Illicit Temptation (Astoria Royals #3)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Shea

“ H ere’s to improving my golf game.” The retired police captain stands under a black and gold banner congratulating him for thirty years of service.

This retirement party took months of planning to get all the details right that his children wanted. I thought this would be an easy day, then Archer shows up with his gobshite news and then Trace appears. Now, I can’t stop shaking.

“Hey, isn’t that the guy from Vegas a few years ago?” Larke motions to the double French doors to the party room where Trace’s girth nearly fills out both doors.

“It sure is.” I run a finger through my hair making sure any loose twigs from being thrown into a bed of pachysandras aren’t sticking out. All while ignoring the ache in my center feeling Trace’s thick massive cock grow from being pressed against me.

Did he really pound me for hours with that thing?

I can’t believe Balor gave Trace, who is clearly a psycho, a freaking drone.

Trace lifted me out of the brush, and with a condescending pat on my ass, telling me to get back to work, he finished with Archer all beat to shit in his brother’s trunk.

For years, I’ve brushed off whoever Lachlan shipped out to me as a guard. This one will be the death of me.

I still have no memory of exactly how Trace and I ended up married, or the sex we had, which I’m sure was amazing. I never get that drunk. Must have been all the forbidden freedom of just being a woman spending the night with a breathtaking man.

My subconscious said yes to getting married for some reason. We were in Vegas after all, and deep inside, I guess the pragmatic me figured nothing that happens in Sin City is real.

The next morning, Trace could have stopped me from leaving and pried that elevator door open. But he didn’t. Maybe because my guard was there and he was wrapped in a bedsheet, my scent all over him. Maybe calling me his wife and making it seem like he wanted to stay married in his messages was a way to ensure I’d never tell my brothers what happened between us that night. They would have killed him had they found out he married me and fucked me when I was drunk.

For some months afterward, I considered the formal divorce route. After consulting Attorney Google, I found out it’s nearly impossible to divorce someone in absentia. When a spouse leaves the country, as Trace had with his business emergency, all kinds of notices had to be posted to give the spouse a chance to respond.

Like I’d be posting public notices that I married someone after a drunk night in Vegas.

Me.

I could have consulted a real lawyer to find him, but I do not trust any attorney in this country to see my name and not call Harvard Law Graduate Eoghan O’Rourke. It made me sick to entertain the thought of a slimy lawyer trying to cash in on my secret.

So, I’d just been...ignoring it.

Acting like it didn’t happen. That it wasn’t real.

But, damn, he’s very real, standing there, staring at me, looking so damn gorgeous it hurts.

A flood of tension settles into my core like the suppressed memory of Trace Quinlan fucking me is trying to break through. A rush of heat on my neck hits me strong. That man is trouble. I married him, for crying out loud, which means he can make me lose control .

Control is my brand.

“You okay?” Larke asks me, nudging my arm.

“I’m always okay,” I mutter and never told her about my drunk-addled, amnesia-driven wedded bliss to Trace.

But my stomach won’t stop turning, thinking Archer would have hit me. I’d come to accept that my future had to be with a man like that. It’s the consequence of needing someone who will accept my family, a man who can stand up to my brothers, and who they will also approve of.

Sometimes I wonder, is there a man out there who’s balanced enough with that kind of power but would also be gentle with me? Someone who can respect a mature woman with her own life and career? Clearly, Archer didn’t. He just faked it all these years.

Hopefully, he’ll crawl home and remember this was a private matter between us. He made the stupid mistake of raising his hand to me, knowing my bodyguard, any bodyguard, is never more than a few feet away. Man, it killed me to know Trace and his brother Rhys were dealing with Archer when I wished they’d have held him for me so I could have kicked him in the balls.

I blow out a breath, hoping this doesn’t blow up in my face.

The next four hours of the party pass quickly. Larke and I jump to meet the needs of the guests. I plan parties from beginning to end, the venue being only a part of the package. I make all the calls busy clients don’t have time for. I rely on my subcontractors to fulfill their parts of the event. I don’t micromanage anyone’s business, but I always stay to oversee the whole event and step in when needed.

“Well done, Ms. O’Rourke.” The man of the hour, Edward, a handsome, older widower shakes my hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Coyle. The night isn’t over.”

“You’re right.” Edward’s voice gets low as he produces an envelope from his suit jacket. “This is a little something extra for you.”

With my eyes on the envelope, I remark on the obvious tip, “That’s not necessary. Your wonderful children took care of me.”

“I’d like to take care of you, too.” Coyle presses the envelope into my palm, the thickness of it surprising. “Care to join me in my hotel suite later tonight?”

The big tip now registers, and I push it back against his chest. “Is this payment for my company?”

“Don’t look so shocked, sweet thing. I bet men line up to fuck you.”

“They have to get past me first.” Trace’s rich brogue sails over my shoulder. “Especially since I’m her husband.”

Edward’s jaw quivers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see a ring, I thought she was—”

“A prostitute?” Trace scrapes out between clenched teeth, wedging his brawny body between me and this jackass.

“No, of course not. I just thought...” Coyle’s voice quivers. “My mistake.”

I don’t get to watch the retiree stumble away. Trace’s wide shoulders block my view. I yank him around to address one of my many concerns. “Why are you even here?”

“Covering for Soren.”

I grumble, realizing Lachlan was fucking with me when I said I didn’t need a guard this weekend while Soren was away and he said, ‘Okay.’

Clearly, I don’t get his humor anymore.

“You didn’t have to do that with Archer,” I whisper, a hint of guilt and worry coming back to me.

Trace stands over me. “Did you think I’d let a man raise his hand to you and not leave in pain? ”

“I meant the brutal part.” I take a breath.

Despite all his flaws and lies, Archer understood me, and we bonded over being born into dangerous families. I accepted a long time ago that if I wanted to keep my family in my life, for better or worse, I’d have to marry someone just like my brothers.

My eyes linger on Trace. Apparently, I’d accidentally done that.

I don’t keep bodyguards for long. A year or two, tops. Trace is here for a few days. That will give me time to convince him to divorce me. I can’t have this marriage hanging over my head. Christ, he unnerves me with his sinful good looks.

“Are we officially off duty?” Larke comes up to me, Trace hanging back to lean against the bar.

With a glance, I see the party is winding down. The venue’s event manager and her staff are wrapping up the flowers for the guests to take home fresh bouquets.

I’ve been paid, and I’ve been tipped, so I say, “We sure are.”

Larke bites her lip. “My mom’s still not feeling well. Can I take off?”

“Of course,” I say with a hug. “Give her my best, as usual.”

“Why don’t you and the big guy go have fun,” Larke says, digging for her car keys.

I snort at her suggestion. Oh, to be young again, optimistic about love and sex. With Archer gone, my uterus on its last leg, and a husband I don’t want, I’ll just go quietly drink alone.

“I can’t have fun with my bodyguard.” My husband, however...

His searing and scandalous gaze suggests if I wanted some fake husband with benefits, he’d be up to give me what I’d been lacking for the last three years .

Larke smiles conspiratorially. “Ooh, forbidden sex. Even better!”

Sex that will get Trace killed if Lachlan finds out.

“We have a meeting tomorrow at noon about the Mallory communion,” I remind her, but I know her mom’s been having long, difficult nights. “I can meet with Andrew and Gwen alone if you’re not up to it.”

“I’ll keep you posted.” Larke passes Trace and mocks with hands stretched to indicate that his height and length of his dick might be in proportion.

Girl...you have no idea. Wait, neither do I, because I don’t remember. But what I felt a few hours ago...

Wow.

Trace catches her, and she blushes, hurrying toward the exit.

Cologne and heat surround me from behind. “How do you feel?”

Spinning around, I smile. “As far as what?”

“What that asshole did to you this afternoon.”

“Considering what you and your brother probably did to him? I’m in great shape.”

“He won’t go anywhere near you again.”

“You’ve assured that,” I say in a snarky tone.

He dips an eyebrow at me. “You would have given him another chance?”

“No. I told him we were done. Before you intervened.”

I’m glad it’s over. I take Trace in and just melt. I’ve never looked at any bodyguard this way. Of course, none of them ever looked like him.

But I can’t. I just... can’t.

“I’ll be laying low for a couple of days. You can go back to Astoria.” I hand the thick envelope to Trace. “Here.”

“Is that a payoff, princess?” he says with a lopsided smile.

“Consider it a thank you. I’m sure you didn’t expect to be beating up my boyfriend or mouthing off to a retired police captain for me.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here. To keep other men away from you.” He leans down. “You’re mine, princess. And I have the document to prove it.”

“Correction. I have the marriage license. It ended up in my purse.”

He growls a laugh and takes out his phone.

No.

Smiling, he shows me a photo he snapped of my shameful secret currently locked in a safe.

MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE

Clark County, Nevada

And yep, there are our names:

Shea-Lynne O’Rourke of East Hampton, New York

Trace Aiden Quinlan of Dublin, Ireland

It lacks a shocking number of details for it to be a real and binding document. Yet it is. And thanks to that piece of paper, I have a husband.

I look up at Trace. “Your da gave you his brother’s name as a middle name?”

“An homage to Uncle Aiden who was very powerful back in the day,” he speaks lovingly of the Astoria Quinlan patriarch.

“I’m sorry your uncle’s not doing well.” Last I heard, Aiden Quinlan was in a memory care unit at a local assisted living facility.

“I plan to visit him next week. Give my Aunt Norah a break. She goes every day.” Trace tugs on his jacket.

Such a good man. And I can’t keep him.

“Come on, take the money. Consider it a bonus.” I wave the envelope and immediately feel stupid like I’m offering a treat to a puppy. Only, Trace is a dangerous attack dog. “You know better than anyone, I don’t need the extra money. You’re working this weekend. Consider it overtime pay.”

“And you think I need the money?”

My skin itches in embarrassment. I don’t know Trace’s financial situation. According to Balor, he served eight years in the Irish Defence Forces on a special ops team. He was doing private contract work when I met him in Vegas three years ago. That’s not a seven-figure-CEO job, but my family pays their guards well. Really well.

“You certainly don’t look like you’re starving, but you’re paid to watch over me.” I shrug. “Split it with Rhys, who I’m sure didn’t think he’d be sitting in East End Long Island summer traffic with a man in his trunk.”

“Rhys is like me. We go where we’re called, and we don’t ask questions.” He reaches to take the envelope but grips my wrist instead.

A shock of lust storms through me. His fingers magically interlock with mine, drawing a look between us. Oh God, I have to hide how he makes me feel. He’s a sinful indulgence, and I don’t need him tempting my neglected body.

With Archer now gone for good, it’s time to face facts that I had my last shot at a husband and family, even if it meant being a stepmother. I wasted eight years waiting for that man.

Trace pulls me with him, and I go willingly, walking through a maze of dark corridors in this beach-front venue.

I imagine riding him in a dark, coat room, moans rising from our mouths.

Christ, what am I thinking? He’s been here for six hours, and I’m already visualizing him inside me. To be physical with a bodyguard is dangerous on several levels. It compromises their protection. Loss of focus and obsessiveness clouds the mind. That’s when people make mistakes .

In Vegas, we were just us. Old friends.

“Let’s get one thing straight, princess.” Trace pushes me against the nearest wall in a hidden corner. “I’m in charge of your protection for a few days. You do not leave my sight.”

“I assume I’ll be able to shower by myself,” I hear myself say.

“I won’t be turning down an invitation to soap up this banging curvy body, princess. According to the state of Nevada, you’re mine.”

He takes these liberties with me because he’s a Quinlan. I scoff, realizing it’s in their blood to go after the forbidden.

“As if you can handle me,” I challenge. “Sober.”

“ Handle you?” He drags his gaze up and down my body. “When I have my way with you again, I will leave you a wrung-out, sore mess, princess.” He breathes me in. “And my bed’s been cold since that night in Vegas when I fucked my wife . I have years to make up for.” His hips press into me, teasing me with a shockingly long and thick erection.

“You sure about that?” I tease back, all while dying inside. “If you’ve been without female company, I’m not sure how wrung out you can make me.”

“Care to make a wager on how long I’ll last?”

“Errr.” Damn him.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and glancing at the number, I see it’s...Lachlan’s burner phone. I wrench back, Lachlan a stark reminder of how forbidden Trace is. Just as he took revenge on Archer for hurting me, my brothers will not appreciate that Trace Quinlan got me drunk and married me.

“I have to take this.”

“Take all the time in the world, princess. I’m not going anywhere.”