“Sexy perks?” Anya asks with a suggestive lilt.

  “Ew, no,” I sputter. “The only other person besides me was the pilot, and he was old enough to be my grandfather.”

  She makes a noise of disappointment. “Bummer. I’ve always been curious to know how it feels to be a member of the mile-high club.”

  “Ha. Have you ever actually been in a plane’s bathroom? They’re cramped and don’t really smell all that nice. Even when you’re flying luxury. That’s a hard pass for me.”

  Anya groans. “Great. Thanks for totally ruining the fantasy for me.”

  “Sorry, babe.” Bitterness bubbles up in a slow boil again. “You’re never going to guess what Da did.”

  “Uh oh. I can tell from your voice it’s not anything good.”

  I grind my teeth. “The only reason he let me come was because he made Uncle Carrick order one of his lackeys to follow me around like he doesn’t trust me to behave.”

  “Did you actually plan on behaving?” Anya asks, her amusement evident.

  “Of course not,” I scoff. “But that’s beside the point. The point is I now have this unwanted shadow hovering over me watching my every move. I’m sure he’ll report back to Uncle Carrick everything I do. I didn’t come all this way just to exert energy on figuring out how to ditch some guardian who probably resents being forced to watch over me like I don’t know any better.”

  She hisses. “Ouch. Is he at least cute? I mean, maybe a little bit of eye candy won’t be so bad.”

  An image of piercing blue eyes and silver-streaked hair comes to mind. I mentally trace the wicked scar that runs along the side of his face. How did he get it? My cheeks grow hot remembering the intensity of his stare. The way my pulse raced. The throb that kicked up low in my belly. I quickly push it away.

  “It doesn’t matter if he’s cute or not. He’s the enemy.” I will not be attracted to my adversary.

  “Come on, now.” Anya chuckles. “Enemy seems like such a strong word.”

  I give her serious side-eye through the phone even though she can’t see me. “What else would you call it? I came to Dublin for adventure. Maybe to flirt with danger a little. This Roarke’s whole purpose is to keep me from that. Therefore, he’s my enemy.”

  “Clearly there’s no changing your mind about it,” she snarks. “Just try to go easy on the guy will you? It’s not his fault. He’s only following orders.”

  “I make no promises.” A sudden yawn escapes. “Alright, I think I’m going to call it a day. Give Kira a big hug and kiss from Auntie Caitlín. Tell her I miss her already. And give that brother of mine a kick in the ass. You know, with love.”

  Anya snorts. “Call me in a few days so I know you aren’t in jail for murdering that guardian of yours.”

  “Rude.” Another yawn comes, and I cover my mouth. “Okay, I’m going. Love you.”

  “Love you, too. Be careful and be nice. Please,” Anya says.

  I end the call and drop the phone on the nightstand next to the bed. I’m not sure why I’m so surprised that Da would meddle like this. It’s been like that for the past four years. Ever since I snuck on a raid against the Polish to help rescue some women they’d trafficked. How could I not, though? Especially after everything Anya had gone through when she’d been held captive by them. No woman should suffer that fate. I’d wanted to help. Needed to help. Because all those women are someone’s sister, daughter, best friend.

  So what if a teeny, tiny bullet might have grazed my arm? I lift it and glance at the small, white scar that creases my skin. It’s barely noticeable. Nothing more than if I’d fallen and scraped my knee. Yet it’s the whole reason I’m here in Dublin. To get a reprieve from the family who is, despite our deep love for one other, slowly suffocating me. Who is, with their over-protectiveness, hammering away at my spirit. My joy. Dublin is where I’m free. Myself.

  A third yawn makes its way past my lips. Climbing off the bed, I rifle through my luggage until I find my bag of toiletries and then head into the en suite bathroom. Once my teeth are brushed and my face is washed, I move my suitcases onto the floor and grab a pair of pajamas out of one of them. I’ll put my clothes away tomorrow.

  I turn off the light and slide beneath the blankets, tugging them up to my chest. The last waning bit of sunlight seeps in between the shutter cracks casting a soft glow throughout the room. My eyelids grow heavy and slowly close. A strong, rugged face appears behind them and then fades away as sleep takes me under.

  Chapter 3

  Roarke

  * * *

  For far too long, I stare down the hall where Caitlín disappeared up the stairs. Finally, I turn back to Carrick who’s moved to the chair behind his desk.

  “That went better than I expected,” he muses.

  It did? Because the woman that left this room is about to make my life hell. Waves of anger radiated off her when she passed me. It was in the tightening of her fists and the clenching of her jaw. The way she stared at me. Caitlín is not going to make my job easy.

  “If there’s nothing else you need from me either, sir, I should call Nathan to let him know about the Moroccans.”

  Carrick waves me off. “Yes, go. I’ve had Nora prepare the guest house out back for you when you’re finished. I don’t trust my niece not to try and sneak away from the house before you arrive in the mornings or after you leave at night. It’s best if you’re close by.”

  I freeze in a half turn and slowly pivot back around, doing my best to keep any emotion off my face. “Sir?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

  Not well enough, apparently. My smile is tight. “No, sir. I’ll need to run home and get some things.”

  “I’m sure my niece will behave until you return.” Carrick’s dismissal is clear.

  I nod and leave the office, thoughts running rampant in my head. My instincts have never been more accurate. They told me I wouldn’t like whatever he needed me for. But even I couldn’t have predicted what a nightmare this is going to be. For many reasons.

  The second I get behind the wheel, I dig out my phone and call Carrick’s nephew, Nathan. He and his Italian wife moved here from London three years or so ago. Apparently, she’s some distant relative of Brooklyn’s syndicate ruler, who’s also Nathan’s brother-in-law. Even before they relocated to Dublin, he was part of acquisitions and responsible for some of our newest arms contracts with our German seller.

  “Donnelly,” he answers.

  “It’s Roarke.” I reach the iron gate at the end of the drive and it opens automatically for me.

  Nathan may be Carrick’s youngest nephew, but he’s got a knack for business.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Carrick asked me to reach out. I had a lengthy discussion with our friend, Hugh. It seems as though the Moroccans are trying to undercut a few of your deals. He thinks you need to remind your German contacts about why they should continue to do business with us.”

  “Shit,” Nathan curses. “I knew they’d been putting me off for some reason the last time I spoke to them. I’ll reach out and offer them my advice. Appreciate you letting me know.”

  “Of course.”

  “By the way, do you know if my sister arrived?” he asks.

  My fingers clench the steering wheel so hard they ache. I straighten my hand and stretch each digit out, shaking the blood back into them. “Cian brought her to the manor house about thirty minutes ago.”

  “Good. I’ll have to stop by tomorrow and bring the boys with me. They’ll love to see her. Enzo hasn’t stopped talking about Caitlín since he found out she was coming.” He chuckles. “She’s always had a special touch with kids. Sorry, you don’t really care to hear me rattle on about personal things.”

  Not if those personal things involve Caitlín Donnelly. Just because she fascinated me five years ago, she’s certainly not what I expected having met her.

  “It’s fine,” I tell him, despite the fact I have no wish to know any more about his sister than I already do.

  “I’ll notify you if I run into any problems,” Nathan says and disconnects the call.

  Tossing the phone in the center console, I grip the wheel again with both hands. Against my will, I replay the confrontation with Caitlín. And it had definitely been a confrontation. The same fire I recall lighting up her hair on that sunny day five years ago had spit from her eyes. Her anger is almost as passionate as her joy. She holds none of her emotions back. I can picture that same passion in the bedroom.

  Fuck. I have to push that shit out my head. Carrick trusts me. I won’t do anything stupid and reckless like secretly pant after a woman far too young for me. She’s simply a novelty. A pretty package. That’s it. Nothing more.

  Finally, I reach my building and find a place to park on the street in front of it. I tap my fob on the security pad and swing open the thick iron door that protects the breezeway from unwanted visitors. After a quick stop to pick up my mail, I climb the stairs, taking two steps at a time until I reach the third floor.

  I open the door to my flat and in seconds padded feet come scampering across the hardwood floor. A round ball of fur skids around the corner, sliding, before righting itself. The sound of a motor running starts up and Portia winds in between my legs, depositing gray fur on my pants.

  Closing the door behind me, I bend down and scratch between her ears. She butts against me, begging for more attention.

  “I see you missed me, you little gremlin.”

  She chirps in reply.

  “More like you just want me to feed you.” I chuckle, giving her another scratch. “Let’s go.”

  The two of us walk down the hallway and into the kitchen. Well, I walk. Portia runs. She jumps up onto the island and paces its length while I grab her bowl off the floor and fill it with her dinner.

  “You wouldn’t believe the day I had,” I tell her. “Interviewed someone who, unfortunately, wasn’t cut out for the job. I had to let him go.”

  She stares at me, her golden eyes unblinking.

  “Don’t look at me like that. It had to be done.” I place the bowl in front of her and she digs in.

  For a minute, I stand there while she eats. Then I collapse onto the stool. “I got a new assignment today, as well. One I’m not the least bit a fan of. I knew I wasn’t going to like it.”

  I run my hand down Portia’s back. Her tail flickers behind her, but she doesn’t stop munching.

  “Remember that girl—woman, actually, but I’m ignoring that fact—I told you about? Carrick’s niece? The one from the States?” I pause like I expect her to answer me. “Well, she’s here. In Dublin. Staying with the boss for Christ knows how long. Apparently, it’s my duty to guard her. Protect her. Whatever he wants to call it.”

  I drop my head back and stare at the ceiling before going back to my one-sided conversation.

  “She’s furious. And it was magnificent.” I rub the top of Portia’s head again. “I’m going to be gone for a few days. I’ll ask Mrs. Murphy to check in on you while I’m away. Be nice to her, too. No more dropping dead mice at her feet, you hear me? I’ll be back to make sure you’re behaving.”

  Jaysus. Is this what my life has come to? Talking to my cat, like some barmy old nutter? With a snort of disgust, I rise and go to my bedroom to pack a bag. I grab enough clothes to last me a week. I’m sure Nora will do laundry for me when I need it done. Except I don’t want to ask. Having someone wait on me makes me decidedly uncomfortable. The same way being inside Carrick’s manor does.

  Finally finished eating, Portia hops up onto the bed and climbs into my duffel. I pick her up and deposit her back on top of the duvet. “Sorry, gremlin, but you can’t come with.”

  I could swear she pouts at me. She’s gotten spoiled over the last two years. Ever since I found her in the rubbish bin outside the cafe across the street from my building. I’d been surprised by a soft mewling one early morning before any of the foot traffic started. It had taken nearly ten minutes before I traced where the cries were coming from.

  She’d been half-starved, filthy, and the most pitiful creature I’d ever laid eyes on. At first, I’d walked away. I hurt and killed people for a living. What would I do with something soft and innocent as a kitten? These hands had done things. They were tainted in a way that would never wash clean.

  I hadn’t made it two blocks before I cursed and marched back to the damn rubbish bin and fished the wee thing out. Took me three months to name her, because then she was mine. Portia is the first thing I’ve truly cared about in my life.

  Grabbing my toiletries from the bath, I shove them inside the bag and zip it up. Then, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial my neighbor down the hall.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Murphy. It’s Roarke O’Sullivan.”

  “Is everything all right, lovey?” she asks. Only a septuagenarian who brought me a tin of homemade biscuits the day I moved in can get away with calling me “lovey”.

  “I’m going to be out of town for a few days and I was hoping you wouldn’t mind checking in on Portia while I’m gone.”

  “Of course. You know I’m always happy to watch her for you—dead rodents aside.” Mrs. Murphy chuckles. “I’ll pop in a couple times tomorrow and make sure she has food in her bowl.”

  “Thank you. I’m actually going to be taking several trips over the next few months, but I’ll be back once a week. If you need anything while I’m gone, though, call me.”

  “I’m sure Portia and I will be just fine, lovey, but I promise to let you know if she's not,” she says. “Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Thankful that’s taken care of, I grab my duffel and sling the strap over my shoulder, staring down at the little gremlin staring back at me. “Wish me luck.”

  I’m going to need it.

  Chapter 4

  Caitlín

  * * *

  Awakeness slowly creeps in. I lie there for a few more minutes, unwilling to open my eyelids and chase the last bit of sleep away. It had been a surprisingly restful night. I breathe in and snuggle a bit deeper under my favorite white and lavender duvet. Along with that special hint of steam-dried material, the faint scent of Uncle Carrick’s tobacco lingers in the air even up here. It’s always been one of my favorite smells. Which is why I spent a lot of time in his office during the summers we’d visit when I was growing up.

  Giving up the fight, I open my eyes and roll to my back, pushing the blanket down a bit and tucking it under my arms. The joy of being here is slightly dimmer than it had been twenty-four hours ago with the prospect of facing every day with a constant shadow.

  I’m not going to let this Roarke ruin my time here. I won’t.

  Throwing back the cover, I grab clean clothes from a suitcase and go into the bathroom to shower and get ready. I’ve got plans for the day. After I’ve washed the rest of the travel grime off, done my hair, put a little bit of pink lip gloss on, and slip on my favorite dress with its matching flats, I head downstairs and toward the kitchen. The scent of bacon grows stronger the closer I get.

  Nora, Uncle Carrick’s housekeeper and—if my suspicions are correct—lover, bustles around. Bacon cooks on the stove as well as eggs and beans. A plate of pastries and breads with small jars of varied jam flavors sit on the white and gold-flecked tiled island in the center of the room.

  “Morning, Nora.”

  She jumps and turns to me with a hand on her chest. “Oh, dear, you startled me. Good morning, Miss Donnelly. Breakfast should be ready soon. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” I wave her off and cross to the fridge. “You know you don’t have to wait on me. Or call me Miss. Neither one of us are stuffy enough for that. We talked about this the last time I was here. I’ll get some juice if you don’t mind.”

  Nora beams at me. “Of course, dear. Help yourself to anything you’d like. Grab a pastry while you wait if you’re hungry. Breakfast should be ready any minute. Mr. O’Sullivan will be here soon as well.”

  I freeze while reaching for the glass jug and slowly glance over my shoulder at her, my arm still outstretched. “What do you mean he’ll be here?”

  She gestures toward the window overlooking the back yard with her spatula. “He’s staying in the guest house for the time being.”

  Of course he is. Uncle Carrick knows me too well. I take a deep breath and grab the jug. Just ignore him when he gets here. My sister, Brenna, has had a couple of bodyguards over the last ten years. Both Gio and Aurelio were tolerable. They kept in the background and didn’t bother her. Of course, that was before everyone discovered Gio was Emilio’s secret half-brother.

  She’d told me more than once, though, she usually forgot either of them were around. Except something tells me I’m going to be far too aware of mine.

  I pour myself a glass and put the container back. I’m standing against the counter, sipping my orange juice, when the handle of the back door rattles. It opens and Roarke steps through. He pauses only for half a beat, so quickly, I could almost imagine I made it up, and then closes the door behind him. I set my glass on the counter behind me to take a moment to compose myself. Just the brief moment that our eyes met has me rattled. I force myself to face him again.

  “Good morning, Nora.” He greets the housekeeper first with a slight nod. “Miss Donnelly.”

  I don’t appreciate the tone he said my name in. It’s the same disapproving pitch Grand-da used to take with me because I didn’t live up to his standards. Quiet. Dutiful. Fades into the background. Fuck that. I’ve never been one to conform to what everyone else expects of me. I’m certainly not going to start while I’m in Dublin. Besides, it’s not as though I asked for him to play babysitter.

  “It’s Caitlín,” I almost snap, but manage to slightly soften my words. Barely. “Nora already knows I don’t answer to Miss, so you better get used to it as well.”