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Shit. No points for guessing where they were going.
Okay, so she’d ditched the McDade posse. Hadn’t she told Daly that she didn’t want him following her everywhere? Yeah, but she’d failed to mention that to his boss while getting down and dirty with him. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so necessary to avoid the liquor. She yanked the bottle from its slot and the stopper from the top. Who cared about being ladylike on the way to God knew what fate?
When they eventually stopped outside the club, the privacy screen buzzed halfway down. Trying the doors for escape would be too telling, so she didn’t bother.
“Are you gonna cause trouble?” came Daly’s voice from the front.
Options. What were her options? Patrons in the Stag line wouldn’t help even if she screamed bloody murder. Anyone from the city knew who the club belonged to. Probably anyone from the state. Any tourist in the wrong place, wrong time who might think to be gallant would either get shot or put straight fast.
Ire shot a man just for interrupting an intimate moment. Anyone interfering in business probably got the basement treatment.
Even a good Samaritan calling the cops on the sly wouldn’t work out for her. How would she explain being there to her dad and brother?
Daly was embarrassed, right? That was the root of his vicious mood. His boss couldn’t be that mad… could he?
“McLeod?” Apparently, she was no longer a Miss. “Are you gonna cause trouble?”
“No,” she said to Daly. “What good would that do?”
“Good,” he said. “You learn fast.”
As the screen buzzed up, doors opened.
She wasn’t afraid. Wary was probably a better word. Loyalty between her and Ire didn’t exist.
Her door opened and she waited until Daly bent to look inside before sliding to the edge of the seat and getting out.
He didn’t need to touch her but grabbed her arm anyway, holding her close as he directed her inside and up the stairs.
She and Ire may be strangers, but there was something innate between them. They communicated through chemistry rather than words. Or was that her imagination?
Maybe that belief explained her lack of concern at being dragged into the boss’s office again.
“This is becoming habit,” she said more to herself than anyone else.
Ire sat behind his desk. On the far side, a laptop preoccupied Niall. Two guys sat at opposite ends of the Chesterfield. As the men’s attention tracked to her, Daly closed in at her back.
“Did we insult you?”
Again with the insult question, only this one came from the couch. Maybe it was the standard McDade introduction.
“She’s playing a game,” Ire said, his voice low and slow. “She hasn’t realized yet that she’s the prize.”
“I am not playing a game,” she said, taking a step forward. At least, she started to. Daly’s hand landed on her shoulder to stop her. It was ridiculous. Her chin swung to the side. “You think they’re afraid of me? You’ve got to keep me over here in case, what? I try to assassinate someone with my non-existent ninja skills?” Opening her arms, she turned on the spot to face him. “You think I have a weapon? Frisk me.”
“Boss’ll do that later,” came a masculine voice before a snicker that spread to the guys on the couch.
Niall couldn’t think she wouldn’t know he’d been the speaker. Not with an accent like that. Still, at least she didn’t have to wonder whether her interlude with Ire was a secret. Apparently, he told his right-hand man, and their goons, everything.
Then she heard it.
That whimper.
That moan.
Like a woman lost in ecstasy… Like her…
Whirling around, she fixated on the sound. The laptop. Yes, she could feel every man’s eyes on hers, but it was his, Ire’s, that captured her focus.
