Page 7 of Sweet Deception (Irish Kings #4)

Chapter Six

My eyes peel open before dawn. I awake flushed from Darren’s body heat radiating against my back.

I squint in confusion. Why’s it so dark in here? How long have I been…?

Slowly, the grogginess retreats, leaving behind the languid sensation of relaxed muscles and limbs. If someone told me I’d slept for a week straight, I’d probably believe them.

If not for the hard body molded to mine, I doubt I’d even remember where I was.

The intimacy of our position suddenly sinks in, and I freeze.

What in the…? Not only did I spend the night with my target, but now we’re seriously spooning ?

Definitely a new low, even if last night was the highlight of the year for my normally cruddy sex life.

I tentatively move my legs and wince at the soreness I discover.

Yikes . I ache in places that remind me exactly how thoroughly Darren destroyed my control last night.

And suddenly, I’m angry with myself. Angry with this man.

Angry about the way he came at me when I had my guard down and devoured my mouth with his. The way he took me right there on the balcony like some kind of wild animal…pulling my hair while pushing his cock inside me.

I’m already hot beneath these blankets, thanks to his oppressive warmth, but now, the memories have started a fire inside me that I work to smother as quickly as I can.

A second later, the unmistakable cacophony of bombs dropping from fighter jets spurts to life in the room, like a television just popped on to show a WWII movie. What the hell?

After frantically glancing around, I register the vibration that accompanies the obnoxious noise.

Darren chose this for his ringtone?

Warfare sound effects? Why?

Just who in the hell did I sleep with last night?

I freeze when he shifts. He releases a big exhale against the back of my neck, and I fight not to shiver as the sensation brushes my sensitive skin.

Keeping my own breathing slow and steady, I pretend to still be asleep as he twists backward and retrieves his phone.

My pulse picks up when his voice rumbles through the quiet room, rough with sleep but still commanding.

Now I remember why I followed all his orders last night.

That voice…

Darren listens rather than speaks for the majority of the phone call.

I stay still and only allow myself a full breath when he sets the phone down and gets out of bed. A few seconds later, the bathroom door clicks shut.

My blood pumps faster while I fixate on the nightstand.

Where Darren’s phone sits.

Unguarded.

I leap out of bed on protesting muscles, fish my phone from my dress pocket, and rush to the nightstand. One touch ensures his phone’s unlocked, which means I need to move my ass. My fingers shake as I initiate the cloning program.

Estimated Completion: Sixty seconds.

While the progress bar crawls, I pull on my bra and dress. A fresh wave of horror hits as soon as the disheveled state of my cocktail attire registers. “What the…”

I never thought I’d be the girl who slinked out of a stranger’s hotel room looking like a well-used sex doll, yet here we are.

I yank at my dress until the fabric correctly settles over my bust and shoulders and the flared skirt no longer twists around itself to reveal way more skin than anyone wants to see this early in the morning.

Then I rummage through the covers, find my panties—praise the heavens—and tug those on.

When I check the countdown, barely any time has passed.

This must be the longest sixty seconds of my entire life.

My brain apparently decides to put the downtime to good use by torturing me with a slideshow of images from last night.

Those talented, scarred hands roaming every inch of my body with firm, rough strokes that stoked the heat inside me even higher.

The way he spun me around, pinning me against the cool glass out on the balcony. That sinful mouth of his burning a silken trail down my throat.

The way he seemed to know exactly how to take me apart, piece by carefully constructed piece.

Sex was never part of the plan, so what the hell happened? One minute, I’m the predator, biding my time until I pounce on his unattended phone. The next, I’m prey, caught by a beast that’s much higher up in the food chain. I expected him to use me. Instead, I felt claimed. Possessed. Seen.

I drag my palms down my face and release a silent groan. I can’t afford to think like that. Not now, with the job almost complete.

Forty seconds.

The bathroom fan hums as I climb off the bed and pace, trading anxious glances between that closed door and the phones.

I never expected someone like him to be so methodical, so calculated in his intensity. Every touch, every kiss felt precisely engineered to break my composure.

Darren Kelly isn’t some lazy boozehound enforcer like I thought. He’s entirely different from my preconceived notions about him…in almost every way.

Twenty seconds.

The water runs.

My heart pounds as I remember ditching my inhibitions to arch and grind against him like a cat in heat, forgetting everything except the pleasure he ignited.

Fifteen seconds.

The water in the bathroom shuts off. Every muscle in my body freezes as I watch the seconds continue to count down.

Ten seconds.

Nine…

Six…

The shower door bangs shut. Blood roars in my ears.

If Darren grabs a towel and strolls right out, I’m absolutely screwed. Or maybe the shower door banged shut…because he’s just getting inside. Perhaps the water I heard a second ago was from the sink.

Three seconds…

Two…

Please, please, please, let him be the kind of guy who’s very serious about his manscaping, beginning with a long steamy shower.

One…

Task Complete.

The vice grip releases my ribs, but I can’t pause to enjoy the freedom. In a flash, I snatch my phone and book it quietly out of the bedroom and into the suite’s den so I can swipe my discarded heels off the floor.

After unlocking the door and easing it open, I check both ways for Darren’s friends or other Kings.

Clear. In fact, the hallway’s empty, probably because the only people awake at this hour never went to bed and remain crouched at a slot machine or card table somewhere.

The partiers who went to bed are likely still passed out from the previous night’s shenanigans and will be slow-moving once their hangovers set in.

Barefoot, I sprint down the brightly carpeted corridor toward the elevators.

They ding and open. I rush inside, press the correct button, and collapse against the side wall. I allow myself a few scant seconds to gather my wits before strapping my heels back onto my feet.

Across the way, the mirrored wall reveals my face to me for the first time today.

Wow, I look like shit. After rubbing hard to get the sleep out of my eyes, I submerge my hands into my own hair to comb out the tangles. It’s not perfect, but it works. I’d rather be disheveled and alive than cute while dead.

I track the numbers ticking down, floor after floor, and try to forget the memory of Darren’s hands on my skin.

So what if he managed to take me apart and put me back together again? So what if he knew just how to touch me, how to talk to me, how to melt me into a boneless mess? I’ll never see him again.

The sting of that realization hits me harder than I expected.

Maybe it might’ve been nice to meet Darren any other way. To spend another few hours with him—or another day—to see if last night was just a fluke, or if he could repeat his performance.

My phone weighs down my dress. Part of me kind of hopes his organization isn’t involved at all in what’s happening to Lucy. Darren may be part of the Kings, but even I know there are levels of dirty within various crime families. Darren could skew more to the morally gray side of the spectrum.

I hope that’s true. If so, I could banish the guilt pinching my chest every time the events of last night replay in my mind.

When the elevator opens into the lobby, I anticipate stares and whispers about my appearance, but no one pays me any mind as I zip through them toward the exit. It’s almost like a regular morning, except really…not at all.

There’s a buzz beneath my skin. My crazy-ass plan actually worked.

I got what I came for.

Now I need to get my stuff and get the hell out of Sin City.

Out into the muggy desert air I go. I dive into the first open taxi idling at the curb in front of the Sanctuary, and I’m gone without so much as a glance back.

An hour later, in my own far less lavish hotel in a far less lavish room, I grab my bag and open the safe to collect my favorite hacking laptop, which comes complete with a decal of pointe shoes affixed to the case.

I climb onto one of two double beds and get the laptop open before retrieving my phone from the pocket of my dress.

Ignoring the way my hips ache when I sit cross-legged on the bed, I connect my phone to the laptop and start running the decryption software.

It’ll take five minutes to unlock the stolen data I swiped from Darren’s phone.

Pushing out a big breath, I connect to my secure VPN and call Maya.

“Are you okay? Did you get it?” My best friend’s expectant voice centers me.

Yeah, I got something all right…

I clear my throat, my face heating up some. “Yes. Got the phone and the data I came for.”

“And?”

“The decryption software’s still initializing, but I should know more in a few minutes.” I’m supposed to sound hopeful or excited or victorious, right? We’re one step closer to finding out what happened to Lucy…

So why does a shroud of dread and self-disappointment loom over me?

How did I let him get the better of me last night?

That one question slaps my mind back and forth, over and over.

“How’d it go?” Shuffling emits from Maya’s end of the line, as if she’s moving around her tiny NYC kitchen.

“How did what go?” I ask, mind elsewhere.

“Crashing the wedding.” Maya pauses, and then, with more worry in her tone, says, “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

My heart slams against my ribs.