His Wicked Celtic Kiss (3 page)

But why was he here?

He stopped in front of her. “Hello, Julie. Mind if I sit for a moment?”

The small park bench was built for two, but having Lorcan so close would send her senses on sensual overload. He smiled, and her insides melted. Did he have any idea the power he held over people when he did that? His eyes crinkled adorably. Julie shoved her half-eaten bunny food in her lunch bag and stood. “I was going for a walk actually ... ”

“I'll come with you, if you don't mind.”

What could she say without sounding like a rude bitch? She could tell him to stay the hell away from her, but curiosity had her wondering why he'd sought her out. So she nodded, and they soon fell into step as Lorcan shortened his stride to fit hers.

“I was on my way to the club, thought I'd swing by. Veronica told me you were in the park. I admit two rejections in one night stung.”

Julie snorted. “Not used to it, I'll bet.”

Lorcan chuckled. “You're the first.”

Somehow, she had no problem believing him. “Why are you here?”

“Not a stalker, I swear. I thought I would try one more time. Dinner? This Saturday night?”

Julie stopped walking and turned to face him. “Why?”

“Come to dinner with me and find out.”

He was as tempting as that deep-fried, sinful appetizer platter at the pub. If she was going to indulge in something forbidden, why not a beyond-handsome man? It was only dinner. Besides, she wanted to know why he insisted on this “date.” She'd refused at first because, hell, she didn't want to be hurt. Her self-protection mechanism clicked into place out of habit more than anything else. Time for a dose of ice-cold reality. Julie had always been unfailingly honest—especially with herself. She was not the sort of woman to turn a man's head at first glance, especially not one as stunning as Lorcan Byrne.

She sized him up for a long moment, then nodded. “Sure. Dinner.”

“Brilliant! I'll pick you up at the bakery when it closes. Six o'clock on Saturday, right?”

“Right.”

He gave her that solar-heating grin, a brief wave, then turned and sauntered away.

What in hell had she agreed to?

Later that night, Julie paced about in her small apartment. The bras soaked in the bathroom sink, she had waxed her legs, and clipped those toenails—now what? She'd given a month's notice to the landlord since informing Ronnie she'd take the back rooms as soon as possible. More money in her pocket meant she could keep working at the bakery. Of course, it would eliminate the walk to work which meant she'd have to find her exercise another way. Go for a jog on breaks? Running was no fun with a full bust. Black eyes were always a real possibility. Do sit-ups in between serving the customers? Another option, but how weird would that look if someone happened to come in? Mix dough for six dozen cookies by hand? Good way to firm up those flabby upper arms. Maybe buy a treadmill when she could afford it? Or better yet—a vivid flash of her having hot, sweaty, calorie-burning sex with Lorcan Byrne invaded her thoughts.

Right. Like
that
would ever happen.

Plopping down on her well-worn sofa, Julie pulled the throw around her and luxuriated in the warmth and comfort. The radio played soft rock in the background. How would she even be able to sleep the next five nights? Her nerves jumped and twitched just thinking about sharing a meal with Lorcan.
A date.
When was the last time she'd been on one? A real one? God, it had been close to three years. Last time she'd had sex, too.

A date.
Would he kiss her? Would he want—more? The one time she'd had first-date sex had been a crushing disappointment. She'd felt cheap afterward. Julie would never be that easy again, not even with a supernova. She tossed off the throw and padded toward the kitchenette. Since she'd started working at the bakery she had become a real hardcore hot tea drinker. Julie turned on the kettle and reached for the box of Twining's Earl Grey Tea from the cupboard.

As she waited for the water to boil, she wondered, what did she know about Lorcan? Not a hell of a lot. He'd arrived from Ireland about a month and a half ago. He worked for the De Lucas
. “Running their club”
he'd stated on the double date—whatever that meant. The De Lucas were bad news, “The Corleones of Rockland.” She didn't know them all that well. Liam and Kieran were a few years older and the daughter, Regan, had been shunted off to a private high school. (Vinnie, the head of the family, had married an Irish girl, hence the reason the kids had Irish first names.) How did Lorcan get mixed up with the “Godfather” and his brood? What had he done for a living back in Ireland? Could he be a hood? Did she really want to date a guy who managed a strip club and worked for gangsters? Why did that fact make him all the more fascinating?

The kettle snapped off. After pouring the hot water in the mug, she dunked her tea bag while her brain continued to race. There was no denying it: Lorcan mesmerized her. The man always seemed to be in a good mood. Brooding didn't seem to be part of his makeup; either that or he kept it well hidden.

Tossing the squeezed tea bag in the trash, she reached in her near empty fridge and poured a little skim milk in the steaming beverage.

Julie settled back on the sofa and cuddled under the throw, taking a tentative sip. Her brain would explode if she tried to puzzle out Lorcan Byrne anymore tonight. After the bakery closed tomorrow, Ronnie would be coming over to help color her hair. Julie had never done it before and felt a little nervous. Just a few blonde highlights, Ronnie assured her.

It's only dinner.
But Julie couldn't stop her brain from racing and imagining all sorts of scenarios. She would remain calm, cool, and collected. Be charming and appealing. Yes, she would make an effort here or die trying.

• • •

Lorcan sat in the office located at the back of The Playpen and gazed at the laptop sitting in front of him. Examining the monthly summaries, he was pleased with the results. He'd been here close to two months and profits in the bar had increased twenty-one percent since he and Sully had arrived. De Luca had no complaint there.

Lorcan sat back in the large swivel chair, his hands clasped behind his head. Bass from the music in the bar rattled the pictures on the wall.

Sully had been his best friend since childhood, and when he'd mentioned to Lorcan that he'd be going to America to work for his cousins, the De Lucas, Lorcan had jumped at the invitation to join him. He'd needed to get away from so many things in his past and thought maybe six months of working in the States would allow him to ponder his future options. Make a bit of nicker, too.

He'd also dragged his own cousin, Ronan McCarthy, with him.

Bleedin' hell, what a mistake.
Now there was something I need to forget.

Ronan, the fecker, had all but admitted he had set fire to Nick's bar after Lorcan threw him against a wall and threatened to thump the ever-living shite out of him. The fire department investigators concluded that a bunch of unknown teenagers seen in the area had started the blaze. Lorcan had let the report stand, seeing no need to stir the pot. He had immediately shoved Ronan on a plane back to Ireland.
Sick beggar. Good riddance.

It didn't sit well him keeping this information from Nick, but protecting his family came first, no matter that Ronan deserved to pay for his actions. Also, he owed the bastard. His cousin had once taken the fall for him when they were teens. Well, the bloody debt was now paid. Didn't lessen the guilt, but he carried a shiteload around already, so what if he added more to the pile? What difference would it make?

The door swung open and banged against the wall with a good deal of force. Vinnie De Luca and his oldest son, Liam, strode into the room. At fifty-eight, Vinnie cut an imposing figure. Six feet tall and powerfully built, he exuded an aura of danger. His hair, while thick and mostly white, had a sprinkling of raven black threads throughout. His eyes were steely gray and very intimidating. Liam looked like a younger version of Vinnie, though two inches taller, more handsome, and even more powerfully built. His thick black hair was cut in short layers and it curled at the nape. A closely cropped goatee surrounded his unsmiling mouth. His gaze was as penetrating and piercing as his father's, and the eyes the exact same shade of silver-gray. No doubt many a man trembled under that stare, and no doubt many women swooned. If you looked up dark and brooding in the dictionary, you would find a picture of Liam De Luca. Neither man was to be messed with. Lorcan didn't flinch from the intense looks from the De Lucas, nor move. His arms stayed casually folded behind his head.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

Liam closed the door while Vinnie took a seat in front of him. Liam joined his father in the chair close by. Their ferocious gazes didn't let up, and though he didn't move a muscle, Lorcan felt a knot form in his gut. “Is there a problem?”

Vinnie shook his head. “None whatsoever. In fact, I'm impressed with the way you and Sullivan have turned things around here at The Playpen in such a short period of time. Maybe you're ready for more responsibility. So I had a look at your resume ...”

“I never gave you a resume.”

“That's right, so we did a little digging on our own. We have ways.” Vinnie inclined his head toward Liam.

Liam reached into the side pocket of his leather coat and pulled out sheets of paper. “There is more to you than we were led to believe.”

Lorcan arched an eyebrow. “Is that a fact?” He sat up straight in his chair, crossing one long leg over his knee.

“2006. Corporal in the Irish Defense Forces, deployed in Liberia. 2007 rose to the rank of lieutenant, serving in Darfur and Chad. 2009, member of the Irish Secret Service. Worked closely with MI5 on terrorist activities in Ireland and the UK. 2011 to 2013, a private contractor and a transporter. Last worked for Alaish el-Fasih in Abu Dhabi, about five months ago as his driver and bodyguard,” Liam concluded.

“Are you still in the employment of the Irish Secret Service?” Vinnie asked pointedly.

“Would I be here running a strip club if I was? No, I'm out. I do commend you on your thorough background check, however.” Lorcan smiled without warmth. Leave it to gangsters to go digging in his past. A past he tried like hell to forget.

“I have a proposition for you. A job offer,” Vinnie stated. “We will leave the running of this club to Sullivan. I wish you to be my driver. Exclusively.”

“Only a driver?” Lorcan questioned.

“A driver and a bodyguard. Nothing more. Let's say, for the remainder of your work visa to start. Triple what you're making now. If it works out, we can make arrangements to make the employment more permanent. I will need a vehicle, a safe but fast one. What would you recommend?” Vinnie asked.

“A Mercedes AMG S65, if cost is no object. The price is around a 100,000 pounds or close to $200,000 fully loaded ... ”

Vinnie cut him off. “See it done. Order it right away.”

“Is there a contract I sign?”

Vinnie reached his hand across the desk. “This is the only contract we need.”

He hesitated. “What about running this place?”

“Sullivan can handle the club.”

Lorcan still didn't reach out to shake on it. He was comfortable running the club. Keeping a low profile. Yet, being a driver was something he had done many times before and for men more dangerous than a gangster from a small American city. Being a driver offered an opportunity for mindless, brain-numbing downtime. Isn't that what he came to America with Sully for?

“Consider the AMG a signing bonus. At the end of the term, it's yours.”

Bloody hell, what a temptation, and one he didn't want to pass up. He had panted after that car for donkey's years. He let out a hard breath. “And it's really only driving?”

Vinnie nodded. “And being my bodyguard. There might be the rare occasion you will drive for Liam. But otherwise, you are mine, beck and call. Understand?”

Lorcan looked at the outstretched hand. The diamond pinkie ring caught the light above. The watch was gold, a Patek Philippe. Lorcan figured it cost twenty-four thousand dollars. The AMG would be a mere drop in the bucket to this bloke. Lorcan had to admit the offer tempted him in a big way. He began to envision ways to ship the AMG back to Ireland at the end of the contract. This would fit his plans perfectly.
Six months in the States—make a load of nicker, get the feck out.

Finally he reached across the desk and clasped Vinnie's outstretched hand. “Done.”

Vinnie stood. “As soon as you purchase the car, you're my driver. You may have to go to Baltimore for it.”

Liam stood as well, slipping the papers back in his side pocket. “You could order it over the Internet and arrange delivery by next week. Let me know the final sticker price, I'll send the money to you. The car will be registered in your name and your name is to be on the bill of sale. Cash only. No connection back to us.”

Lorcan pushed back his seat, stood, and nodded. “Aye, consider it done.”

The men turned and left. Bodyguard. He would need a gun. Funny they never mentioned it, must have assumed he had one. He didn't. He'd disposed of his firearms long ago.

• • •

The next evening, Julie sat nervously on her kitchen stool with her dye-coated hair piled loosely on the top of her head while nose prickled from the chemical smell. The fruity scent was supposed to mask the toxic, ammonia odor, but it didn't seem to be working.

“How long?” she whined.

Ronnie glanced at the oven timer. “Another fifteen minutes, I suspect. Hang in there.”

Julie reached for the box. “Champagne Blonde? I thought we were only putting highlights in?”

Ronnie waved her hand in dismissal. “Highlights are such a bother. You have to poke hair strands through a cap, coat each piece—no, this is better. Besides, it's only a couple of shades lighter than your own color.”