Hustle: The Doyles: A Boston Irish Mafia Romance Read online

  “Hey, Evi!” I look up. It’s Connor. And Seamus. Seamus is in a white button-down shirt and dark slacks that cost more than everything I have on. They mold to every inch of his hard muscled body and for one long, tortured minute I imagine what it would feel like to run my tongue along the flat plane of his stomach.

  “This is Joey.” I introduce her to them both but keep my eyes resolutely on Connor’s face.

  She smiles wickedly. I’ve told her about Seamus.

  “Are you gentlemen going to come dance with us later?” Joey asks.

  Connor laughs. “Can’t mix business with pleasure, ladies. Besides no one would take me seriously as the boss if they saw how badly I dance. Our bouncer Sully can do a mean worm, though, if you can get him out on the floor.”

  He looks at me. “I hear the Stacys are giving you hell, Evi. I’m sorry. My girlfriend’s ex is a Stacy and he’s a mean fucker. I hope you beat their asses.”

  “We will,” Seamus says. “With the law.”

  Connor rolls his eyes. “Seamus, I love you, but you’re a nerd.”

  Before he can respond, one of the bouncers starts shouting that there’s a fight in another room in the club.

  “Duty calls, ladies. Have fun.” Connor disappears.

  I watch Connor’s back as he disappears into the crowd, and then my eyes shift to Seamus. He might be a law nerd – Connor’s not wrong – but remembering the vague threat in his smile when Stacy’s goon came by Rico’s reminds me that there’s a harder edge there, too.

  He’s my lawyer. He broke my heart. I shouldn’t get involved.

  But then, I’ve never been very good with impulse control.

  Seamus stands there now, obviously uncomfortable.

  Still, I notice he didn’t leave. He just could have followed Connor.

  “So what brings you here?” Joey asks. “Club business?”

  “Family business,” He says vaguely, his voice going a little tight.

  His background is corporate law, and I think that’s mostly what he handles for his family. But even though the Doyles have a lot of legitimate enterprises, he’s no doubt spending time figuring out how to keep everything on the right side of the law. Everyone in the neighborhood noticed when he went to practice with one of the fancier firms, and whispered even more when he left to open a practice of his own.

  Stressful.

  Maybe we both need to blow off some steam tonight.

  “Sit down,” I say, pulling on his hand. Normally I’d revel in watching him be indecisive—it always makes him uncomfortable—but while getting a reaction from him is fun, I just want us both to have some easy, uncomplicated fun tonight.

  Right.

  He reluctantly lowers himself next to me. His body is tense. His taut muscles ripple under his shirt, and it’s a bit heady. He smells like a really good whiskey, honeyed and warm.

  Joey smiles like a shark. “I’m going to the ladies’ room to freshen up. Excuse me.”

  “Joey,” I hiss. We always travel in pairs. It’s safer.

  She points behind her. “It’s right there. Anyone tries to bug me, either you or the man wall there will be on top of it.”

  I sink back next to Seamus into the leather booth. “Okay.”

  We’re quiet for a minute.

  “How long have you had a nose ring?” he asks.

  “Like fifteen years, Seamus.”

  “Yeah, but you usually just have a stud in there, not a ring.”

  “Same piercing,” I warm at the thought that he’s cataloging them.

  “I like it. You make piercings look good.”

  I try not to snort. Leave it to Seamus to insult and compliment at the same time.

  “We could get you one,” I tease, “Maybe a Prince Albert?” I glance down at his crotch and wiggle my eyebrows.

  To my surprise, he laughs. “It’d get stuck in my zipper.” He sweeps his gaze over my body.

  “How about you? Any piercings I don’t know about?” He leans in a little too close, and I don’t back off. It’s not in my nature. Heat rolls off his body and it’s fucking exhilarating.

  “Shit, Evi, my shoe broke. Am I interrupting?”

  Joey’s come back from the bathroom, holding the heel of her boot in one hand.

  “No,” I say, more flustered than I’d like to admit. “Okay. We should go then.”

  “Nah,” Joey replies, clearly not that upset about her shoe. “I’ll catch a cab. You stay with Seamus. Text me when you get home?”

  “I’m not letting you go out alone,” I say, getting up. “Connor runs a tight ship but there are creeps everywhere.”

  I want to go with my friend. No good can come of me staying here with Seamus. But part of me – that part that doesn’t make good decisions – wants to stay.

  Enjoy him out of his element.

  Enjoy him in mine.

  Enjoy just getting out some of this frustration that I can’t seem to tame.

  So much for easy, uncomplicated fun.

  “I’ll get her into a cab,” Seamus says finally, looking between the two of us. He takes the heel from Joey’s hand. “I’ll be back.”

  That’s decided then. Joey winks before she turns away, letting me know I have her blessing.

  He helps my friend maneuver through the crowd with one busted boot. Turning back to my beer, I order two more shots of tequila. I’d planned to save one for Seamus, but it doesn’t work out that way.

  He’s only gone a few minutes when a preppy looking dude with a polo shirt and khakis on stops by my table. He leers at me.

  “Hey, honey, you all alone?”

  “Nope. See ya.”

  Preppy dude leans closer, the cheap beer on his breath assaulting my senses. “You look pretty alone to me right now.”

  I went to high school with so many rich assholes like this. Pricks who thought that because I was poor and didn’t look like the popular girls that I should be glad for their sloppy groping and limp dick grinding in my back. Thing is, I like how I look, and humiliating these jerks is still one of my favorite sports.

  “Why did you wear khakis to the club? You look like an idiot. I hope they breathe otherwise you’re gonna get some real bad crotch rot.” I keep my tone as pleasant as possible.

  “You want to see?” He smirks, grabbing his dick. His two douchebag wingmen chuckle.

  “Do I want to see your crotch rot? No. You should see your doctor about that.”

  Now his friends are laughing at him. He doesn’t like it. I don’t fucking care if he does.

  “Listen, bitch, I don’t care if you’re a hot piece of ass. Don’t think I won’t teach you a lesson.”

  It’s so predictable that it’d be laughable if he were by himself. I could drop him with one hard knee to the groin. But his friends give me pause. I take in his pinched, hateful face and lose my temper.

  “And what lesson is that?” I snarl, getting to my feet. If he wants a fight, better me than some poor passed out girl he finds later in an alley. “It’s certainly not proper hygiene.” I flip his collar with my finger. “Or good style.”

  His friends aren’t laughing anymore. The tension is thick, and I’m staring that fucker down with all I’ve got.

  “Let’s go, Brent. She’s not worth it.”

  “That’s right, Brent,” I mock, the liquor making me bold. “Time to go home to your mommy and daddy.”

  Jesus, that was dumb. But satisfying.

  His fist flashes out and I’m ready, but he never makes contact. Seamus’ hand wraps around Brent’s forearm. He looks at Brent’s two friends, who have instantly sobered up.

  “Take your friend home,” Seamus drawls, “before I have to teach him why it’s wrong to hit women.”

  Brent also seems to have sobered up, shame crossing his face. It hadn’t stopped him from nearly punching me though.

  Seamus releases Brent’s hand with a shove, and the three men scurry off.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  M
y face flushes and my heart races. The stress of the last few days is just too much. I’m not calm and measured like Seamus by any means, but I try not to be completely stupid about taking shit too far. But the fear of losing my shop, the terror I’d felt under my bravado when Stacy’s goon came for me, and now this? Another man who wanted something from me that I didn’t want to give. If I don’t have some kind of release, I’m going to completely unravel, and I can’t do that and hold onto my shop.

  I grab Seamus’ hand.

  “Dance with me.” It’s more an order than a question. I need to be out there on the floor, sweating out this nervous energy. This choking frustration.

  “I don’t dance, Evi. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “Please?” There’s a desperate note to my voice that I hate. But it works, and Seamus lets me lead him to the dance floor. I press into him, sliding my arms up over his shoulders. With my heels on, I come up nearly to his chin. My face presses into his neck, which is a little scruffy with five o’clock shadow.

  I can’t help myself, shivering as I nuzzle against it.

  He seems to mistake this for fear and tightens his arms around me. “You’re okay, Evi,” he whispers. “They’re gone.”

  “I can fight, you know,” I close my eyes and just enjoy the feel of his arms around me. It won’t last. But maybe it doesn’t need to.

  “Oh, I know,” he says. “I remember you throwing down in school. Always with boys. I got in so much trouble defending you.”

  “You didn’t need to.” The alcohol is making me hazy. “Why did you?”

  “You’re family, Evi. I don’t fight the way you do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

  I laugh into his neck and press harder against his body. I want to feel all of him.

  Get a reaction.

  Make him feel as stirred up and conflicted as I feel right now.

  With no fucking relief in sight.

  He’s always so in control of himself, so measured. I’m always on the edge of losing my self-control. I hate that nothing gets to him. I hate that he’s always so polished, so remote, so untouchable.

  I want to make him come undone.

  Lose some of that self-control.

  I want him to fucking feel something, and I want him to feel it because of me.

  Even if I can’t touch his heart, I’m confident I can get other parts of his body to stir.

  I turn around and press my ass against his cock, grinding against him in small, tight circles. He gets iron hard lightning fast. Damn, he’s big. A thought that has my eyes growing darker and me licking my lower lip. His hands move to my hips, pulling me against him. They slide from my hips up to my waist, grazing against the sides of my breasts. I go low, swaying down to the floor and working my way back up.

  He spins me around and holds me at a distance for a moment, his eyes fierce. It’s almost scary.

  But whatever he sees in my face, it seems to piss him off.

  “Evelyn,” he growls, “what are you doing?”

  We’re both breathing heavily. My lips part and I can’t take my eyes off his mouth. I want him to kiss me. Not like the scared, small kisses of our adolescence, but real, passionate kisses that make you forget who you are until you come back up for air.

  I wet my lips, pressing them against his throat. Bodies still gyrate around us, music screaming over the speakers, but time stops as I open my mouth and tease his throat with my tongue. He groans low in his throat in a primal way—I feel it in my mouth—and he pulls me closer. His strong hands grip my ass, and he kisses my neck where it meets my shoulders.

  “God, you taste good.” He sucks on my neck for a moment, and I could melt right here. “Salty and sweet.”

  “Seamus,” I moan. “This is way better than a fight.”

  His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare, and something like betrayal flashes over his face. Where just a second ago, his body melted against mine, he’s rigid with anger. He pushes away from me.

  “Is that what this is?” he snaps. “I’m just another way for you to blow off some fucking steam? God, Evi. You can be real fucking cold.”

  “I can be cold? I can be cold?” My voice is low and fierce. “Okay, Seamus. No one ever knows what you’re feeling. You play your cards so damn close to your chest and you never let anyone in.”

  “And you do, Evi? This is all an act.” He gestures up at where I’d nearly gotten into a fight with Brent, and then back at himself. “Your piece of shit dad would only come home to hit you, so you pick fights because you think it’s all you deserve. It isn’t, but it’s not a reason to fuck with me.”

  There’s twisting a knife and then there’s cutting an artery with a razor’s edge. Seamus and I always know exactly how to hurt each other.

  I feel my knees start to give. My feet must be tired after being in these awful heels all night.

  It can’t be that my heart’s breaking. It’s already broken too many times.

  “We’d better stick to business, Evelyn.”

  I’m so fucking mad I want to run off. The noise of the club is mixing with the noise in my head and it’s too much. I touch my cheek. I’m crying. I don’t remember starting to cry.

  Fuck. Rage slams into me. I don’t cry. I don’t ever cry, at least not in front of people. That kind of weakness, that kind of vulnerability in front of Seamus.

  Seamus just regards me for a long time, sighs, and then wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer.

  God damn it. That’s not what I want. I want him to rage at me, lose control. But at the same time?

  He still feels so good. I hate that we keep hurting each other. I hate that we can’t find a way around whatever the fuck this is. I hate that no matter how pissed we are, he always does the right thing.

  It would be so much easier to let this go if he didn’t.

  If he just finally proved to me once and for all that he’s shit, just like my dad. Just like all the other guys.

  “Come on,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Not like this anyway. I’ll get you home.”

  The adrenaline’s left me and I’m too tired to fight. My eyes burn, my mouth is dry, and I can’t get warm even wrapped in my coat. It feels like I’ve been hollowed out to my core.

  There’s just an aching silence between us. I try to block it out, because it’s everything that’s gone wrong in the last decade coalesced in one horrible moment. Block after block flashes by without me registering it. The silence bleeds from aching to icy, leaving me a whole different kind of numb.

  I let him take me home and walk me upstairs to my loft.

  “Are you going to be okay?” he asks. He voice is raw with emotion.

  What he’s actually feeling? I’ll probably never know.

  Enough of this “woe is Evi” bullshit. I square my shoulders and stick out my jaw. Then I look up at him defiantly. I can’t let his care drain the fight out of me. Not now, when I need it more than ever.

  “I always am, Seamus.”

  He looks at me for another long moment, and then heads down the stairs. I don’t go inside until I watch him drive off.

  I clean off my makeup. Hank, who had been glaring at Seamus, jumps up in my lap. He’s never done that. I must look really pathetic.

  “Thanks, buddy,” I say, stroking his head. He bites me.

  Figures.

  5

  Seamus

  It’s 11:08. I glance at my Cartier watch. Again. My jaw tightens, eyes narrowing.

  Evi is eight minutes late. Time is money, and I’m so tightly scheduled that eight minutes in either direction is enough to throw off my whole damn day, cost me thousands, and inconvenience people I can’t afford to piss off.

  For a moment I wonder if she’s backing out because of embarrassment at what happened at the club. But I dismiss that thought almost immediately. Evi’s no coward.

  Which is why, instead of heading straight up to the clerk’s office, I’m standing here with m
y hands shoved into my damned pockets. Against my will, my mind goes back to the feel of her lips on my skin, her body moving with mine on the dance floor.

  It’s time to be all business, to act like that never happened. She was drunk, overcome with emotion, dealing with a lot of stress. The kind thing to do will be to act like it didn’t happen, and let it go so that she’s not ashamed. What I’d said about her deadbeat father hadn’t made me proud, either.

  I school my face, determined to just move forward with the issues at hand. Unfortunately, my cock doesn’t seem to be getting the same message, getting hard while I pace the sidewalk like an idiot.

  It’s so difficult with Evi. Every time I’m with her, every time I look into those flashing gray eyes and that body that can move like that with reckless abandon, she makes me want to question my choices. She has so much life in her. So much passion.

  But the key word is reckless. I don’t have any room in my life for that kind of explosive force, the uncontrollable X factor. No matter how much it appeals to me. In law, that’s how you lose cases. That’s how people spend decades in prison. In my family’s line of work, that’s how people get killed.

  My eyes sweep across the plaza again, as I shift anxiously from foot to foot. It’s not just the timing. I’m amped up.

  Even as I tell myself that it’s just the meeting, the reality is that it’s anticipation of seeing Evelyn.

  Evi, I correct myself sharply.

  The catch in my throat and the sense of relief that I feel when I see her tall, willowy form working its way toward me catches me off guard. And frankly, it pisses me off even more.

  There are a thousand reasons that I’ve kept Evelyn McCallum at arm’s length all these years, and the fact that she leaves me so off balance is number one. A man in my position can’t afford weakness, and I’ve always had a glaring one where she’s concerned.

  She’s not, strictly speaking, the kind of woman I’m usually attracted to. Actually, that’s a lie. She’s not the kind of woman I date. Refined, educated, restrained women are the type of woman I’m expected to be with, and the sort of woman I’ve tried to settle in with for long-term relationships.