Two shiny shoes appeared before me, followed by two expensively clad legs, and I peered up at him, wondering what he was about. He held out his hand, but I clasped the photos to my chest.
“You’re making more of a mess than anything else, Aoife.” His voice was raspy, his eyes weighted down by heavy lids.
For a second, I wondered why, then I saw why.
He had an erection.
An erection?
I peered around at the staff, but they were all men. Not a single woman in sight, well, save for the seventy-year-old with a clipboard who was barking out orders to the guys in what sounded like Russian.
So that meant, what?
The erection was for me?
The blush, the dreaded, hated blush, made another goddamn appearance, and to cover it, I ducked my head, then pushed the photos and the envelope at him.
For whatever reason, I stayed where I was, staring up at him as he calmly, coolly, and so fucking collectedly pushed the photos back into the torn envelope—it was some coverage. Better than none at all, I figured.
Being down here was. . . .
Hell, I don’t know what it was.
To be looked at like that?
For his body to respond to me like that?
It was unprecedented.
I’d had one sexual experience with a boy back in college, and that had not gone according to plan. So much so I was still technically a fucking virgin because, and this was no lie, the guy had zero understanding of a woman’s body.
Craig had spent more time fingering my perineum than my clit, and every time he’d tried to shove his dick into me, he’d somehow managed to drag it down toward my ass.
I’d gotten so sick of him frigging the wrong bits of me, that I’d pushed him off and given him a blowjob. It had been the quickest way to get out of that annoying situation.
Yeah, annoying.
Jenny, when I’d told her, had pissed herself laughing, and ever since, had tried to get me to hook up with randoms, so I could slough off my virginity like it was dead skin and I was a snake. But life had just always gotten in the way, and I’d had no time for men.
Shortly after that had happened, we’d lost Fiona. Then, I’d graduated, and after, Mom and I had set up this place thanks to some insurance money she’d come into after her husband had died. It had been crazy building the tea room into an established cafe, and then mom had passed on, too.
So, here I was. Still a virgin. On my knees in front of the sexiest man on Earth, a man I knew, a man whose mother had half raised me, one who wanted me in his bed as some kind of blackmail payment.
Was this a dream?
Seriously?
I mean, I’d been depressed before Finn O’Grady had walked through my doors. Now I wasn’t sure whether to be apoplectic or worried as fuck because he wasn’t wrong: you didn’t mess with the Five Points.
God, if I’d known they’d been behind the development on this building, I’d have probably signed over months ago.
The Points were. . . .
I shuddered.
Vindictive.
Aidan O'Donnelly was half-evil genius and half-twisted sociopath. St. Patrick’s Church, two streets away, had the best roof in the neighborhood and the strongest attendance because Aidan, for all he’d cut you into more pieces than a butcher, was a devout Catholic. His men knew better than to avoid Sunday service, and I reckoned that Father Doyle was the busiest priest in the city because of Five Points’ attendance.
“I like you down there,” he murmured absentmindedly.
The words weren’t exactly dirty, but the meaning? They had my temperature soaring.
Shit.
What the hell was I doing?
Enjoying the way this man was victimizing me?
It was so wrong, and yet, what was standing right in front of me? I knew he’d know what to do with that thing tucked behind his pants.
He wouldn’t try to penetrate my urethra—yes, you read that right. Craig had tried to fuck my pee-hole! Like, why?
Finn?
He oozed sex appeal.
It seemed to seep from every pore, perfuming the air around me with his pheromones.
I hadn’t even believed in pheromones until I scented Finn O’Grady’s delicious essence.
It reminded me of the one out of town vacation we’d ever had. We’d gone to Cooperstown, and I’d scented a body of water that didn’t have corpses floating in it—Otsego Lake. He reminded me of that. So green and earthy. It was an attack on my overwhelmed senses, an attack I didn’t need.
With the envelope in his hand, he held out his other for me. When I placed my fingers in his, the size difference between us was noticeable once more.
I was just over five feet, and he was over six. I was round and curvy, and he was hard and lean.
It reminded me of the nursery tale Mom had sung to me as a child—Jack Sprat could eat no fat, and his wife could eat no lean.
Did it say a lot for my confidence that I couldn’t seem to take it in that he wanted me? Or was it simply that I wasn’t understanding how anyone could prefer me over Jenny?
Even my mom had called Jenny beautiful, whereas she’d kissed me on the nose and called me her ‘bonny lass.’
Biting my lip, I accepted his help off the floor. My black jeans weren’t the smartest thing for the tea room, but I didn’t actually serve that many dishes, just bustled around behind the counter, working up the courage to do what Mom had done every day—greet people.
I wasn’t a sociable person. I preferred my kitchen to the front of house, hence the jeans, but I regretted not wearing something else today. Something that covered just how big my ass was, how slender my waist wasn’t.
Ugh.
This man is blackmailing you into his bed, Aoife. For Christ’s sake, you’re not supposed to be worrying if he likes the goods, too!
Still, no matter how much I tried, years of inadequacy weighed me down as I wiped off my knees.
“Do you have a coat?” he asked, and his voice was raspy again. “A jacket? Or a purse?”
I nodded at him but kept my gaze trained on the floor. “Yes.”
“Go get them.”
His order had me shuffling my feet toward the kitchen, but as I approached the door, I heard his strong voice speaking with the old woman with the clipboard: “I want this all cleaned up and boxed. Take it to my storage lot in Queens.”
With my back to him, I stiffened at his brisk orders. Was I just going to let him do this? Get away with it?
My shoulders immediately sagged.
Did I have a choice?
If it was just him, just Acuig, then I’d fight this, as I’d been fighting it since the building had come to the attention of the developer. But this wasn’t a regular business deal.
This was mob business, and it seemed like somehow, I’d become a part of that.
FML.
Seriously, FML.
Chapter 3
Finn
She wasn’t as fiery as I imagined.
Did that disappoint me?
Maybe.
Then I had to chide myself because, Jesus, the woman had just been coerced out of her business. What did I expect? For her to be popping open a champagne bottle after I’d forced her to sign over her building to me?
Sure, she’d made a nice and tidy profit on her investment—I hadn’t screwed her that way. But this morning, she’d gone into work with a game plan in mind, and tonight? Well, tonight she was out of a job and knee deep in a deal with the devil.