Page 9 of Sweet Deception (Irish Kings #4)

Chapter Seven

Water rushes over my face as I mull over how to get rid of the mystery woman. Every time I think about the fact that I fucked her into a coma last night, I smile.

It’s been a while since I last slept with a woman, so my endurance pleased me.

But that’s irrelevant.

Short and dirty, that’s my usual M.O. It’s nothing personal.

I tilt my head back and close my eyes, letting the warm spray relax my muscles. The truth is, I’m a little uneasy about how much I enjoyed last night.

That I let my guard down with her enough to have fun, normal fun …

My idea of excitement usually involves mayhem. Laying kindling to the world and then tossing a match over my shoulder as I walk away, everything burning in my wake.

But right now, I don’t want the story to end with a single amazing fuck.

For some reason, I don’t want to move on at all.

I want to spend more time with that ravishing, reckless woman, and that’s an enormous problem. I don’t even know her damn name. I would’ve swiped her wallet by now if she’d brought anything up here with her, but she didn’t.

A nameless waitress who had the balls to crash the wedding and seduce an enforcer. If I keep her around and train her to take more of my cock, I wonder how long it’ll be until she regales me with her tales of financial woe.

Case in point, the girl needs to go.

Shutting off the water, I exit the shower and towel off. Once I finish messing with my hair in the mirror, I pluck the complimentary bathrobe from a nearby hook.

Meanwhile, aimless, asinine questions pick at me one after the other.

Would it be rude to ask her name before throwing her out?

If I’m throwing her out, why do I need to know?

Do I even care?

Absurdly, the answer’s yes.

She needs to go, that’s true. Especially because I’m irresponsibly curious about her.

And no, I have no desire to examine why.

I can’t stop thinking about her angelic face or her cool, untouchable confidence or how her entire self-presentation fell apart the moment I claimed her mouth with mine.

My cock definitely remembers.

It wants to demolish her pussy all over again. Big red flag. I need to get her away from me.

Or…maybe not.

I mean, yeah, she needs to leave. But I also don’t see why I couldn’t keep her around for a while longer.

I booked the room for the next few days.

We could have some more fun, maybe grab breakfast together, check out the pool.

Then, before it gets too hot and heavy, I’ll just fly back to New York. Problem solved.

Logic finally restored to my brain, I reenter the bedroom to wake my sleeping beauty only to find the mystery woman gone.

I pad out into the den and cast a glance toward the balcony. Empty. By the doorway, where she took off her shoes, there’s nothing.

She’s gone. Without so much as a note on the nightstand.

Well, what the ever-loving fuck…?

What kind of gold digger pulls a smash and dash?

I didn’t even buy her a cup of coffee yet.

Surprise and irritation shoot up inside me. Am I missing something here? Yes, I planned to eventually toss her out on the street like a common whore in some seedy underbelly somewhere, but it’s not because last night wasn’t incredible.

It’s because I don’t do “fun times with beautiful women.” I’m an undertaker. That’s my job. The darkness required to kill, maim, and destroy means I can’t afford to let any light in.

What the fuck was her excuse?

She came up here to shake me down for money using her sweet pussy, so why the hell did she leave before finishing the job?

Now I’m even more curious about her.

How infuriating.

I was going to let her stay and ditch her when I leave—and she ditches me first?

Screw this. I still don’t even know her name, and that rankles me even more.

Pissed, I march around the bed to grab my phone. As I snatch it up off the bedside table, a notification on the screen catches my eye.

File Transfer Complete.

My body goes cold as the pieces click together in my mind.

She… played me.

That nameless woman wasn’t a gold digger at all.

She was a spy who got exactly what she came for. Sensitive data about the Irish Kings Mafia.

And it’s all my fault.

“Fucking hell.” I rip the robe off, throw my suitcase open, and toss on some clothes.

In all of sixty seconds, I storm out of the suite and bound for the elevators.

I don’t stop moving until I’ve reached the hotel security office on the first floor. They recognize me immediately.

Kings are easy to spot at this hotel. We should be, after all the money Shane dropped on this double wedding.

They let me in at once and don’t object when I inform them one of their hotel guests stole from me and insist on finding out which room she’s in.

“Right away, sir.” The security director is my height, but he’s stockier and gruff, with a dull, square face. “Your suite’s on the thirty-first floor, correct?”

“Thirty-fifth.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see some of the other security staff flinch.

They’re obviously afraid of me.

Anyone would be when I’m this furious. At myself. At her .

How dare she con me like this? Who does she think she is?

The director rewinds through some video footage. “Let me know when?—”

“There!” I cut him off, bracing against the extra-long desk upon which many, many security feeds sit.

My body heats up as I point out the frame and watch her streak down the hallway in that dress I nearly ripped off her with my teeth.

Wrath mounts inside me.

I should’ve shredded that thing, then she never could’ve left my suite without my permission.

“Where’d she go?” When I growl out the words, an uneasy silence settles over the entire office.

The security director keeps toggling. The next video shows her in the elevator, yanking on her shoes and grimacing at her face in the mirror, appearance still slightly untidy from her tour through my bed.

In another video, she’s navigating through the lobby right out the front door to the curb. I’m about to demand he tell me which way she went when he pulls up the next feed. We all witness her getting into a cab and disappearing into the early morning light.

“I’m sorry that she got away, sir.” The security director scratches his neck. “But if you give us her name, we should be able to pull up her room details and any travel plans. We’d be happy to file a police report if you’ll leave us a full list of what she stole.”

“That’s not fucking good enough.” I don’t even glance at him. Instead, my eyes zero in on the tag number of the taxi she slipped into.

She’s not getting away from me that easily.

“Sir?”

I whip around and take off from the security office, jogging through the lobby toward the exit. I know I should call my friends, or my father, or tell Shane, but I refuse to do any of those things.

This is more than just a work problem. This is personal.

I’m going to catch this mouse on my own. Then she’ll pay.

Just wait until I get my hands on that sexy, lying, conniving little bitch.