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Fumbling with my phone, I take the photo and put Jillian’s phone back together.
After sending the pic to Balor, I say, “Now what?”
“I’ll send you a link to see everything in a few hours, stalker.”
“Spoken by the ultimate stalker.”
“Is Cormac on a plane?”
“Aye. He should be in Ireland soon. The Quinlans flew with him.” I’m disgusted with Cormac, but he accepted the family’s punishment with grace.
“So, we’re down three men?”
“Until they get back. They’re just making sure the hand-off at Dunbar goes smoothly. Riordan and Lachlan can live without their seconds for a few days.”
With the Russian princess being found and Astoria no longer teetering on the brink of war, all our security measures are taking a small breather.
“Are you coming home tomorrow?” Balor asks.
“Um… I ran into a snag here.”
Not a snag, a tear in the fabric of my soul.
Even if I thought I could just fuck Jillian once, she bled on my cock. I feel a shift, a mountain of obsessive need cracking open inside me, and to think of her actively looking for another man?
A man who will have a taste of what I just got?
Not. Happening.
“Have fun telling Kieran and Riordan. I’m going back to sleep.” Balor ends the call.
I can’t leave Vegas now. I didn’t care about that fucked-up deal I made with Vance. But given this turn of events with Jillian Diamond, looks like I’ll be in town for a while.
With her phone back on its charger, I leave.
CHAPTER NINE
Jillian
On Saturday, I meet Trista for lunch at the local park, far from the office.
She shows up in jeans, a wool blazer—even though it’s seventy degrees, shades, and a hat. I look like the furball a cat threw up wearing joggers, a Grateful Dead T-shirt under a denim jacket with my hair in a messy bun.
My head is still pounding, but I didn’t shower because…
Because I want to keep Eoghan’s scent on me.
Trista and I grab tacos at our favorite food truck at the park’s entrance, plop down on a worn picnic bench, and have at them like we’re junkies.
Wiping hot sauce from her mouth, Trista gives me a noticeable once-over.
“Hangover from alcohol or cock?”
“Both,” I say, sheepishly and show her the condom wrapper Eoghan left behind.
The pearly white square with an iridescent logo shimmers against the sparkling sun above.
“You kept the condom wrapper?” Trista asks and her jaw drops.
