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Too soon, she clears her throat, dropping her eyes away from mine in the mirror and reaching for her makeup bag again. The action causes her to lean away from my lips and my hands.
Straightening, I move away from her, ignoring all the other strippers who carefully avoid looking at us, giving us privacy.
Striding through the corridor, I reach the door to my office, set up next to Seamus’s. I now run the club. He wants to be home with his wife and son every night. I want to be here to keep an eye on Fiona – to make sure she obeys my rules – and Sean Fitzpatrick has his son doing other things to get him ready to take over the organization some day.
I kick the door shut behind me and drop into my desk chair. Tipping my head back against the leather, I close my eyes and groan, remembering the soft feel of Fiona’s skin and her delicious scent, which always wraps around my senses.
I have no idea why it took me so long to notice Fiona Clatham. ‘Tis a crime that it did. She worked here as a stripper for over a year before the day burned into my brain.
I was sitting in Seamus’s office when Fiona walked in to tell him that Tahlie, one of the other strippers, was spreading vicious rumors about Seamus’s wife. Trying to get Tiggy killed. Crazy fucking bitch.
It took a lot of courage for Fiona to walk into that office, and I sure as fuck sat up and paid attention to her after that.
Now I’m starting to wonder if Fiona was deliberately attempting to fly under the radar when it came to the lads and me.
Ever since that day, I see her everywhere. Not in a hallucinogenic way. More like she alreadywaseverywhere, and I’m the blind eejit who neversawher before.
Well, I fucking see her now. She’s the only female face I see. I’ve had to take care of business myself for almost a year now, and I only want to bury myself in Fiona.
I haven’t ever been celibate this long before. Not since I had my first lass. I’ve fucking tried too. But I can’t seem to get into the act with anyone when I only want to see Fiona’s face as she writhes beneath me.
Jesus fuck. I need to think of something else. Good thing I can always count on Liam Kelly for a distraction.
Easing my ringing phone out of my pocket, I put it up to my ear.
“Liam,” I rumble, hearing his sigh on the other end of the phone.
“I might be in a spot of bother, Ronan,” he starts. Christ. I shove out of my chair, striding towards the door. My SUV is in the staff parking lot outside the building.
“Where are ye, lad?”
“The riverfront,” Liam replies distractedly. “Follow the blood trail. You’ll find me.”
Jesus fuck. I stick my head into the kitchenette where Niall, the Reaper, is drinking coffee and laughing with his little ex-bartender wife.
“Let’s go,” I tell my best mate. He immediately puts down his mug, kisses Mellie, and follows me outside.
“Liam?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Who the fuck else?”
The fucker grins. Prick.
Chapter Two
FIONA
Ronan disappeared after laying down his silly law about what I can and can’t do. I’ve been hanging around my dressing table, checking with each girl when she returns from a set. So far, nothing.
Finally, it’s time for my first set. I triple-checked, he’s still not back, so I quickly change my outfit. Much better. I’ll make wicked good tips inthis.
Shawna, the stripper whose dressing table is beside mine, raises an elegantly sculpted brow, her dark eyes trailing over my new outfit. I strike a pose.
She flips her glossy black curls over her shoulder, adjusting her turquoise blue slip, which complements her dark skin gorgeously.
“The Saint isn’t going to like this.” She flashes me a toothy grin. “Good luck, girl.”
I grin conspiratorially back. “What the Irish Saint doesn’t know isn’t going to hurt me.”
