Once Kissed: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family) (13 page)

I don’t see Curran for the remainder of the week. But what did I expect? He didn’t follow when I left Declan’s office, nor did he try to stop me from leaving. I told him not to call me, but it’s not because I didn’t want him to. It’s because I’m not sure he ever will.

And it hurts.

Curran adds color to my world. Loud, bold, obnoxious color mixed with arrogance and often disturbing references, but color nonetheless.

He’s also a really great kisser.

Among other things.

Dear Lord, that
tongue.

Declan laughs. “What are you smiling about, Contessa?”

I pass him a criminal file and reach for another one, hoping to give my cheeks a moment to cool. “I’m just happy your hard work is paying off, and that we’re getting closer to justice being served.”

Okay. I might have laid that on a little thick.

To my relief, he nods as he flips through the file, one of many he’ll be reading this weekend. “Snagging the mistress and finding all that evidence was our big break,” he agrees. “Can’t believe all the crap the search and seizure turned up. I owe Curran big-time.”

I fix the loose pages dangling from the next folder, trying to keep my tone light. “How is Officer O’Brien? He hasn’t been assigned to guard me lately.”

Declan pauses in the middle of stuffing his briefcase. It’s Friday, and almost midnight. Aside from our guards who are waiting in the hall, we’re the only ones here, having just finished the pending motions and depositions. “His testimony took a lot of his time,” he says, carefully. “He needed to debrief with his superiors about the trial and then had to collaborate with the Sheriff’s Department with regard to the multiple arrests and charges that resulted from the altercation following the sentencing.”

It’s what he claims, and I believe him, but I can’t help thinking he’s also making excuses for his brother. I force a smile and pass him the last file, realizing that around Curran, my smiles always seem to come naturally.

It’s not until the following day that I finally see Curran. It’s late in the afternoon and I’ve spent the day catching up on my law classes. The briefs I had to write took all day. Now I’m rushing to tidy my apartment and prepare for Spencer’s fundraiser.

I open my door to find him waiting in the seating area at the end of the hall. My arms are filled with my recycling and I’m wearing my oldest pair of pajamas—a Hello Kitty set, for heaven’s sake!—while strands of my unwashed hair dangle from the messy bun perched on top of my head.

He’s dressed in dark slacks and a royal-blue shirt that brings out his striking features and spellbinding eyes.

He looks sexy.

Damn sexy.

I don’t.

Dear God, kill me.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.” I teeter back and forth awkwardly because hey, I’m clearly not awkward enough. “How are your hands?”

He holds them up. “Good. No warts. That shit really works.”

I trip over my words trying to formulate a decent response—something witty, funny. Yeah, I have nothing. With a sigh, I let my door shut behind me and head to the opposite end of the hall.

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked like that.”

I slow my steps at the approach of his heavy feet. “I’ll be right back.”

“That’s not the point.”

I stop and turn around to face him. “Curran…what are you doing here?”

He surprises me by smiling. “I’m back on duty.” He frowns. “Something wrong?”

Yes. I’m not sure what’s going on. I think you like me, but you won’t talk to me about anything that matters. I can’t get you to open up, even though it seems like you really need to. I want to be your friend, yet I don’t think you want my friendship. And I want to be your lover, but not only when it suits you.

“No,” I answer.

I resume my quick pace until I reach the disposal chute and feed it my recyclables. I fiddle with my hair, for all the good it does, then march back in the direction of my apartment. “I have a fundraiser to attend this evening,” I say when he catches up to walk beside me.

“For Hello Kitty?”

My blush answers for me.

“Just asking,” he says, doing a horrible job of squelching his grin.

I glance down, but despite my embarrassment, my clothes, and my absolute shock to find him here, I can’t hide my smile. I’ve missed him
and
his stupid jokes. “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” he tells me, his voice gruff.

My eyes widen. Slowly, I walk back to my apartment with Curran close beside me. He follows me inside and turns the deadbolt, stopping in my living room.

I stroll into my kitchen and wash my hands. It’s when I’m drying them that I realize he’s staring at the hideous dress my father bought me. I draped it over the couch when the dry cleaning service dropped it off earlier. I didn’t think to hide it. But maybe I should have.

He lifts his chin. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

I almost lie because it’s just that ugly. “Yes.”

“Oh,” he says like it pains him.

“You don’t like it,” I say, not that I’m surprised.

“No, it’s a nice dress. We buried my Grammie—God rest her soul—in something just like it.”

Of course he did. Of course…

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I…” I rub the back of my neck, feeling uneasy. The stress of my classes this past week and the late hours working with Declan have taken their toll. But it was the constant calls from my father that pushed me to my breaking point. He’s phoned twice a day, sometimes more, to “help” me become better acquainted with Spencer. He told me his likes, dislikes, favorite political influences, even the way he prefers his coffee in the morning—no, that wasn’t a hint or anything.

My father doesn’t know my favorite color, nor does he care. But he made certain I knew Spencer’s.
Blue.
No wonder he’d selected that hideous dress.

“Tess?”

I drop my hand away, detesting the awful way my voice shakes when I speak. “I hate the dress, Curran. I don’t want to go to this function. And I think Spencer Woodworth—my date for the evening, and Philly’s probable next mayor—is a complete and utter asshole.”

I’m certain Curran will laugh, or poke fun at me or Spencer. But all signs of humor are lost from his face.

“So why are you going? And why the hell are you wearing that dress?”

I place my hands on my hips and look down. “I have to go. It’s not something I can get out of.”

“Why?”

“I promised.” I didn’t really. It’s more of a forced expectation. But the truth will trigger more questions that I’m not prepared to answer, and I’ve already said enough.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re wearing something that belongs on one of your elderly neighbors,” he bites out. “I mean
damn,
you have a body that won’t quit and you hide it beneath layers of goddamn tweed and polyester.”

“You like my body?” I’m not trying to redirect him, but it’s the one thing he said that I fixate on. “Even after the weight I’ve gained?”

Curran crosses the room to stand in front of me. “You didn’t gain weight. You gained curves. Men,
real
men, like curves, not fucking angles.”

I place my fingertips over my smiling lips. “Swearing aside, that’s probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Good,” he says. “Come here.”

There’s no hesitation. I go to him easily, greeting lips as eager for me as mine are for his. Curran lifts me, carrying me to the couch and placing me on his lap.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he gasps, before quickly returning to attack my mouth.

My hands link around his neck and my teeth graze his jawline, nibbling their way across and stopping below his ear. “Okay,” I whisper, biting on his lobe.

He curses. Twice. His grip to my hips tightening. “Scratch that. We can’t do more than this.”

“Mm-hmm.” So I do more of this.

“I have to be ready if something happens,” he mumbles.

He startles when my tongue slips inside his ear.

“We can’t get naked,” he insists through gritted teeth. Or at least he tries to.

He pulls me back to his mouth, this time more fiercely, his heart ramming hard against his rib cage and his hand skimming up to knead my breast.

My phone rings. Curran ignores it. I do, too.

But I shouldn’t.

The voicemail feature booms with Spencer’s voice. “Hello, Contessa. It’s Spencer, your date for the evening, but you probably already know that.” He laughs in that rehearsed way of his. “I look forward to seeing you. I’m expected by seven, so kindly be prepared by six-fifteen—oh, and Contessa, be prepared for a long night. I’m sure you have suitable lingerie you can surprise me with.”

He disconnects then. His call was brief, but the damage is done.

Curran pulled away at Spencer’s reference to a “long” night. Yet it’s Spencer’s final comment that sparks his fury and deepens his scowl. “What the hell is that about?”

His sudden anger catches me off guard and adds to the humiliation triggered by Spencer’s call. I slip away from his lap and stand, crossing my arms.

I try to offer an explanation, but I can’t find any words to justify Spencer’s disgusting remarks. Probably because none exist.

“Are you sleeping with him?” Curran demands, rising to his feet.

I raise my chin. “No.”

“But you plan to. Tonight, I take it?” He scoffs. “Come on, Tess. Don’t look at me that way. You asked for honesty. So I’m telling you the truth when I say I haven’t been with anyone since you. Don’t you think you owe me the same truth back?”

“I’m not going to sleep with him. I told you, I don’t even want to go to this function.”

“But you’re going, with some guy you claim is an asshole, knowing he’s expecting a lot more than your company.” He motions to the dress. “Did he pick that out for you?”

This time, it’s my anger that flares. “What are you accusing me of?” He squares his jaw. “I’m not some hired escort, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“No, I’m not. But let’s not pretend that any of this makes sense. You’re a grown woman. If you don’t want to attend this thing, don’t. If you don’t want to be with a man, you say no. If he shows, and you don’t want him here, I’ll throw his ass out on the street. And I could give a shit if he becomes the president of the goddamn world.”

He means well, but he doesn’t understand what could happen if I don’t attend this fundraiser.
Five more months,
I remind myself.
Only five more months.
“It’s not that simple, Curran.”

“Yes it is, Tess.” He closes the distance between us and strokes my chin until I meet his gaze. “Call him back. Tell him you’re not going. And stay with me.”

I swallow the lump building in my throat, but it does nothing to ease the sting in my eyes. “I can’t. I promised.”

His hand drops away. “Yes, you can. You just won’t.”

He marches away from me. I call to him, my voice pleading.
“Curran.”

He stops directly in front of the door. “You don’t owe me an explanation or a commitment. But I don’t need to hear lies. You have a choice. If you’re choosing to be with him, it’s because you want to.”

I wait for him to shut the door before I allow the first of my tears to fall.

The first thing I do when the limo pulls into the lot is run the plates. Turns out Tess’s date didn’t just rent this thing, he fucking owns it. His driver parks directly in front of the rear entrance to Tess’s building, making it easy for his boss to head inside. But instead of escorting Tess down, or sending his damn driver for her, he slips out to smoke.

He barely glances at her when she walks out—too busy finishing his cigarette and yapping on his phone.

He half-waves at her, laughing at whoever he’s talking to. She lifts her chin, her eyes briefly meeting mine. There’s no trace of her smile or her glasses. She has her hair up, she must be wearing contacts, and she has my dead Grammie’s dress on beneath her wool coat. What gets me is how pale she seems—no color to her cheeks except for that stuff girls add to make them look less pasty.

But that doesn’t make her less beautiful.

For some other guy.

Who isn’t me.

Fuck.

The driver hurries out to open her door, but she’s already wrenched it open, her scowl fixed on her idiot date. Not that he notices or probably even cares. He talks for ten more minutes before finally disconnecting and gracing Tess with his presence.

I crank the engine of my truck and wait for a count of ten before tailing them. The last thing I need is to think about what he’s saying or doing to her in the backseat as I follow them downtown. But I do, because I’m not pissed enough she’s with another guy.

She could have walked away and didn’t. But the more I think about how defeated and tired she seemed, the more this whole thing bugs the shit out of me. Something’s wrong with all of it. Yet even though I’m a cop, and despite all our time together, Tess doesn’t trust me enough to tell me why…probably because I haven’t done the same in return, but that’s different. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

It takes a while to reach the hotel. It’s one of those swanky places with columns in the front and walkways so white and clean, I could lick them and refresh my tongue.

I speed ahead and angle my truck into the lot across the street, snagging a spot at the end where I can catch all the action going down. That asshole, her date for the evening, steps out of the limo from a different door than he went in and waves to the crowd.

Either they switched seats before he climbed out or something happened on the ride down. I hope it’s the former, because the latter makes me want to cross the street and break him in two.

I drum on the steering wheel.
Jealous much, dipshit?

He helps Tess out, then presses his hand against her back, only to lower it down to her ass. It riles me more than it should—not just because of what he does, but how he does it: sly, like he owns her and is showing her as much. Despite where his hand wanders, his fake political face greets a group of higher-ups heading his way.

He leans into Tess and whispers something. She shrugs hard, trying to shake his hold. He laughs. I’m not sure if it’s for show or if he’s laughing at her expense. Either way, he keeps his hand on her when it’s clear she doesn’t want him to.

She tries to shrug him off again. Instead of giving her space, like he should have in the first place, he secures his grip and squeezes her ass.

I reach for the door and fling it open. I’m out of line, but so is this prick, and I have every intention of knocking him out. But from one blink to the next, Tess smacks his hand away. “Don’t
fucking
touch me,” she snaps, loud enough for me, and the advancing group, to hear. They pause as she storms away without him.

I find myself smiling.

She said “Don’t touch me.”

And
“fuck.”

She’s not just annoyed. My girl’s raging.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” She was telling the truth when she said she didn’t want to go to this thing. But then my smile fades when I realize she doesn’t have a way out.

I watch her move in line alone, her chin up. She’s forced a smile more times than I can count, but this time, she can’t seem to manage. This time, she’s done playing happy.

I mumble a curse, but then climb back in my truck. She doesn’t want to be with this idiot, just as she’d claimed. But it also doesn’t seem like she has any friends to support her.

The crowd that approached her date surrounds him, laughing and pretending that nothing’s wrong while Tess stands alone. She’ll probably stay that way, whether those other assholes decide to include her or not.

And I don’t like it.

I lean back and tap my hand against the armrest, mulling over my choices. I can’t go in without flashing a badge and blowing my cover. And I can’t justify blowing my cover without looking like an ass.

This thing has head-to-toe security. I’m supposed to sit and wait unless she’s in danger. But she’s not in danger. She’s just with an asshole.

An asshole who’s gunning to be the next mayor.

Nope. I have no options…until the next SUV pulls in and I find my opportunity.

This SUV is specially designed to accommodate someone who uses a wheelchair. A ramp is carefully lowered and the driver, a guy about my age, jumps out and tosses his keys to the valet, smiling. He waits beside a woman in a fur coat, until what appears to be a paraplegic man eases his way down the ramp. The woman in the fur coat dotes on him, while the young guy reaches up to help a striking young woman out of the vehicle.

The young woman has my attention, but it’s not because of her looks, or because she’s dressed all in red. I know her, and know her well. I scroll through the contacts on my cellphone and hit her number. As I watch, the older man scoots ahead in his high-tech chair with his woman at his side, and the young guy hits a button to withdraw the ramp. The valet speeds away at the same time the hot chick in red digs out her phone from the bottom of her purse.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Lety,” I say, watching her. “It’s Curran.”

“Hi, Curran,” she says, sounding surprised. Has it been more than a year since we talked?

Her date slides his arm around her and leads her toward the line of people waiting to get in. “Can I call you back? I’m at an event.”

“That’s actually what I’m calling about. I need to get into that event.”

“What?”

“I said I need to get in. By the way, you look great in red.”

She freezes, then slowly looks around. “Where are you?”

“Blue F-150 across the street and to your right.”

Even from here I can see her smiling. “What are you up to?” she asks through her teeth.

“Nothing bad.”

“That’s what you said when we broke into your father’s liquor cabinet,” she whispers tightly.

“Hey, we wouldn’t have gotten caught if you hadn’t fallen down the steps.”

“You puked in my hair, Curran,” she mumbles.

“Yeah, but it was a total accident. Listen, this time I swear I mean it.”

Her date leans in and whispers something in her ear. She covers the mic and says something I don’t catch. “Curran, I don’t know. This is a private function.”

“Lety, I promise I won’t get you in trouble. But I’m serious when I say I need to get into that party. Say you’ll help me, kid.”

“Curran…”

“Come on,” I press. “You and me, we’re practically family.”

She edges to the front of the line, where her date passes security two envelopes. “Give me ten,” she says, and then disconnects.

Yeah. It’s good to have friends.

Lety walks out a little later, huddling in her red wool coat. She waits until several limos pull up to the curb before she crosses the street and heads to my truck. We exchange those cheek kisses we always do when she slips inside.

“Hey. You said ten. That was more like sixteen.”

She stops in the middle of fumbling through her coat. “You want my help or not, copper?”

“Okay, it was actually fifteen.” She shakes her head, smiling, and passes me a black jacket. “What’s this?”

“My boyfriend’s suit jacket. You’ll need it to get in. You’ll also need this.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out an invitation to the event. “Your name’s Brody Quaid Moore—unless you get caught. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Okay. Come on, then. I need to get back.”

“Go ahead without me. I don’t want anyone to see us together, just in case.”

She tightens her jaw. “Just in case what? Damnit, Curran. I’m here with my boyfriend and his parents. Don’t start any shit that will embarrass me in front of them.”

“Come on, Lety. When have I ever embarrassed you in front of anyone?” She looks at me. “Okay, okay. But you have to admit, Father Flanagan’s face was classic when he caught us eating all that sacramental bread.”

She opens the passenger door but doesn’t step out right away. “Brody means everything to me, Curran. If you make him look bad because of something you do, you’ll be wearing your balls like earrings, understand?”

“Nice one, Lety. I guess you can take the girl out of Philly, but you can’t—”

“Shut up, Curran. And for Christ’s sake, don’t do anything stupid.”

She walks away then and crosses the street, joining the crowd of people making their way out of their limos and into the hotel. I hop out, wait another minute or so, and join the last few stuffed coats trailing in.

It takes a while to get to the front of the line. “This really you?” the security guard asks me.

“Who else would it be?”

“Brody?” Lety calls. She waves to me from inside the lobby. She didn’t go far, probably just far enough to check her coat. She wants to make sure I make it through. She’s a good kid, that Lety.

“Brody!” she calls again, this time louder. “You’re late—your father’s waiting, babe.”

“Okay, honey.” I grin. “I’m coming.” The guard isn’t completely convinced. “Come on, pal,” I say. “My girl’s waiting and so is my dad.”

Another security guard leans in to examine the invitation. I think there’s going to be trouble until he blows out a breath. “That there’s Brody Quaid Moore. You better let him in.”

And right on cue, Lety calls out again. “Brody!”

The guard motions me through. “Coming, sweet cheeks!” I yell.

I walk through the revolving doors. Lety wraps her arm around mine and leads me into a grand ballroom, speaking through her white sparkling teeth. “ ‘Sweet cheeks’? Nice, Curran. You could have said anything, but you had to go there.”

I grin. “You can’t tell me that boyfriend of yours never told you you have a nice ass.”

She tries to hide her smile, her real one, and fails. “That’s none of your business, butthead. Show some class for once and I won’t have to kill you.”

She weaves us around the crowd. She doesn’t seem to know anyone, but she also doesn’t seem to care. Instead she tries to look over and around people until she spots who she’s searching for. And holy shit, doesn’t she light up then.

Her date is down to a shirt and tie. Good thing security doesn’t know what he looks like, ’cause we sure look nothing alike. Although muscular, and about my height, he’s not as brawny as me. And instead of short hair, his falls past his chin.

He polishes off the shrimp on toast he’s munching on and straightens when he sees Lety’s arm around mine. She holds on to her smile but lets me go, hurrying to his side. “Sorry, babe,” she says, standing on her toes to kiss his lips. “This is my boyfriend, Brody,” she tells me.

“Who’s this?” Brody asks, securing his arm around her waist.

Lety smooths her hand over his chest. “Oh, sorry. This is Killian’s brother, Curran.”

Brody nods, appearing to relax. “Oh, the DA.”

“That’s Declan,” she explains.

“That’s right, you’re the carpenter.”

Lety laughs. “No, that’s Seamus. Curran’s a Philly cop.”

“Then who’s the contractor?”

“Angus,” I clarify. “And Finnie’s the baby and probably up to no good.” I shrug out of his jacket and hand it to him. “Thanks for the coat, man.” I motion to Lety. “And sorry about keeping you from your girl. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

He slips into his coat and shakes my hand, grinning like he means it and showing me he’s a good guy. Lety leans into him like she’s known him forever, or at least plans to.

Brody’s arm returns to her waist as he considers me. “There are six of you, and you have a sister, too, right?”

“That’s right.”

He nods. “Yeah, Lety’s probably going to pop out at least seven for us, too. Right,
pequeña
?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Brody,” she mutters.

I laugh. “Oh, shit, are you blushing?” She narrows her eyes. “Aw, hell, you are. You got it bad, kid.”

“Don’t you have something you’re supposed to be doing?” she snaps. “Or are you only here for the free food?”

“Oh, I’m already doing it with my super-spy skills. I’m just so stealth—that’s spy talk for sneaky—that you didn’t notice.” I’ve already scanned the bar area and the other serving station. Still no Tess. “Hey, Brody. You know any of these people?”

He makes a face like he wishes he didn’t. “Yeah. Most of my life.”

“Where’s the asshole up for mayor?”

“Curran,”
Lety warns, when my compliment makes an older couple passing us pause.

Brody laughs, not caring what people think any more than I do. “He’s over on the other side, trying to squeeze money out of a bunch of executives. Come on, I’ll get you close.”

“Thanks, man.”

We edge around the perimeter of the dance floor until I catch sight of Tess. Lety stops Brody when she realizes I’m not following them, her eyes widening at the sight of my pissed-off face. “Brody, wait,” she urges.

Tess stands next to Spender—or whatever the hell his name is—watching him laugh and rub elbows with the cluster of pricks circling him. He doesn’t care that she looks miserable. Instead he reaches for two glasses of champagne, one for him and one for the idiot next to him, while Tess’s hands stay empty except for the purse she’s clutching tight against her.

“Curran, what’s going on?” Lety asks. She glances in the direction I’m eyeing. “Oh, shit. It’s about that girl, isn’t it? Christ Almighty, you’re not going to start a fight, are you?”

“Humph,” Brody says. “And I thought this was going to be another boring-ass fundraiser.” He claps my shoulder. “I got your back if you need to throw down, dude.”