14

  Her skin was like silk. Smooth and supple and porcelain pale, a sharp contrast to her jet-black hair. Her eyes were a mixture of the two hues, black and white combining to form perfect slate gray. Like an overcast sky, not dull and flat, but like that moment before a storm rolled in and lightning prepared to strike. Power held in check. Passion on the edge.

  But not for long. Because he was about to unleash that passion.

  Sean peeled her leggings off, groaning when he discovered she wasn’t wearing any panties. No bra either, judging by the puckered nipples poking against the front of her black T-shirt.

  He’d expected a rejection, but he hadn’t gotten one. He got a blatant invitation instead as Bailey parted her legs and exposed herself.

  His mouth ran dry, his hands shaking like a train hurtling along an old wooden track. He hadn’t sl
ept with anyone since Bailey. He’d spent the whole year resorting to self-gratification, every jack-off session involving his very vivid memories of this woman. Now the real thing was in front of him, and he was dangerously close to losing control.

  “So beautiful,” he rasped.

  He stroked her inner thighs before spreading her legs wider so his gaze could soak in the sight of her delicate pink pussy. Then he lifted his head and their eyes locked, and her dilated pupils inflated his ego. She wanted him—him—and her hazy expression proved it.

  And Lord, there was even more proof between her legs. Wetness coated his fingers when he brought them to her opening, toying with her slick flesh.

  Without breaking eye contact, he dragged his hand upward and rubbed his wet fingertips over her clit. It swelled beneath his touch, pulsing in time to her heartbeat. Her very erratic heartbeat, which was thudding nearly as fast as his.

  He stroked little circles over that swollen bud, and her answering moan was like music to his ears.

  “I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so long,” he said roughly. One finger traveled south again, inching into her hot channel but not filling her completely. “I’ve been thinking about this pussy for a year, luv. A bloody year.”

  She still didn’t speak. Her lower body moved, hips rising to try to increase the contact between them.

  He gave her what she wanted, pushing his finger deeper. When her inner muscles clamped down, his dick jerked in his sweats, throbbing with anticipation and desperate for relief.

  But not yet. He wasn’t taking his pleasure until he had Bailey’s complete and total surrender. Her big gray eyes remained focused on his face, but he had to be sure that she knew what she was doing. That she knew precisely whom she was doing it with.

  “Say my name,” he commanded.

  Her eyes flickered. Displeasure. Resentment.

  Resistance.

  When she didn’t comply, another finger joined the first, and he drove them in and out at a rapid pace.

  A throaty cry left her mouth, but when she started rocking into his hand, he withdrew, and the moan dissolved into a whimper of disappointment.