Page 5 of Twisted Secrets (The O’Malleys #3)

B y the time dinner was ready the next night, Olivia felt like she’d run a marathon.

Two marathons. She’d spent the day with Hadley, cleaning and doing laundry and trying her best to stay busy so she didn’t keep double-checking to make sure the lock was secured on their front door.

She knew all too well that the flimsy mechanism wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop Sergei if he put his mind to it, but it still helped. “Dinner’s ready, baby girl.”

Hadley toddled into the kitchen, a bright grin on her face. “Mama!”

This is why I’m doing it. This is why I can’t take the money and I can’t let Dmitri have his way.

Not this time . “We’re going all out tonight.

Chicken nuggets and apple slices.” She lifted Hadley onto her booster seat at the small two-person table and set her sippy cup full of milk and her plate in front of her.

It didn’t matter how hard her life was sometimes—it was all worth it when her daughter gave her that smile, like chicken nuggets were the greatest gift she’d ever received.

She sat down across from Hadley, nibbling on a piece while she monitored her daughter’s progress.

Sometimes she ate like she was starving to death, but more often than not lately, she seemed to pick at it or half the food would end up on the floor.

It’s just a stage . Knowing that didn’t stop the worry from lingering in the back of her mind that Hadley wasn’t getting enough to eat.

A knock on the door had her climbing reluctantly to her feet. Their neighbor Mrs. Richards watched Hadley when Olivia was at work. She wanted to sit here all night and just be , but that wasn’t an option.

She had to go so she could pay their bills.

Because she was absolutely not taking any money from Dmitri. Goddamn Romanovs and their goddamn money and power plays.

She slipped out while Hadley was occupied, pausing to whisper, “Thanks,” to Mrs. Richards.

Some days Hadley was fine with her leaving—or barely noticed at all—but Olivia didn’t want to make things harder on the older woman than she had to.

Mrs. Richards squeezed her shoulder and smiled, and then headed for the kitchen.

Olivia grabbed her purse and headed out.

She locked the door behind her, the small hairs on the back of her neck rising, though she didn’t actually see anything suspicious.

That didn’t stop her from looking over her shoulder more times than she could count on her way to work.

There was no sign of Sergei, but she swore she could feel his eyes on her.

Maybe I should have called in and stayed home with Hadley.

“Hey, Olivia.”

She pasted a smile on her face for Benji. It wasn’t his fault she was in a foul mood. Not to mention—as if she needed yet another reminder—this job paid her bills. Pissing off her boss was a good way to get her ass kicked to the curb. “Hey, Benji. Slow night?”

“It’ll pick up.” He filled a drink order, each movement so natural it was obvious he’d spent years behind this bar. “If you want to grab another case of Bud, that’d be great.”

“Sure thing.” She didn’t mind hauling things from the industrial-sized walk-in fridge in the back.

It gave her some much-needed time to compose herself.

Olivia ducked through the door leading back to the supply rooms and then into the fridge itself.

She closed her eyes and inhaled the icy air.

It would be okay. She’d figure this mess out. She just needed time.

The problem was that time might be the one thing she didn’t have.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she cursed when she saw Sergei’s name on the screen. I don’t have it in me to deal with this tonight .

She headed back out to the bar area. A group of tourists huddled around a table, pressed closely together as they flipped through pictures on a tiny camera screen, and a set of businessmen at the bar who’d obviously just gotten finished with work, though they hadn’t left the job at the office if their conversation was anything to go by.

And, finally, tucked in the back corner was a couple so focused on each other, Olivia was pretty sure she could dance naked around the room and neither of them would pay her the slightest bit of attention.

The thought of dancing naked brought back memories of him . Cillian. She’d been so busy with the mess of Sergei and worrying about Hadley being a picky eater that she hadn’t had a spare minute to really consider the possible consequences of her actions.

Okay, that was a lie.

She crouched down behind the bar and started unloading beer bottles. It was mindless work, for which she was grateful. She wasn’t ready to face actual customers yet.

“I know you don’t like me much, sweetheart, but hiding behind the bar is a new low.”

Oh God . She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again.

Sure enough, Cillian was still there, peering over the bar at her, his dark eyes lightly mocking.

Her body burned, the taste of him filtering through her memory as if it had been seconds since he’d kissed her, minutes since he was inside her, instead of a little less than twenty-four hours.

She shoved to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

“Your customer service is seriously lacking.” He leaned back, his gaze skating over her in a move she could almost feel.

It made her reconsider her clothing—a worn pair of perfectly faded shorts over black tights, her spiked knee-high combat boots, and her favorite white T-shirt—which only served to irritate the hell out of her.

She’d been comfortable when she left the house, and now she wasn’t.

The fact that he didn’t have to say a single thing to make her skin heat just aggravated her further.

She crossed her arms over her chest. First Sergei, and now this . It wasn’t fair to compare the two, but she wasn’t feeling particularly fair right now. She was feeling cornered. “You’re in my bar.”

His eyebrows rose. “I was under the impression this was Benji’s bar.”

“It is.” She couldn’t tell if the heat pulsing beneath her skin was from embarrassment, or the fact that he’d left a few buttons undone on his perfectly pressed blue dress shirt and she could see that the tattoos on his neck extended south. How far south?

Why in the world had her hormones decided to wake up for this guy?

She’d been doing just fine on her own—with regular assists from her buzzy toy BOB.

Her life had been going okay until yesterday and, sure, she had so much pent-up desire that she’d been the one to jump him after that initial kiss, but that didn’t change the fact that O’Malley’s presence here now heralded all sorts of trouble for her.

Last night she’d let herself get out of control and then, less than an hour later, Sergei had been on her doorstep.

Blaming that on Cillian didn’t make the slightest bit of sense, but she couldn’t help linking up the two in her head.

Both were bad news. She wanted no part of their family entanglements.

If Dmitri found out you were even talking to him, let alone that you had sex with him…

The thought was like a bucket of cold water on her wild desire. This guy was nothing but complicated, and her life was too complicated as it was. When she spoke, she managed to sound halfway normal. “Apple juice?”

“You remember. I’m touched.”

She busied herself getting a glass and ice and the juice, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

He’d looked rough last night, but tonight he looked absolutely haggard—while still being unbearably hot.

Hell, whatever burden he seemed to carry around only made him more attractive.

It didn’t make a damn bit of sense. She’d never had a thing for the dark and brooding types before, and she wasn’t about to start now.

Even if a part of her did wonder what put that lost look on his face when he didn’t think anyone else could see.

She slid the apple juice across the bar to him. “Last night was a onetime thing.”

“You said that already.”

She had, hadn’t she? There was that damn heat again, pushing against the inside of her skin in a way she knew he could see. “All the same, I don’t know why you’re back here, but you’re not getting a repeat.”

“I didn’t ask for one.”

If embarrassment could kill a person, she would have turned to ash on the spot.

She opened her mouth, and then closed it.

Why had she assumed he’d want to hook up again?

He might have said as much afterward, but guys were known for saying things they didn’t mean before, during, and after sex.

She should have known he wasn’t interested.

For fuck’s sake, she had practically strong-armed him into going there with her.

He probably thought she was…She didn’t even know, but definitely not a woman he wanted to spend more time with.

Which is exactly what you want .

“Right. Of course.” She grabbed a rag and started wiping down the bar, hating how tangled up she felt inside.

Twenty-four hours ago she’d had a clear picture of what she wanted and how she was going to get it.

There had been no distractions, and her past was firmly in the rearview.

Now everything had changed and she felt like the world was shifting beneath her feet.

“I do, though.” He tilted his glass, watching the liquid move in the low light.

She blinked. “What?”

“I want a repeat—preferably somewhere a little less public.” He looked up and pinned her in place with his gaze. “Somewhere I can take my time, until you come so many times you lose count.”

The world stopped spinning so suddenly, she had to grip the bar to keep from keeling over.

She couldn’t tear her gaze from his, no matter how hard she tried, but she wasn’t even sure she was trying at all.

She wasn’t sure of much of anything except that Cillian could do exactly what he was promising. He’d more than proven that last night.