Page 34 of Vicious Betrayal

"Then we'll be careful. My father has my sister's marriage arranged and my brother to inherit. He's not worried about what I do." I touch his arm, and feel some of the tension go out of him. "That's all. We'll just be careful."

He doesn't answer for a long moment, but he also doesn't move away from my hand. "You're going to be the death of me," he says finally, and I feel my chest tighten, my eyes suddenly hot.

I don't want to think about the possibility that could actually be true.

I step forward, wanting to distract myself as much as him. He sucks in a breath as I come close, his muscles tensing, almost as if he wants to run away but can't. He can't stop himself from wanting me, no matter how bad of an idea he knows it is.

When I lean in and kiss him, his hands land firmly on my hips, and I feel his teeth graze my lower lip. I hear a low rumbling sound in his chest a moment before he spins me around to face the kitchen counter, his grip with one hand tightening as he fumbles with the front of his pants with the other.

A moment later, my skirt is up and he's inside of me, rough and desperate, his mouth on the back of my neck as he thrusts. Pleasure rushes through me, and I have the momentary thought that yes, I did remember to take my birth control this morning, before he thrusts harder, and I'm lost to the sensation of him.

—

The freedom to see a man without sneaking around is the strangest part of this. Since Cormac is an enforcer in Declan's mafia, there are no concerns about my safety, so my security gets a much-needed break from me. And my father knows where I am at all times, although there seems to be a consensus within my house that we don't talk about it. He looks drawn and pale most days now, and even in the week I've been 'seeing' Cormac, he looks like he's lost weight. My sister Katya barely comes down from her room, and she doesn't join the family for meals. She can't look any of us in the eye, and it's no wonder. My parents and brother are furious with her, and I'm angry too, but my anger feels different.

I'm angry that I'm being forced to do this, but if she'd talk to me, I'd tell her that a part of me understands, too. That deep down, I know that there's a measure of fairness to me being forced to shoulder the hardships of living in this world, when before she was the daughter who had to bear them. I imagine she thinks this is just the price of my relative freedom all these years. And who am I to say that, if I were facing down a marriage like the one she was, I wouldn't have done something similar?

The hardest part of all of it, even a week in, is how good and normal it feels to spend time with him. I'm used to being overlooked at home, which has worked in my favor all these years, but I never realized how lonely I could be until suddenly I have someone's undivided attention for hours at a time when we see each other. It hits me fully when we're sitting in his living room, eating Chinese takeout with some comedy playing on the TV while the rainstorm outside beats against his windows, and I feel my chest clench as I look at him while he's not looking at me.

He's so devastatingly handsome. Hardly any grey in his hair despite his age, although he has lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. The scars add to it instead of detracting, making him look ruggedly handsome instead of old.

I've never had Chinese takeout before. 'Takeout' isn't something that happens in our house; we have a chef. I keep sipping from a beer while I eat, which I don't really like, but it feels right in this setting. It feels normal in a way I've never experienced before. I stole one of Cormac's sweatshirts after we had sex the minute I came through the door—he nearly fucked me up against the wall before we finally made it upstairs to the bedroom—and it's long enough that I'm not wearing anything but panties under it. It smells smoky and piney, like him, and he keeps stealing looks over at my long, bare legs poking out from beneath the hem of it.

"Did you grow up here?" I ask him as I stab another piece of orange chicken with my chopsticks. "In the States, I mean. Or are you from Ireland?"

"I came over with my parents when I was sixteen." Cormac looks at me sideways, and I don't hear much emotion in his voice. "My ma ran off a year later, and my dad drank himself to death within a few years. By the time he went out, I was already in deep with a gang that got me out of trouble. Spent most of my twenties running with them before I went to work for Lachlan Gallagher."

I know I'm supposed to be listening for information that will help the FBI, but I'm more interested in what he's saying than anything else. And I can't imagine his basic backstory isn't something they already know. I, however, don't know it, and I'm intrigued.

"Have you ever thought about going back there?" I reach for my beer, take a sip, and wince. It still tastes like faintly spoiled bananas to me, but I'm determined not to be a princess around Cormac all of the time. Although… part of me thinks he likes my princess tendencies, a bit. He likes when I sass him, that's for sure. I think deep down, despite all his guilt, he likes the idea of dirtying a spoiled rich girl like me with his roughness, his gritty, earthy, older self.

He shakes his head. "I've been back a few times to visit. I have grandparents there that are still alive. But if you mean permanently, no. This is my life, here." He gestures with his beer bottle broadly. "It's not always an easy life, and it hasn't always been, but it's mine. I'm not the sort to pick up roots and go somewhere else, at this point."

"Are you happy, though?" I venture, biting my lip as soon as the words come out. I don't know why I asked it… or why I genuinely, really feel like I care. I shouldn't care. Nothing good can come of it. But I find myself leaning forward slightly, wanting to know the answer. And I feel my chest tighten when he gives it.

He tips his beer up and takes a long swig first. "I have a good life," he says finally. "Better than most. No nine-to-five, I own my house, I own my bike. No worries about healthcare, though God knows I need it often enough, given my line of work."

"In security?" I tease, prodding slightly, and he presses his lips together. I have a momentary flare of fear that he's seen right through me before he nods, the corner of his mouth turning up in a vague half-smile.

"Yeah. Security."

We eat again in silence for a few minutes, the sound of the rain slapping against the glass, and then Cormac glances over at me. "What about you? Do you want to leave Chicago? Live somewhere else?"

I pause for a moment, feeling that sudden tightness in my chest again. No one has ever asked me a question like that before, I realize. And he seems to be genuinely curious, not asking out of obligation to follow up my question, or to make bland small talk. "I don't know," I say truthfully. "I've never thought about it, because it's never really been an option."

"Even though your siblings have all the family things handled, like you said?"

I shrug. "I get less oversight because of it. But I guess I've always expected that eventually my family would need something from me. I've never thought I could just… leave."

"Where would you go if you could?"

I hesitate. "I… LA, maybe? It seems so bright and colorful and busy. Glamorous. But somewhere like the Pacific Northwest seems nice, too. Green and damp and lots of nature." I laugh. "I guess that makes me seem a little crazy, right? Two such different places?"

Cormac smirks. "It's not that that makes you seem a little crazy," he teases, and I grimace at him, flicking a bit of rice in his direction. He grins, leaning over and grabbing my chin before giving me a kiss that tastes of citrus and beer, and all the thoughts slide out of my head.

—

A few days later, I show up to surprise him and find that he's knee-deep in a pile of work. I half-expect him to send me home, but instead, to my shock, he doesn't say no when I suggest I keep him company in his office for a little while.