Illicit Temptation (Astoria Royals #3)

CHAPTER TWO

Shea

T he Las Vegas dry heat hits my skin the moment I step out of the Millennium Plaza. I catch my breath, my lungs adjusting from the icy chill in the hotel and ease away from Trace. He’s so smoldering I might catch fire just looking at him.

“You can go, if you want.” I soak up one more eyeful of a man I don’t dare touch.

“And defy my best friend? Not likely.” He folds his arms, his full height making me dizzy.

I step ahead of him. “What brings you all the way from Waterford?”

“I work in Dublin.” Trace keeps in step with me. “My parents travel to the States so often they have a ton of miles and points. They gave me the flight for my birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” I say, punching his wide bicep. “Are you one, are you two...”

He grips my fingers. “It was last month, and if you’re going to punch me thirty times, I might get turned on. ”

Feeling my hand in his this time, something shifts inside me from a blast of sudden attraction I don’t know what to do with. I loosen the grip and he lets go, still watching me.

“Can’t do that, you’re on duty now.” I wink and change the subject. “What do you do in Dublin?”

“I work for a private security firm. I guard a cabinet minister, but I’m here on holiday, and hoping to get into a wee bit of trouble.” He shoves those big hands—etched with tattoos and fingers adorned with rings—into his pockets.

“Define trouble?” I play along, just to see what happens.

“Oh, princess. We can get into all kinds of trouble.” Trace chuckles ruefully, his lips curling into a sinful smile.

“Tempting.” I hold my growling stomach and make a beeline for a street vendor selling hot, salty pretzels. “One please.”

Trace hands over a twenty before I even scoop out my wallet.

“What’s tempting? Me or the pretzel?”

The vendor hands me a warm pretzel in wax paper.

“Both.” I breathe in more of his spicy scent then bite into the pretzel to give my mouth something to do.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, lass.” He watches my lips.

It’s hard to believe that skinny kid I used to know in Ireland is now the towering, breathtaking beast before me. Back then, my grandparents ran a cattle and sheep-shearing farm in Waterford. As my punishment for getting caught with pot, my parents thought it was a good idea for me to work on their farm for a summer. Trace, cute even back then, climbed the fence every day to hang around the sheep. And me. He called me his girlfriend from America all summer.

At twelve, he was annoying as a mosquito, and all the bug spray in the world wouldn’t keep him away from me .

I can only imagine the kind of ladies’ man he is now at thirty. His growth spurt from a gangly kid with crooked teeth to six-five is a transformation I missed. Someone paid for braces. The man is fucking stunning.

“You still trying to make me your girlfriend?” I flirt, picking at the pretzel.

“You remembered that I had a massive crush on you that summer?” He steers me toward a less congested part of the sidewalk.

“Yep, but it was hard to believe, I was gross with zits.”

“Didn’t notice any zits. But I never forgot this long, lush dark hair, your sparkling green eyes, and a dusting of brown-sugar freckles.” His fingers brush my cheeks. “You can try to cover them up with makeup, but I still see them.” When I raise my hands to shield my nose, he stops me. “Don’t. Don’t hide from me.”

The ground becomes unsteady under my feet as I gaze up at him. I’m lost in this guy’s whiskey amber gaze and this... This flirting is pulling me under. What the heck is happening? Have I been so neglected by Archer that a little male attention has my heart pounding?

“But you were twelve.” I offer him a bite of the pretzel.

He lowers his mouth and tears a piece off with his perfect teeth. “That was the year I discovered masturbation.”

“Oh, wow. TMI.” I clear my throat and wipe the image of a younger him jerking off from my brain.

“I’d prefer to see those beautiful freckles uncovered. Care to take a swim in the pool with me at the Plaza?”

We lock eyes and my panties grow damp. “I didn’t bring a suit with me.” I wait for a skinny-dipping invite, but my phone buzzes. “Excuse me.”

Thankful for the distraction, I step away from the dizzying cologne and open my messages, startled to see a text from my old PI .

PI: This one’s no charge.

A photo is attached.

Of Archer.

In New York City.

Going into his estranged wife’s townhouse.

PI: The kids left with the nanny two hours ago, and the bedroom shades got drawn shortly after. Sorry, Ms. O’Rourke.

Missed his flight, my ass. How could he?

Heart pounding, I toss the phone into my purse. I fight oncoming tears but am surprised when they don’t materialize. Because I’m not upset. I’m furious .

“Problem, princess?” Trace’s deep voice feels like cool satin against my heated skin. He steps closer, and his delicious scent surrounds me.

My ache to feel a man’s hands on my body is winning over my better senses and judgment.

“There’s no problem.” I allow my eyes to feast on him and offer him another bite of the pretzel, which he takes. “We need some real food.”

“And drinks.” He smiles.

Two wrongs don’t make a right. I’d rather have integrity on my side, but if Archer can screw his wife behind my back, I can let a Quinlan flirt with me for a little while.

It’s not like I’d sleep with my brother’s best friend. I’d catch all kinds of hell for that.

And Trace... He could end up at Lachlan’s black site where he ‘hurts’ people who betray him.

But a night of intense flirting, I can do. And boy, do I want to.

Time to have a little fun. “Lead the way, Quinlan!”