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I pull her skin taut and pull the tape quickly and she winces. Rubbing the reddened skin, I look up at her, but she is smiling at me. I do the same to her other side and she stretches her limbs when she is free.
I move back up the bed toward her and pull her into my arms.
“Why do you have duct tape in your bag, Conor? Were you planning on kidnapping me if I didn’t come with you voluntarily?” she asks with a grin.
I suck on my lip, as though I’m deep in thought and she pushes me playfully on the chest. “I was never intending to use it on you, Angel. But if you’d refused to come with me, I might have tied you up with your own panties and driven you back to New York.”
“My panties?” She raises one eyebrow at me.
“Yes.”
“So, the duct tape?”
“You’d be surprised by how often it comes in useful,” I shrug.
“And not just duct tape. Did you cut off my panties with a knife, Conor Ryan?”
“I did,” I grin at her.
“You’re a devil,” she laughs and the sound makes me so fucking happy.
“I never pretended to be anything else, Angel.”
“So, did I prove how much I trust you then?” she asks from beneath her long lashes as she looks down.
I cup her chin and tilt her face so I can look into those incredible blue eyes. “Yes,” I reply and then I press my lips against hers and kiss her and she melts into me, her fingers curling in my hair as she presses her hot body against mine. As she lifts her leg and hooks it over mine to pull me even closer to her, I slide my hand to her ass and think I might just be the happiest man in the whole fucking world.
Chapter
Thirty-Six
SHANE
After speaking to Conor last night, I lay awake until the early hours of the morning, thinking about him and Jessie out there on the road alone. Jessie believing she saw the Wolf must have terrified her, and I hate to admit it, but it’s freaked me out too. There is so little we know about him, it makes me nervous. He literally just up and disappeared eight years ago. If he’s still alive, he could be anyone. Jessie is the only person known to have seen his face and lived to tell the tale. If she thinks she saw him yesterday, who are we to say she was mistaken? Although Conor seems to think she was, and I suppose I’ll have to trust his gut.
Rubbing my temples, I wince at the pain as it sears through my forehead. I think I fell asleep at four and was awake again by seven. I need to get some decent fucking sleep. I’ve always been a bit of an insomniac, but the truth is I’ve never slept as well as I did when Jessie was here. Even when she wasn’t in my bed, just knowing she was close by helped. And when she was in my bed — well, I slept like a fucking baby. The sooner Conor gets her back home safely to us, the better for everyone.
My cell phone vibrates on the table in front of me, and I glance at the screen. It’s an unknown number. I accept the call and hold the phone to my ear, but I don’t speak.
“That you, boy?” I hear a voice on the other end of the line that sounds vaguely familiar. The accent is hard to place, no doubt a result of living in so many countries and never settling in one long enough to call it home, but there is a distinct Irish lilt buried in that low, gravelly tone that is probably only detectable to someone who grew up around it.
“Paul?”
“Who else?”
“What the fuck? I haven’t seen you for almost twenty-five years. Where the hell have you been?”
“Around. You know I had to get out of there, Shane.”
“Yeah? Well, we all did,” I say with a sigh as I rub a hand over my jaw as the memories of my Uncle Paul teaching me to shoot a sniper rifle when I was ten years old come rushing to the surface of my brain. I had almost forgotten about it. He was a marksman in the army and he was never around that much, but whenever he came home from tour, he always stayed with us. They were some of the happiest memories of my childhood. But just like he ruined everything else, my father eventually drove Paul away. He left when I was fourteen and the last I heard, he was working as a mercenary for some very bad people in Italy. I assumed he was dead.
“I hear the evil old fucker is dying?” he says before he’s overcome with a fit of coughing.
“Yeah. You don’t sound very well yourself, Uncle? Everything okay?”
“Me? I’m fucking invincible, nephew. Don’t you remember?” he laughs, but it’s a cold one, because there is nothing amusing about what he just said. My father almost killed him at least half a dozen times.
“Is that why you’ve resurfaced? You think he’s left you something in his will?”
