The Wedding Pact (The O'Malleys #2) (12 page)

Then she kneed him in the balls as hard as she could.

He went down like a chopped tree, making a high-pitched noise that was far more satisfying than it should have been. She gasped out a breath of air that felt a thousand times fresher than it had been when she walked out onto the sidewalk. This piece of shit thought he could put his hands on her? How many women had he tried this with before? She went cold at the thought. Not every woman was capable of defending herself, especially against a large man.
Bastard
. She used her toe to tip him onto his back and glared down. “I’m only going to say this once, you piece of shit. You touch me—or any other unwilling woman—again, and I’ll take great pleasure in slitting your throat while you sleep.” She stepped over his writhing body and looked up to find Liam in the middle of running toward her. “I have it taken care of.”

He ran a hand over his short dark hair. “I can see that.”

Thank God, because she was doing everything in her power to hold it together. She lifted her chin. “Shall we?”

Liam jumped to it, ushering her to the car. Only when he put it in drive did she finally lean back against the seat and give in to the shakes. She’d been in shitty positions before, but this seemed so much worse. Maybe it was because of her circumstances. It didn’t really matter. All that
did
matter was scrubbing away the memory of his hands on her body and his tongue in her mouth as quickly as humanly possible.

Before she could think too much into it, she reached for her phone. It barely rang once when James answered. “Did you miss me, lovely?”

She knew she should play coy and keep the minuscule distance between them from shrinking any further, but she just didn’t have it in her tonight. “I need you.”

*  *  *

James had thought he’d imagined the fear in Carrigan’s voice when she called. If she was in actual trouble, she sure as hell wasn’t going to call
him
—no matter how much he liked the idea of being the one to swoop in and save her from her problems. He liked the idea too much.

But then she walked into the quiet little pub where he was waiting, and he realized he hadn’t been wrong the first time. There were faint bruises beneath her eyes, like she’d been sleeping even less than he had, and she held herself like a woman who’d been beaten for the first time. He was on his feet before he made a conscious decision to move. “Who hurt you?”

“No one.”

“Don’t play that martyr bullshit with me, Carrigan. Who the fuck put that look on your face?” She’d gone through hell and back because of
him
and it hadn’t put that haunted expression in her green eyes. He clenched his fists, trying and failing to get control of his temper. She wasn’t his to protect. Hell, even if she was, he had a pretty shitty track record of keeping people in his care safe. There was no reason why she’d be any different.

Except that he wanted her to be different.

She brushed past him, drawing his attention to her clothing. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Carrigan spun and glared. “I don’t need your shit right now.”

“You called me, lovely, so my shit is exactly what you’re going to get.” She looked like an angel—one that had had its wings clipped. He wasn’t sure what gave him that impression, but the long white dress was opposite of everything he’d found the woman to be in the short time they’d known each other. She was wild and impulsive and free. She wasn’t…this virginal almost-bride. He didn’t like the change. He didn’t like it one bit. “Sit your ass down. I’ll get us drinks, and then you’re telling me what the fuck is going on.”

“Hold your breath on that.”

He wouldn’t have to. She might be prickly as all get-out, but she wanted to talk. She wouldn’t have called him otherwise. The bartender met him halfway, a nervous little mouse of a guy. James made an effort to speak softly because the man looked half a second from pissing himself. “Whiskey for me. Dirty martini for the lady.”

“Yes, sir, right away, sir.”

He’d known there was a decent chance he’d be recognized here on the outskirts of Halloran territory, but short of dragging Carrigan out of Boston, there weren’t many options. So James slipped the guy a few hundred bucks. “For your discretion.” He let a little threat into his voice.

“Of course.”

Satisfied that the bartender wouldn’t go telling tales, he made his way back to where Carrigan had picked a booth. Ignoring the empty side, he slid in next to her. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t look up. “What makes you think something’s going on?”

“How about because you won’t meet my eyes for the first time since we met? Or this…I don’t even know what to call this getup.” He tugged on the white fabric pooled on the booth seat between them.

Her green eyes flashed, a welcome show of anger. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I dress.”

“You’re right. This isn’t you. This is some scared virgin who’s looking for her white knight. If I’ve learned anything from our time together, it’s that you’d have no problem slaying dragons on your own.”

Her mouth formed a little O of surprise, but she recovered quickly enough. “You don’t know me.”

“Not nearly as well as I want to, no. But you don’t grow up the way we did without learning to read a person.” The bartender appeared with their drinks, and James waited for him to scurry away before he spoke again. “Talk to me. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“No one can help me.” She didn’t say it like it upset her—more like it was a truth of her life that she’d come to terms with years ago. It made his chest ache. Carrigan took a long drink of her martini. “I’m almost thirty.”

He blinked. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Biology, my dear Watson. How in God’s name can I pop out half a dozen kids if I’m past the age of safely being able to do so.”

There was so much wrong with what she just said that he didn’t know where to start. So James just went with the first thing he thought of. “Do you want kids?”

She froze with her drink halfway to her mouth and slowly set it back down. “You know, I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before.”

The raw pain in her voice made him want to comfort her, but that was one skill James had never learned. Maybe if his mother had lived…but there was no room in this world for
what if
and
maybe
. So he did the one thing that he knew how to do. The single thing guaranteed to distract her.

He kissed her.

Carrigan went rigid for half a second, but he waited, his lips on hers, and let her choose. That hesitation was all it took for her to melt, turning to fire in his arms. He wanted to haul her against him, to let this feeling consume him until none of the bullshit mattered anymore. Right now, in this moment, there was only her. They could be the last two people in the world for all he gave a fuck. Hell, part of him hoped they were. As her tongue stroked his, a small, treacherous thought wormed into his brain and took root.

With this woman by my side, I’d be content to let the rest of the world burn.

Chapter Nine

Y
es, this, this is what I need
. Carrigan twined her arms around James’s neck, trying to get closer. Every second he spent kissing her, the memory of Chauncy’s wormy lips on hers moved a little farther away. She pulled back enough to say, “Touch me.”

For a second, she thought he might tell her no, but then he shifted, lifting her into his lap and scooting closer to the wall. To the shadows. His big body dwarfed hers, his arms easily cradling her against his chest. The position was all wrong to ease the aching between her thighs, but it would do. For now.

She kissed him again¸ needing the escape it seemed only he could give her. He sank his hands into her hair, tipping her head back and devouring her mouth as if it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. She could feel him hard beneath her ass, and she rolled her hips, wishing this booth was somewhere more private.

He must have been thinking the same thing, because he rested his forehead against hers. “As much as I’m enjoying this, lovely, I’m not about to fuck you in this booth, and if we don’t stop, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

That didn’t sound like a bad thing, which just proved that she was out of her damn mind. She shivered, her hands compulsively clenching his hair. He closed his eyes and growled, so she did it again. “Carrigan—”

“Take me somewhere.” Anywhere, just as long as it meant she didn’t have to come back down from the contact high his mouth gave her. Reality could wait. Right now she wanted an escape more than she wanted anything else in this world.

Again, there was that hesitation, like he thought he should refuse her. She’d never taken James for a gentleman, but that was the feeling she got when he looked at her with those pale blue eyes that were like the hottest fire. He caught her chin in a painless, unforgiving grip. “I’ll give you what you want, what we both want—on one condition. You tell me what the fuck happened tonight.”

She didn’t want to. He’d chased the memory away, and she didn’t want to do anything to bring it back to the forefront of her mind. And definitely not to confess it to this man.

But who else could she tell? Teague? If he knew, it’d only make his guilt worse. Or he’d decide to put everything he’d worked so hard for in jeopardy by doing something unforgivable to Chauncy. Not unforgivable as far as she was concerned—the man deserved a good beating—but there were consequences. There were
always
consequences. And if she told Sloan…No, it wasn’t even an option. Her sister already looked like a woman with one foot in the grave. Carrigan refused to be the thing that pushed her over the edge.

James alone didn’t have a horse in this race. He might be too arrogant for his own good, but he was a Halloran. When it came right down to it, they’d always be on opposite sides of the line in the sand.

Not to mention the carrot he dangled in front of her was one she’d commit unmentionable sins to get. “Okay, fine.”

He hauled her out of the booth and tossed a handful of cash on the table. “Let’s go.” He took her hand and led the way through the back door. In the alley, he paused. “You have a man with you?”

It took a second for his words to penetrate. “Right. Liam.” She dug her phone out of her purse and typed out a quick text. The bodyguard wouldn’t be happy, but there wasn’t much he could do. And, really, he was rarely happy with the stunts she pulled.

They stopped in front of a cherry red muscle car. She raised her eyebrows, but there wasn’t much to say. It fit James perfectly, all coiled strength beneath a rough exterior, ready to unleash at a moment’s notice. He held the door for her and she slipped into the passenger seat. “What would I have to do to get you to let me drive this thing?”

His unexpected grin sent her heart hurtling into her stomach. “For you, lovely? All you have to do is ask. Scoot.” He tossed her the keys and nodded to the driver’s seat.

That was all the encouragement she needed. Carrigan hauled her dress up to her thighs and hopped the gearshift to settle behind the wheel. She turned over the engine, a stupid smile spreading over her face at the responding roar it gave.

“You know how to drive a stick?”

“Yeah.” Her oldest brother, Aiden, had taught her when she turned sixteen. She hadn’t had a chance to use the skill much in the intervening years, but it was like riding a bike. She hoped.

“Then take her down 93 south and open her up.”

This car had the feel of something well loved and completely pampered. She didn’t get the feeling he let many people behind the wheel…and he was letting her. Carrigan glanced over to find him watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. Like he didn’t know what to think of her. Considering she didn’t know what the hell she thought of him, she should find it comforting.

She threw the car into gear and pulled onto the street. It took twenty minutes to get out of Boston, and she kept expecting James to start his interrogation. To be perfectly honest, she would have told him damn near anything he wanted as long as he let her drive this thing. Behind the wheel she felt totally and completely in control, like she could do anything she set her mind to. The only downside was that it was too cold to roll down the windows and really
feel
how fast they were going.

The comfortable silence continued as she drove south, getting off 93 and working her way by memory through the smaller highways. It was only when she turned into the access road that led into World’s End park that James spoke. “Are you planning on taking me out here and murdering me?”

She laughed. “Just your virtue.”

“Thank fucking Christ for that.” But he didn’t immediately jump her when she put the car into park and turned off the engine.

The darkness felt more absolute here, as if they were the only two people left in the world. “This park used to scare me.” She wasn’t sure where the words came from, but she kept talking. “My family isn’t big on camping—as you can imagine—but my brothers dragged me out here when we were in high school. Nothing particularly traumatic happened, but being surrounded by trees with no noise from civilization still makes my skin crawl.”