Illicit Temptation (Astoria Royals #3)

CHAPTER ONE

Shea-Lynne - Las Vegas - Three Years Earlier

“ M y sister! ” The irate bride throws her silk-wrapped, blood-red and sunset-white rose bouquet at a shaking and sweating groom.

“It didn’t mean anything, Paige,” he coughs out, quickly ducking as the six-hundred-dollar bouquet hits the blush-colored wall behind him.

Not a petal falls out of place. That’s how good my florist is. Only, with five minutes until the ceremony, I may need funeral flowers because a bestie just came in and whispered what we’ve all been holding our breath about for the last twelve hours.

My team and I have been in Code Red-mode since my assistant, Larke, spotted the drunk maid of honor, also the sister of the bride, slipping into the groom’s hotel room at one a.m., here at the Millennium Plaza. As a neutral third party, it’s not my place to say anything, but I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night because of it. It’s four p.m., and I’m ready to collapse. With how things are going, at least I won’t have to make it to midnight when this shindig would have wrapped up.

“What’s going on?” Sarah, the mother of the bride, storms in.

“I’ll tell you what’s not going on.” Paige rips the custom-made cathedral veil off her head and tosses it. “This wedding.”

“What? Why?” Sarah looks at me with angry eyes like it’s somehow my fault. “Fix this, Miss Party Planner!”

My jaw drops and nothing comes out of my mouth. Clients always expect me to fix problems at their parties, but I know when to stay in my lane. I’m an event coordinator and not a couple’s therapist.

My brothers, bless their hearts, call me a party planner, while they run the Irish Mob in Astoria, New York. They think their business is bloody. Hah! They should try being a ‘party’ planner for one week, and they’ll see real treachery and backstabbing.

When Sarah realizes I’m not going to respond, she cuts her gaze back to the seething bride. “Paige dear, what happened ?”

“Ask Ashley,” Paige snarls at her sister who’s wobbling on her six-inch heels with what I now recognize as sex hair. “And him. ”

“What did he do?” Paige’s father appears at the doorway to the bridal lounge, his voice a deep bellow that makes even me jump.

“I heard they were screwing!” Paige starts to unzip her dress.

Here comes the blood...

“I think we should leave,” Larke whispers to me.

Rarely does an event go so spectacularly off the rails in a short amount of time. I’m frozen and curious to see what happens next. It’s the O’Rourke genes in me. I can’t walk away from trouble.

Sarah’s face blooms with a color close to the tossed bouquet. “This is a...a family matter, ladies.” She signals for me and Larke to leave.

Damn. Just when it was getting good.

“Of course.” I pull Larke out of the lounge with me.

In the hallway, my mind kicks into overdrive, thinking of what to do next. What is really expected of me? I coordinated this luxury wedding for the daughter of Wall Street’s top hedge fund manager. The Millennium Plaza had a two-year waitlist.

Everyone’s been paid. Just not me.

Note to self: Text my brother Eoghan to check this contract if I’m entitled to collect my fee, regardless. Mr. Harvard Lawyer drafts all my agreements and steps in when a savvy client tries to negotiate me out of making one red cent. Like I’m doing this for free.

I could do it all for free, if I wanted to. I have a trust fund and Eoghan deposits hefty sums into one of my offshore accounts each month as a cut of the family’s ‘business’ profits. Like my youngest brothers, Cormac and Darragh, who are surgeons in Seattle, I went into business for myself.

The disheveled groom appears in the hallway. How the hell did he get out of that room in one piece? The man who thought he was having a hot one-night stand to get a little taboo lust on, now looks wrung out.

“The wedding is off,” he says, guilt dripping from his tone.

Ya think?

“Okay.” I put on my professional hat. “I’ll tell everyone.”

“You will?” His perfect chin juts up at me, his voice catching.

“Of course.” I reach out to pat his arm but snap it back.

Cheaters don’t deserve sympathy. Then I consider my own situation. My boyfriend, Archer Crest is married, but he’s been separated for the last five years. The Crests are Manhattan royalty, but that didn’t stop me from hiring a PI to stalk Archer early on to confirm he and his wife were indeed living in separate residences before I agreed to date him.

Archer said Vivika wouldn’t agree to his divorce terms and they married without a pre-nup. His lawyers have been in a long-term battle with her lawyers to come up with a settlement.

Five years, I’ve been waiting for that man. But we’re a good match. He’s a busy diamond mogul, and I have my own career. I will not be a trophy wife or arm candy. For any man.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Paige’s groom throws his arms around me, the heat of his body a stark reminder of the male form.

Archer has been in Sierra Leone all week dealing with mine managers but promised to meet me here in Vegas. The last text I got, however, said that he missed his connecting flight from London.

I’m losing my mind. And wishing I packed my nine-inch dildo.

“Get your hands off my sister.” A growly male voice startles me.

The groom pops off, wiping his eyes. “S... Sorry.”

His eyes travel the length of Cormac’s six-one frame. His twin, Darragh, keeps a villa here. I’ve been staying there while in town for this gig. Darragh is a single dad raising my adorable niece, Sophie, alone. Cormac is still a rake.

When I mentioned this wedding, he hopped on the next flight. He never passes up a chance to go a little wild in Sin City.

Larke looks ready to faint taking him in.

“We’ve had a hiccup here,” I say to Cormac, tucking her behind me. “The wedding is off. I have to tell everyone.”

“Why you?” Cormac turns his head toward the groom staggering off alone. “It’s his damn wedding.”

When he and Darragh were younger, my mother did the ghastly thing of dressing them the same, but in college, Cormac developed his own edgy style, differentiating himself from Darragh’s clean-cut looks.

They are both devastatingly handsome. All my brothers are.

Me? With my freckles and always sporting a few extra pounds that turned into a permanent thickness in my waist and thighs, I never felt pretty.

“I know, but think of the guests who flew all the way here,” I argue. “They deserve to be told in a gentle way.”

“I’ll... I’ll do it,” Larke pipes up from behind me.

Larke has really come along as my assistant. I’ve been assigning her more and more parties to manage on her own. Erin, my stylist, rounds out our team, but she’s back in the East Hampton office holding down the fort.

“Sure.” I pat Larke on the back. “Let me see how you handle it.”

“What do I say?” She leans in to me like I have a clue.

“You were right there with me.” I could dictate her a speech, but that doesn’t give her a chance to grow and learn. “You know exactly what I know. Be gentle. Be discreet. Be firm.”

“Okay.” She nods, her brain working. “Is there still a party?”

Just as she asks, the bride, now in a pair of sweats, storms off, leaving the dress and all the meticulously planned accessories behind.

I motion to the retreating, scorned woman. “Since the bride is leaving, I would say no.”

Larke straightens her back in the Challenge Acceptance- mode I adore about her. “Got it.”

Off she goes into the ceremony room, where everyone is chatting and asking questions.

“Good mentoring, Shea-Lynne,” Cormac whispers to me over my shoulder.

I spin around. “Looks like I’m free for the rest of the night.”

“That’s convenient.” He snags my hand and steers me into the Plaza’s grand lobby.

“Look who finally got a weekend off to party with me.” Cormac puts his arm around a skyscraper of a man with deep auburn, curly hair, cut short at the ears but soft around the eyes. “Trace Quinlan.”

My heart stops. This is Trace Quinlan? The last I saw of him he came up to my boobs. Now my boobs... Will fit so nicely in those brawny hands.

“Shea-Lynne O’Rourke,” he purrs to me in a deep Irish brogue with its noticeable Waterford lilt that I’ve not heard in a long time.

My brothers speak with an Americanized accent, the older ones who came to the States as ruffian brats. Balor, as well as Cormac, Darragh, and I don’t have much of an accent anymore. Living so far away from everyone, my accent is nearly gone.

It slips out once in a while when I’m around my brothers, hearing them speak phonetically alters my own speech. Otherwise, I sound as American as apple pie. It also keeps me safe and out of any crosshairs from someone who might want to hurt my family.

If I don’t sound like them, no one thinks I’m one of them.

But I am an O’Rourke, in my own unique way. And I don’t hesitate to emphasize my connection to my powerful Irish Mob family when it’s necessary.

“Trace Quinlan.” I reach out to shake his hand. “It’s been a while.”

“Eighteen years.” His strong, warm palms swallow mine.

He knows the exact number of years? Does he know the months, days, and hours, too?

The last time I saw him, I was sixteen and he was twelve. How much of an impact could I have made on a wildling boy who lived down the road from my grandparents’ farm in rural Waterford?

“All taken care of,” Larke says, returning and stops in her tracks. “Holy shit.” She blinks, her openly-admiring gaze moving from Cormac to Trace.

Just another day for me. Beautiful men who are either related to me or...

Trace Quinlan isn’t related to me. He would have been by marriage, had Kieran married Trace’s cousin, Norah, who sadly passed away.

Frig my life, the most gorgeous man I’ve seen in a long time would be off-limits. He’s my brother’s friend.

Oh, and I have Archer.

“Well, since the wedding is officially called off, you’re free to do what you want,” I tell Larke, so she doesn’t think she has to hang out with me because I’m her boss. “We have our flight home tomorrow morning. It’s Vegas. Have fun.”

“I’m having fun right now.” She smiles at my brother and Trace.

A flame of jealousy flares in my chest. I squeeze my thighs, taking in that mirage of beauty that can’t be real.

I remind myself that I’ve waited a long time for Archer.

But Archer isn’t here...

My angel and demon start a battle in my conscience . Being unfaithful is not my style. I keep my word. Even if staying loyal to a man who’s strung me along for five years is wearing thin.

Maybe shoving in his face that I have options would be the motivation for him to get his ass in gear and divorce his wife already.

Larke’s phone rings. “Shoot, I have to take this. Yeah, mom?”

She wanders off, and Cormac’s eyes follow her.

I bring my face in line with my flirty brother. “No.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I heartedly disagree with that,” Trace drawls out in a velvety smooth lilt.

“You were twelve when I saw you last.” I face him again and my legs go weak.

“You remembered.” He gives me a once-over that Cormac doesn’t catch because he’s looking at Paige’s forgotten bridesmaids, who’ve poured into the lobby in burgundy satin gowns.

With their unexpected free night, they eye my brother like he’s some Vegas stripper who arrived for the bachelorette party a day late.

“You two studs go have fun,” I say, inching away from them.

“I’ll drive you back to the villa,” Cormac offers graciously while winking at a blonde bridesmaid at the lobby bar.

“No, that’s fine. I feel like walking the strip.” I wave him off.

With the wedding blown apart, I’m not passing up a few hours to be free. Really free.

Cormac squints behind me. “Where’s your guard?”

My eyes slip closed. “I gave him the night off. I thought I’d be here until midnight.” I don’t mention that Archer was supposed to fly here and meet me. He’s a secret I’m keeping. “This hotel’s security—”

“This place is run by the Borgias,” Cormac interrupts, tension in his voice. “It’s absolutely secure. But if they find out an Irish Mob princess is here...”

I cackle in laughter. “Please. No one knows me. No one cares about me.” I lock eyes with Trace, who’s tilted his head. “I doubt the Borgias ever heard of Astoria and have zero plans to visit.”

I grew up in a city on the outskirts of Manhattan where my oldest brother, Kieran, rules as king. My other brothers, Riordan his underboss, Lachlan his enforcer, Eoghan his consigliere, and Balor, who’s eighteen months younger than me and does all their cyber security and hacking, round out our crime family.

“Get Soren back here right now.” Cormac tries to boss me around, getting even for how I used to play games with him and Darragh when we were kids.

I pretended to be a teacher and made them sit on the floor and act like students. I pretended to be a teller and gave them slips I’d taken from the bank and had them act like customers. They were grateful to be busy with me and not dragged off to church with our ma who went every morning and every afternoon.

“I’ll walk her back to the villa,” Trace offers.

He noticed I said I wanted to walk. Perceptive, I like that.

Cormac’s brows furrow. “You agreed to be my wingman, Quinlan.”

“You’re an O’Rourke. You’re a surgeon. You don’t need a wingman,” Trace replies in a commanding tone.

“You two are still...best friends?” I ask, seeing their close dynamic a little clearer now.

“A Quinlan never gets rid of an O’Rourke.” Trace punches Cormac in the arm.

“Call me after she’s tucked in.” Cormac wags a finger at Trace.

“Tucked in? It’s only five o’clock!” I argue and feel a second wind coming on.

With no annoying guard hovering, I was hoping to do a little gambling, window shopping, and sipping martinis at a fancy bar. Alone. I need a night to enjoy being invisible and free.

“I’m not letting you leave here without Trace.” Cormac tugs my wrist when I try to slip away.

I scoff, knowing it’s pointless to argue. “Fine.”

Cormac checks his wallet, gold condom wrappers peeking out. Great. “If I’m striking out, Quinlan, I’ll come looking for you two and take you back.”

“Yeah, okay,” Trace snorts and steers me to the hotel’s exit, his hand on the small of my back. “He’s not striking out. ”

“That’s my brother.” I cringe and try not to think about him using those condoms.

“ And he’s my best friend.” Trace winks. “Oh, the scandal.”

Just what I need.

Right now, the only trouble I can get into is with this Quinlan guy. A man my brother trusts to walk me around town, but would likely break his legs if he made a move on me.