Player - A Deadliest Lies Novel - Michele Mannon Page 0,29
to make sense of my conflicted emotions. The things I could do to her. Lick her pussy until she’s begging for more. I bet she’s a pretty pink, like her cheeks right now. Tie her hands over head and pry her thighs wide open before using one of my leather belts to gently, ever so gently, mark her creamy white skin. I bet she likes things edgy. I bet I can make her crave the hard ride I’m offering.
But she’s right. A hard feckin’ pass is what’s best. Sex for pure, selfish pleasure will cause unwanted complications. I’ll use her. Present her as my pretty, American cailín. Make the lads feel comfortable—unthreatened if you will—with my sudden appearance in Cork’s most notorious fight club. So when I hand one shyster a bashed head and another his arse, it’ll seem like I’m the best thing to come since Guinness on tap.
Hayden says O’Brien’s a notorious gambler.
My job is to convince the mobster I hold a winning hand.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “That came out stronger than I intended.”
“Ever consider concealing the truth?”
She shrugs. “You came on my stomach. What’s to hide?”
I laugh, totally unashamed. And a wee bit relieved she’s come to terms with everything and we can move on.
“I can stomach a lot of things from people. Liars I detest. Honesty is one of the things I value most from a person.”
Feckin’ hell. If she only knew.
“In Syria, things were real, you know?”
I look at her, catching the raw edge in her tone. Suddenly, curious about her experiences. “You’ve seen your share of death?”
She flinches. “Yes.”
“Death, killing aren’t things average folk can relate to.”
“But you can.”
“Yeah, I can.” Except I’m dishing out death then disappearing, so I don’t have to deal with the aftermath.
“So, what made you pursue this career path?” she asks.
I take a sip of my beer, considering her question. “Honestly? I’m a wee bit of an adrenaline junkie. I like a challenge, am good at playing a role, and feel the most alive when I’m being physical. I’m happiest when my mind is hyper-focused on winning.”
She claps her hands together. “Yes. You understand completely.”
Yeah, I suppose I do.
Grabbing her pint, she raises it high. I do the same. “To living on the edge.”
“To living on the edge.”
“To working together to expose this asshole.”
“To working together to bring this shyster down.”
She pauses, and her eyes alight with mischief. “To no sex between us,” the minx has to go and add.
I take another long, satisfying sip of the Black Stuff. There’s something better about Guinness when it’s served from Irish taps. The water, the air, the endless volumes being served. I might be watching my diet but don’t ask me to forsake the drink. Or the opportunity to get a rise out of her. I mull over her words, a challenge if I ever heard one. So, she’s keen on bantering about sex rather than the real deal? Well, bantering I can do. Lowering my voice, I murmur, “No licking yer sweet pussy?”
She blushes pretty, and I feckin’ revel in it.
“No riding you six ways to Sunday.”
Yeah, despite her denials, she wants a ride on the fast train to bliss. Luckily for her, I’ve mastered control of my baser instincts. I’ll fuck her with filthy, dirty word play but what I won’t be doing is touching her.
As much as I hate doing so, I change the subject. “Good food. Good company. Now it’s time for a good night’s sleep. What do you say?”
She’s confused, torn between lusting after my words and wanting to strangle me. Keeping her on her toes is a much better idea than keeping her on her back with me balls deep inside her. My focus needs to be on O’Brien, fighting, and doing what the boss says I do. That’s all. I toss my napkin on the table. “Take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Wait.”
I stand, beer in hand, but don’t move away.
“You promised me an explanation. How will we draw the buyer’s attention? How will this help us track the uranium?”
“We mix and mingle at a local pub.”
“Mix and mingle? How many nights is that going to take? Things need to happen and happen fast before he moves the uranium.”
“Or sets up shop locally to sell it to other buyers at an inflated cost.”
“So, you agree time is an issue?” She gives me that look I’m growing quite fond of. The one that says I’m driving her mad.