Page 17

Chapter

Sixteen

Tenley

B efore I get out of the cab outside my apartment block, I quickly check my surroundings, and when I don’t see any signs of an avocado-colored car or tall, charming, green-eyed Lothario, I pay the cabby and step out onto the sidewalk and quickly make my way inside.

Although Paddy had been nothing but the perfect gentleman on our little ice cream date, when he’d offered to give me a ride home, I had declined. But his cheeky smile and constant badgering and assurance that I could trust him were relentless. So, eventually, I gave in and accepted the offer. However, I’m not stupid. I wasn’t about to offer up the knowledge about where I lived, so I’d directed him to a decoy place several blocks away.

My home is my sanctuary, so only a few people have my address, mainly the mail office and the HR department at the newspaper, both of which have strict data security policies.

My apartment is in a relatively small building rather than one of the large monstrosities. I love it because most of the people living here keep themselves to themselves. My days are saturated with work and my need to succeed immeasurably, so I have no time to waste on pleasantries with the neighbors or getting all buddy-buddy with them for coffee mornings.

One of my utmost bug bears is people turning up at my door unannounced, catching me in the middle of an important piece of research while in various levels of undress. As our building is currently missing security because of a change of contractors who have messed up with the dates they were supposed to switch, we are without a doorman to ensure that no one gets further than the foyer without my consent. The last thing I need is a walking hunk of testosterone, with a body and face to die for, aka Paddy Dunne, turning up on my doorstep and testing my resolve.

I’ve enjoyed the lighthearted flirting today, and it’s something that I’ve been starved of for many years while I’ve been concentrating on my career. I don’t deny part of me, mainly my vagina and clit, to be honest, had been throbbing for attention, imagining me sliding onto his lap and rubbing against his junk like an attention-seeking cat. It had got to where I had to call an end to our date, only then to be closer to him in his car.

Thank goodness the journey was a short one.

After taking the lift to the top floor where my apartment is, I walk down to the end of the corridor to my door. I push the key into the lock and the door releases. Once inside, I close the door firmly behind me and kick off my shoes, leaving them exactly where they drop. With every step I take towards the bathroom, I shed my clothes again, leaving a trail behind me. By the time I arrive at the shower door, I’m naked and rather than letting the water run until it’s warm, I step inside and hit the faucet.

“Holy shit,” I squeal out loud when the cold water hits my heated skin, but I need to clear my head of the hot Irish man and all the dirty thoughts swimming around in my mind.

When the water turns warm, I set about cleaning my hair and body so it’s in line with my head.

Once I’ve rinsed off, I shut off the water and step out onto the fluffy mat, grab a towel from the rail and drape it around my body. I quickly dry my hair with another, enough to let it fall around my face without dripping water everywhere. With one hand holding the loaded toothbrush, I throw the damp hair towel into the laundry hamper. Teeth clean, mouth rinsed, I step out of the bathroom, making my way to the kitchen and pull open the refrigerator door. After the mountain of ice cream, I’m not the slightest bit hungry, but I have a raging thirst that only chilled water will quench.

I take a fresh bottle from inside the door, a tall glass from the cupboard shelf, and pour the water in until it’s almost spilling over the rim. Bringing the beaker to my lips, I gulp down nearly half the amount before taking a breath. I take the rest over to the couch, where my laptop remains open on the coffee table.

I hit the button that wakes it up and press my thumb to the sensor that unlocks it, and it springs to life on the last page I’d been checking out on the web.

Instead of the green eyes of Paddy Dunne staring back at me, it’s a pair of rich brown ones with hooded lids and a lazy stare.

When it came to finding information on the Young Outlaws, I needed to do some serious digging. For their president, even more so. After trawling the usual social media sites, eventually I’d found a single picture, the one that I see now. Edge to edge, top to bottom, seeing how I’ve zoomed and re-saved so it completely fills the fifteen-inch touch screen.

I flutter my fingers across his image, careful not to actually touch the screen, which would cause it to flicker. Those cheekbones, thick brows, and lips that I can only imagine what they would feel like to suck on. His look is broody, hot and sexy and as tempting as fuck. Even more so when you see him in the flesh.

What the hell am I thinking?

Lusting after two men who are both dangerous, violent and sworn enemies. I’m playing with fire and at risk of getting seriously burnt.

“Damn-it girl,” I berate myself, shifting in my seat as a whoosh of heat builds between my legs. “Get it into your head. Never gonna happen.”

I click over onto the Word document I have opened in the background and read through the last paragraph I’d written, describing Wolf’s background and how he’s father to Cub, the youngest member of the Young Outlaws. That just about covers what information I need to include for each of the members. Now, I need to report on the darker side of the MC. Not the stuff that’s already out there and easily accessible. I’m talking about the real dirt that seems to have been brushed aside over the years by the press and the law, but with little evidence, I haven’t got a clue where to start, because no one is willing to talk.

With my eyes closed, I lean back into the plush cushions of the couch and let out a frustrated sigh, only for me to suddenly sit forward, eyes flying open wide at the sound of a nerve-jangling purposeful knock at my apartment door.

“What the hell,” I mutter under my breath. Visitors are rare. Uninvited visitors, extinct, so as I make my way towards the door. I can only deduce that it’s one of the neighbors who’s had a temporary loss of sanity and thinks it’s acceptable to bother me. They better have an adequate reason that I would deem acceptable. Life or death situation. Fire in the house. Out of coffee.

When I get to the door, I look through the peephole, but I can’t see a damn thing through it. It’s like something that’s a dirty, yellowy flesh color has covered it.

I slowly crack the door open, keeping my body weight against it in case I need to close it again quickly. Before I even see who’s on the other side of the door, the weight of it pushes me back into the hallway. Knocked off balance, I reach for something to stop my fall, but a firm arm loops around my waist and corrects my stance. Fear and instinct take over, and I lash out with my hand in defense, only for it to be caught around the wrist with firm, tattooed fingers before it connects with the intruder.

“Smoke?” I croak breathlessly when I realize who is holding on to me. Dark, dangerous eyes rake down my body before coming to rest on my face. Thankfully, the towel that’s now dried from my body heat is still in place, albeit a little low at the front and showing the valley between my breasts.

“What the fuck are you doing opening the door when you’ve no fucking idea who’s behind it?” He barks at me. The hand that is still holding on to mine shakes as he holds it in between us.

“I checked but…” I notice the yellow nicotine stain on the skin of his fingers that even spreads over the pad of his thumb from his heavy smoking habit. “You put your thumb over the spyhole.”

“What if I did? You still shouldn’t have opened the door until you knew it was me.”

“And do you really think I would have opened it at all, knowing it was you?” I fire back, cocking a hip while wrapping my arm around the towel so it doesn’t flash my cooch at him.

“Cut the sass,” he growls, flinging my arm free. “And stop trying to get my attention by flashing me your tits. I’m not fucking interested.”

“What the hell?” I snap back, the pitch of my voice way too high. “I’m not.” Clamping my arms around my chest doesn’t help my defense when my breasts move higher, the edge of one of my pink nipples breaching the edge of the towel. I let out a squeal and quickly rectify the placement of the towel by hoisting it up.

“Just go put some fucking clothes on, will you? We need to talk.”