Love and Shamrocks: Ballybeg, Book 5 (5 page)

“I haven’t done a job in years. To say I’m rusty is an understatement. Why can’t you find someone with more recent experience?”
In other words, someone skilled at cracking modern alarm systems.

“Because you have easy access to the item in question.” He paused as if to give his next words the appropriate gravitas. “Your mother’s thirteenth-century leopard aquamanile. I want it.”

“My mother’s
what
?”

“Oh, Clio,” he mocked. “Your mother went on a spending spree at a Sotheby’s auction last week, didn’t she?”

“She mentioned an auction, but I still don’t know what item you’re referring to.”

“Tsk,” Ray said. “That’s what you get for dropping out of school. The name is self-explanatory.
Aqua
and
manos
. A vessel used to carry water for washing hands.”

She heard, if not saw, the smirk. If the condescending little creep were in front of her, she’d be tempted to slap him. “Whatever that thing is, I don’t know where to find it.”

His laugh was a cackle, high-pitched and nasal. “I suggest you start looking. The piece is worth a quarter of a million euros.”

A quarter of a million? Holy hell.
She knew her mother was wealthy, but she’d no idea she was rich enough to drop that kind of cash on an ornament. “How do we do this?” Her fingers were numb around the phone. No way in hell would she go through with it. She needed to buy herself time, string him along until she figured out a way to fix this problem.

“You locate the antique and give us access to your mother’s new house.”

Icy-sharp cold spread through Clio’s limbs, the sensation as sudden as a dive into a freezing plunge pool. This could not be happening. “If you only want one antique, why do you need to…” She trailed off, conscious of her surroundings.

“I never said I was only interested in
one
antique.” She could visualize his smug smirk spreading across his wide face. “Apparently, your mother has quite the collection.”

Clio gripped her mobile phone tight. Helen did have a lot of ornaments, but were they worth so much money? Well, Clio had never claimed to be an art expert, had she? “Right,” she said, desperately needing to end the conversation before she lost the remaining vestiges of self-control. “I’ll be in touch when I’ve found it.”

“You’ll be in touch by Sunday evening.”

Ray was enjoying this. Clio could picture him sitting behind his enormous desk, smug and self-satisfied in a pinstripe suit and loafers. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rant and rave. She wanted to tell him he was a despicable weasel. But she couldn’t. He held the power cards, and they both knew it.

“Fine. Talk to you soon.” She cut the connection and stared blankly at the display screen. The cacophony in her ears grew louder. How was she going to get out of this pickle? Replacing the money was child’s play in comparison to warding off this disaster. Shaking, she returned to her barstool.

“You still going to tell me there’s nothing wrong?” Concern creased the corners of Seán’s intense blue eyes. He’d rolled back his shirtsleeves, exposing strong forearms sprinkled with dark hair. He looked solid, dependable. The sort of guy Clio would consider boyfriend material if she were in a position to date.

Tears stung her eyes. For a crazy moment, she debated confessing all. Instead, she grabbed the G&T she’d ordered earlier and brought it to her mouth.

In the milliseconds before the tart liquid hit her tongue, she contemplated putting it down, walking away. She took a swig, felt the burn as the alcohol snaked its way to her stomach. Torture at its finest.

It went down far too quickly.

Seán watched her, curiosity still reflected in his eyes, but no judgment. He drained his pint and cocked an eyebrow. “Another round?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Same again for me.” If she was going to get wasted, she might as well do it in the company of a handsome man.

Two G&Ts later, Clio felt good. More than good. Finally, the horror of the past few months was receding, even if it was a temporary reprieve.

Seán took her hand, his fingers curling protectively around hers. With his other hand, he caressed her arm, tentatively at first, then with more pressure. Lust, hot and achy, spread lower. Her breathing was slow and steady without a hint of a wheeze.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He stroked the crook of her elbow in a movement so sensuous she almost gasped aloud. “I have a hotel room for tonight.”

A hotel room. X-rated visions danced before Clio’s eyes, and her heart skipped a beat. How long since she’d had sex? A year? Longer? The thought of Seán’s fingers working their magic on more skin than she could expose in a public place made her shiver in anticipation.

“Well?” he prompted, looking directly into her eyes. “What do you say? If you’re not interested, no worries. I can call you a taxi.”

He was giving her an out, but where would a taxi take her? To her mother’s empty house? She had nowhere else to go. Her skin crawled at the thought of being alone in the house and a night spent tossing and turning in terror. In contrast, the idea of a night spent in a warm bed with a gorgeous companion was seductively appealing.

“Yeah,” Clio said, “why not?”

If her path to hell wasn’t paved with good intentions, she’d settle for good sex. 

ORLA WAS TROUBLE. Seán had suspected she was trouble when he met her by the fountain, oozing sex appeal and vulnerability. He’d known she was trouble when she slid onto the barstool next to his, wafting perfume and attitude.

He had a nose for troubled females and an instinct for avoiding women encumbered by baggage. He’d bet his vinyl collection that Orla was both. What was it about her that made him throw his usual caution to the wind? The reckless, restless feeling that had been building inside him all day? Or a more primitive instinct?

His stomach somersaulted as he watched her sashay across the lobby, her spiky heels clicking against the marble floor. The subtle swing of her hips emphasized her firm, denim-clad buttocks.
Oh, boy
…Seán’s mouth was dry as parchment. Since the afternoon, thoughts of Helen Havelin had intruded on his peace of mind. He needed to quash them with a sledgehammer. What better way to forget than in the arms of a sexy woman?

And Orla was sexy. She wasn’t beautiful, not in the classic sense. Chin too narrow, nose too large.
But those eyes
…He let out a low whistle. They were the nearest thing to jade he’d ever seen.

One of her heels skidded on the slick marble. He reached forward and grabbed her arm, steadying her.

She turned, raised those fabulous green eyes, and his breath caught. “This is the second time you’ve stopped me landing on my face.”

A hint of a smile teased the corners of her mouth. Her full lips were a natural dusky pink hue. He wanted to kiss them, to nip her delectable little earlobes, to explore the soft skin of her neck.

He enveloped her dainty hand in his large one, tentative but possessive. “You sure about this? If you’d rather go home, I can make arrangements.”

“Getting cold feet?” Her voice was low, sultry, teasing, and—in direct contrast to her shabby clothing—flavored with an accent acquired at an exclusive private school.

“Hell, no. Merely trying to be a gentleman.”

She looked him straight in the eye, chin tilted. “I’m not looking for a gentleman tonight.”

Okay…
The crotch of his trousers strained against his zipper. “In that case, let’s get to my room so I can behave in an appropriately ungentlemanly manner.”

Orla laughed. Her fingers intertwined with his felt oddly right.

They reached the elevator and squeezed in with a group of Italian tourists. Her body pressed up against his in the crowded space made his blood hum. His fingers lingered on her shoulders, and he had to restrain himself from touching her more than was publically acceptable. It was a challenge, even for someone as PDA averse as himself.

“Whew,” said Orla as they stepped out of the lift on the third floor. “That was tight.”

“Claustrophobic?” he asked with a wink.

“A little.” She still wore a greenish tinge. “I’m terrified of getting stuck.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He let his fingers dance across her shoulders. “Being stuck might have its advantages.”

“Not with half Italy as an audience.”

He laughed and guided her down the corridor to his hotel room. She was a head shorter than him, even in those crazy heels. He was looking forward to removing the shoes one by one. He’d bet the wild packaging hid dainty feet.

They reached his door, and he put the key card into the slot. “Ladies first,” he said when the door clicked open. He pressed the palm of his hand against the small of her back, sensed a prickle of awareness in his chest.

Orla laughed when she saw the bed. “Some room. I didn’t have you pegged as the four-poster type.”

“I’m not,” he said. “Perk of the job, I guess.” The room was impressive and way beyond his cop salary. One of the advantages of being a Guard was getting hotel accommodation at a bargain rate. The Sheldon was glad to have law enforcement on the premises, especially on weekends.

Orla turned and smiled up at him. If her eyes held a hint of mischief, those soft pink lips were tinged with sensual promise. Hopefully, he could persuade her to make good on that promise. If the sultry look she was giving him was an indicator, she would.

“Come here.” He bent to claim those sexy lips. The kiss was soft, hot, and flavored with promise. She gave a little moan, slipped her arms around his back, and pulled him closer. His tongue found hers. She tasted of gin, peppermint, and something uniquely her own. Seán increased the pressure, intensifying the kiss. His breathing shifted from labored to short, sharp bursts. This felt so good. Too damn good. His hardening erection strained the front of his trousers.

He ran his hands through her long red hair, marveling at its color as it slipped through his fingers. Against his chest, he could feel her heart beating as wildly as his own. When he nipped her earlobe, she gave a little yelp. “Not good?” he asked, then trailed angel kisses down her neck to the base of her throat.

“Very good,” she gasped, and her head fell back to allow him easier access to the rapidly beating pulse in her throat. “Bite me again.”

“With pleasure.” He retraced the route from her throat to her ear, nipped the lobe, and toyed with her loop earrings. She gave a little moan of pleasure before tugging his shirt free from his trousers and smoothing her palms up his bare torso.

It was his turn to gasp when her fingertips performed an erotic dance across his skin, slowly at first, then gathering pace. She moved her hands upward, toward his nipples. She tugged hard on his nipples, and his groan turned into a growl. “You like?” she asked with a sly smile.

“Hell, yeah.” He slid his hands beneath her T-shirt, and his heart skipped a beat when he reached her bra. It was of the sports variety, plain and practical, and held her small breasts tight and taut. He toyed with the strap. He’d always had a thing for plain women’s underwear. He had no objection to their lacy counterparts, but the clean lines and simplicity of a sports bra was a major turn-on.

She fumbled with his shirt buttons, and one bounced off the glass mirror.

“Steady on,” he said with a laugh.

“Sorry. They’re fiddly.” Another button ricocheted off the mahogany dresser. “Oops.”

They stumbled against the wall, him tugging up her T-shirt, her fiddling with the clasp of his belt. They might be tipsy, but their bodies knew what to do.

His belt opened, and she shifted her efforts to the button and zip. He groaned as she slid into his trousers and touched his erection through his underwear.

“Well, well,” she said in a breathy voice.

Slipping her fingers through the slit of his underwear, she stroked the tender flesh beneath. Seán let out a low hiss. She slid to her knees, and his balls ached. “No,” he gasped, catching her arm. “I want to kiss
you
first.”

Her eyes widened, then a smile curved her full lips. “Then I’d better get naked, hadn’t I?”

She took a step back and, in one fluid movement, pulled her top over her head and flung it to the side. His eyes widened, and he licked his lips. Underneath her T-shirt, as he’d ascertained during his exploration, Orla wore a black sports bra.

“Had I known I’d be stripping off for someone this evening, I’d have worn something sexier.”

He shook his head. “Trust me. It doesn’t get sexier than that.”

Her eyes met his and held his gaze. Slowly, deliberately, she unbuttoned her jeans. She tugged them over her slim hips and down her legs.

Seán’s blood pounded. Her simple Brazilian-cut knickers were as black as her bra and equally sexy.
Jaysus.
His night was getting better by the second.

Biting her bottom lip, she reached for the clasp. She slid the straps down her upper arms and revealed what lay beneath the bra.

Seán’s heart rate kicked up a notch. The V of her top had given a glimpse of the barest hint of creamy cleavage, but nothing beat the real deal. Orla’s small breasts were high and firm with nipples the same dusky pink as her lips.

“Well, hey,” he said, his voice husky with arousal. If this was the road to temptation, Seán was pressing the accelerator.

Orla let the bra dangling from her fingers drop to the floor. Her mouth smiled an invitation.

Seán closed the distance between them, and his fingertips met silky skin.
Damn
. He was a lost man. “Lose the panties.”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened and shut. For a moment, he thought she’d argue the point. Instead, she laughed and hooked her thumbs into the sides of her underwear. She slid the knickers over her hips and tight little bum, let them drop down her legs, then kicked them off her feet in an elegant dance.

“On the bed,” he said in a growl.

This time, she didn’t hesitate. She lay on the floral cover, one arm flung out to the side, the other teasing a pebbled nipple. Her breathing was low and shallow and made his pulse pound.

“And now?” she asked, her eyes cloudy with desire.