Illicit Temptation (Astoria Royals #3)

CHAPTER FOUR

Trace

M y last glimpse of Shea-Lynne O’Rourke, hair messed up, lips swollen, and standing funny from the way I fucked her all night, will burn in my brain until my last breath.

I took a risk propositioning her last night. I’d thought about her non-stop over the years. Something inside me just snapped being close to her after all this time. She grew into a flawless beauty and after one touch, I was instantly hooked.

A gnawing obsession is overtaking me now that I’ve had her. She. Is. Mine.

The man standing with her in the elevator jolted my heart briefly, but with one look at him, plain suit, dark shades, and sharp jawline, I figured he was her guard.

Last night, Shea mentioned her ten a.m. flight back to New York. That doesn’t give me much time to get dressed and intercept her before she leaves. My wife left me without kissing me goodbye.

Christ, I’m gonna punish her for that. With my cock. Which she loved . She sucked me off like a cat in heat and then came a few times while riding me. I made her lose it again and again when I had her on her hands and knees, her fingers gripping the headboard for dear life.

We had an amazing night. Sure, she was drinking. We were both a little pissed, but I never got the sense she wasn’t fully in control of herself.

For some reason, she’s not answering my calls. My phone rings a second later, sending my heart into a free fall.

But it’s my boss.

“Trace Quinlan,” I answer, keeping the frustration out of my voice.

“Where are you?” he gruffly asks, like he’s been up all night.

“You gave me a few days off, sir,” I remind him. “I’m in Las Vegas.”

“I’m revoking your PTO. There’s been a mass shooting at Leinster House in Dublin. Minister Keegan and the others are returning to session tonight.” He mentions the high-ranking cabinet minister I’m assigned to guard. “Get back here on the next plane. Expense it. That’s an order.”

My throat tightens, and my sense of duty takes over. “Aye, sir.”

The call ends, and I stare down at the message prompt for Shea where I type:

Me: Dearest wife. I’m needed in Dublin with a national emergency. I only wish you could give a man going to war a last taste of heaven before all I’m consumed with is hell. Leave me with a memory of your silky wet cunt. My contract is up in a few months. I WILL be back. When I do, you will truly be mine. -Your husband.

We have to figure out how this long-distance marriage will work until I’m released from my security contract. Then I can move here and make her a proper bride. Breed her with gorgeous Quinlan O’Rourke wee-ones.

WHEN I GET BACK TO Dublin, however, the agency’s head of security calls me in for a meeting.

“I’m pulling you from Keegan’s detail. I need you to investigate this shooting,” he says. “We’ll make it worth your while, Quinlan.”

I consider if it’s more important to settle this marriage business with Shea in my current financial and employment state. I’m not exactly rich and months from being unemployed when Keegan’s term is up. If I don’t take this assignment, I’ll be unemployed even sooner. All of these factors won’t convince Shea or her family that I’m a suitable match.

An Irish Mob princess’ proper hand must be approved by her brothers.

“Can I have time to think about it, sir?” pull at my collar.

He swivels in his chair, taunting me. “Twenty-four hours.”

I push out of my seat. “One bloody day?”

“This is an active investigation. I’m offering you a top spot on the leadership team.” He looks down at my file. “If not, I’ll be forced to offer the assignment to your old commander, Faolan Malone.”

Hearing that name fuels me with rage that can set this office on fire. “Malone is retiring from military detail?” Just saying the man’s name tastes like acid on my tongue.

“Put in his papers last week.”

Malone was not only a high-ranking commander, he was corrupt. Cruel and evil. He locked me in a container targeted for an airstrike to punish me for insubordination. Ian, my sergeant, found out and released me.

But it was too late. I survived, Ian and the others didn’t.

I believed for weeks after that Malone would try again to kill me to keep me quiet. I never reported what he did. The strike killed the only witness. I considered murdering Malone when I got out of the service for how he damaged me. But killing someone out of pure revenge is permanent.

Taking a job that Faolan Malone wants? And with his sick sense of entitlement, a chance to watch him go ballistic if he doesn’t get this gig? That’s almost as sweet.

“Twenty-four hours,” I say to my boss, zipping up my jacket for the brisk walk back to my flat.

I leave the office and wander through the streets of Dublin, far from where I grew up in Waterford. Thoughts of Shea tear through me like shards, my heart aching.

Finding a pub, I sit down and send her another text. Watching the phone, I order a pint. As I nurse my beer, I continue to text and call Shea, even tell her about my assignment. But she doesn’t answer or respond.

Three beers later, I dial Cormac. I bailed on him, and he’s owed an explanation about where I went.

“Mate!” he answers. “Where are you?”

“Back in Dublin. I had an emergency.” I wait a beat, giving him a chance to tell me something horrible happened to Shea since she’s not gotten back to me.

But when he offers no such update, I say, “Sorry I didn’t see you off.”

I want so much to ask if he’s heard from Shea. I’m starting to get fucking nervous. As I’m preparing to casually ask about the woman he left in my care, another call flashes across my screen.

Shea...

“Cormac, I’ll be in touch. I have another call. Cheers.” But by the time I fumble with this damn phone, the call goes to my voicemail.

Heart pounding, I listen to the message:

“This is a message for Trace.” She sounds adorably cautious. “I got your message. Well, messages. You... You can’t tell anyone what we did. When you get back to the States, we’ll figure something out. Take care.”

Take care?

Figure something out?

There’s little I can do right now.

I’ll fix this as soon as I can. And not over the phone.

I ACCEPT THE ASSIGNMENT the next morning, figuring it’s a desk job for a couple of months. As soon as possible, I’ll take a long weekend off and fly to New York.

In the briefing, however, with my new agent-in-charge, I find out, I’m going undercover. To fucking Algeria. And I have to hand over my phone for security reasons. It’s to be locked in a safe deposit box here, and I’ll receive a burner in exchange. One I cannot use to make calls to a secret wife in the States.

Freaking, I’m about to back out, when I see Faolan in the lobby, looking angry. He wanted this assignment, but they gave it to me.

I make one more call and close my eyes, hearing that damn automated voicemail greeting again.

“Shea, it’s Trace.” I check my watch, calculating the time it will take to go home, pack, and get to the military airfield. “I’m going undercover for a couple of months. I won’t have my phone. When I get back, I’m flying to New York, wife . Be prepared for a spicy honeymoon after that incredible wedding night you gave me, love. Cheers.”

When I look up, Faolan is gone, and I breathe easier. With my rattled nerves, I don’t want to confront him. Not now. Not like this.

While packing, I give my brother, Rhys, also a contractor with the agency, details of the assignment. Then I call my mum and dad back in Waterford.

With the plane wheels-up, I leave my life, and now a wife, behind. Undercover missions are dangerous. I could very well be killed. And I never got to say goodbye to the woman I’ve loved my whole life. The woman I was fortunate enough to marry, but forced to leave.