 
# Dwell in Possibility

# Worcester Nights

## Book One

# Ophelia Sikes

Copyright © 2013 by Ophelia Sikes

Minerva Webworks LLC

All rights reserved.

Cover design by Ophelia Sikes

Book design by Ophelia Sikes

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and events are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

First Printing: November 2013

SmashWords Edition

\- 12 -

Half of all proceeds from this book benefits battered women's shelters.

You are unique out of seven billion people.

Let your individual gifts and talents shine!

Dwell in Possibility

# Chapter 1

Dwell in Possibility.

\-- Emily Dickinson

Crash!

My shoulders instinctively hunched as I spun to look through the large row of plate-glass windows which fronted the bar. Kelley Square sprawled in full, glorious view under the sharp moonlight, eight roads converging into a chaotic mess which is routinely nominated as the worst intersection in Massachusetts.

If Boston had been designed based on Colonial-era cow-paths, Kelley Square had been constructed by wild, lust-crazed gerbils drunk on Jack Daniel's.

The source of the ear-shattering crunch was easy to spot. A fire-engine-red Ford F-150 had T-boned a bumblebee-yellow hummer. I was surprised tangerine-colored shards weren't spewed across the pavement. A muscular black man leapt out of the first, a beefy Hispanic out of the second, and they launched into a shouting match worthy of the WWE.

A bystander in a leather jacket stepped forward like he might try to intervene. Worcester was no place for heroes. They wound up maimed – or dead.

Trouble was a heartbeat away.

Don't do it. Please, just –

He turned and stared right at me. I could only see his shadow in the dark night, but something sizzled, and my breath caught.

Then he was stepping into Death Match Round One.

I jolted back into reality. My hand reached automatically for the phone hanging above the cash register of the bar, but I needn't have bothered. A Worcester patrol car was already screaming its way into the mix. A pair of lanky patrolmen leapt from the vehicle and hauled the combatants apart.

The stranger melded into the mist and vanished, as if he'd never been there at all.

There was the sharp crack of pool balls as the game swung back into motion at the far end of the room. The remaining patrons – all four of them – turned with disinterest to the large-screen TV on the wall opposite the windows. Just a few days prior the Sox had won the World Championship – in Fenway Park no less. Somehow all other sports seemed to have lost their luster. The middle-aged men watched apathetically as the Celtics strove to hold their own against Milwaukee.

I sighed, grabbed a clean rag from beneath the sink, and ran it across the main counter's mahogany surface. Jimmy, the owner, did a decent job of trying to make a go with this place. The chairs and stools were clean, forest-green vinyl. The walls were mostly dark wood, decorated with Cork road signs, Guinness promotions, and a few posters depicting rolling green hills dotted with sheep. If the scenery out the window could morph into a line of pastel-colored row houses, rather than the chaotic swirl of cabs and cars trying to dent each other into origami shapes, we might almost be in County Kerry rather than an hour west of Boston.

The phone rang, and I brought it to my ear. "O'Malley's Bar. How can I help you?"

The voice on the other end was male, no-nonsense, and thickly brogued. "It's Seamus. Get Jimmy for me."

"Of course, Seamus. Just a minute."

I put the phone down by the cash register and waved a hand to the thin, lanky guy sitting on a stool by the door. Joey was practically a bar fixture, arriving when we opened, hanging around until the lights went out. His mouse-brown hair was uncombed and his eyes had a slightly unfocused look.

"Joey, watch the bar for me for a second?"

He nodded, his eyes not leaving the TV. "Sure thing, Kate."

I turned left and walked through the open doorway to the narrow hallway which ran the length of the bar. There were the restrooms, the store room, Jimmy's office, and then a door leading to the back parking lot. Not that cars could fit in there, of course. Between the dumpster, the shed, and the rusted, burnt-out hulk of a 1982 Camaro, you'd be hard pressed to fit even a motorcycle through the mess.

I came up to Jimmy's office door and rapped my knuckles on it. "Jimmy?"

No answer.

I sighed, then pushed the door open. I had a good guess what I'd find.

Sure enough, Jimmy was sprawled, naked, across the ancient oak desk which stretched across the back half of the small room. I'd take bets that the reason he bought such a massive piece of furniture was for this very purpose. A nude young woman with short, dark crimson hair and breasts the size of watermelons straddled him, rhythmically bouncing up and down.

His wispy brown hair sprawled even further askew as he turned his head to growl at me. His voice came in time with her bounces. "Jesus – Mary – and Joseph – What – the Hell – Dy'a Want?"

The woman – perhaps twenty – looked as if she had a pair of angry water balloons strapped to her chest and they were fighting for supremacy. Jimmy had to be at least twenty years her senior. His paunch jiggled in time with her movements, which had not let up at my entrance.

I'd grown up with four older brothers. You'd think I'd have gotten used to this by now. But my father had passed away when I was thirteen. Those brothers had turned into my knight protectors, and as a result I'd barely dated in high school. I'd also been carefully shielded from all of my brothers' testosterone-laden adventures.

My cheeks flamed with heat and I kept my gaze on the wall behind the desk. My voice was tight with embarrassment. "Seamus is on the phone."

Jimmy seemed half-willing to grab the woman's waist and finish off the process, but then he cursed and rolled, plunking her into the faux-leather chair behind the desk. He barely glanced at her as he grabbed up his jeans from alongside the desk.

"You stay put – I'll be right back."

I turned and went back out to my position at the bar. Jimmy joined me in just a few seconds. He grabbed up the phone. "Yeah, Jimmy here."

Seamus's blast came so strongly through the earpiece that I could clearly hear the words. "Do you have another whore at the bar?"

Jimmy's jaw went tight. "No, no, Seamus, of course not."

The hard edge of Seamus's voice drew tension along my shoulder blades. "If my sister finds out, I'll never hear the end of it."

Jimmy was shaking his head before Seamus finished. "She don't know nothing," he swore. "I've got it under control."

Seamus's voice dropped into a lower register and I couldn't hear his response. Jimmy nodded a few times, mumbling "sure" and "yes," and then he hung up the phone.

The woman came out of the hallway, dressed in tight jeans and a black, spaghetti-strap tank with Elmo smiling across its front. She attentively chewed at a wad of gum in her mouth as if she were a cow who had found the most delicious clover patch in the field.

She spoke in a bored tone to the room in general. "My sittah leaves in five minutes."

Jimmy's brow furrowed, but he waved to me, and I nodded. I picked up the phone and hit the first button on it.

An elderly male voice answered. "Ethan's Taxi Service."

"Ethan, it's Kate."

A smile brightened his response. "Oh, sure, Kate. Need a pickup?"

I gave a wry smile. "That we do."

"Be there in five." He hung up.

Jimmy went around the bar to give the girl a hug. She glanced around the bar before carefully agreeing to the most distant of embraces. Then she turned with a swoosh of her crimson hair. The bell above the door gave a high tinkling noise as she stepped out to the sidewalk.

A minute later Ethan's yellow taxi pulled up smoothly through the maelstrom of traffic. The girl vanished within, and he was gone.

Jimmy slumped onto one of the six stools fronting the bar, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Pour me some Redbreast, Katie."

I turned and pulled the green bottle of whiskey from the shelf, pouring him his double, neat. I put the glass in front of him, placing the bottle alongside it.

He waved a hand at the glass. "Have a sip."

I had only been filling in at the bar for about a month. The usual bartender, my good friend Eileen, had gone to County Kildare to be with her ailing grandmother. But I already knew well enough not to argue with Jimmy. He liked for me to take a sip before he began drinking, and truth be told, I'd come not to mind. The whiskey was one of his local favorites from County Cork and had rich flavors of toffee, honey, and raisin.

I took my drink, rolling the flavors around in my mouth, coating my tongue. Then I handed the rest back to him. He took down a swallow, staring at the amber liquid for a moment. Then he shook himself and looked over at the far wall with its TV and memorabilia.

"I'm going to make this into a proper place, Katie," he vowed. "We'll put on a second floor for the offices and be able to expand this level to hold a trio of dart boards. We'll host a team. We'll have local bands in here on the weekend. We'll make it into a real bar."

"Sure, we will, Jimmy," I soothed him. I'd heard this every night for a month. But every day, rather than working on his dreams, he was sliding his hand into another co-ed's shirt and dragging her back into that rat-infested room that passed for an office.

I was counting the days before Eileen returned, before I could get back to my job search. I had graduated in May, but with my degree in journalism, work was hard to come by. Then again, in this economy, it seemed that everybody was having it rough.

Jimmy went on with his rambling, the few patrons trickled out to their homes, and finally it was time to close up. Ethan picked me up as usual, his wiry, grandfatherly warmth pleasant in the two a.m. moonlight. He drove me the short half-mile to the sturdy three-decker I boarded at. My landlady would be sound asleep by now, so I was careful with the front door, then turned right into my room.

I sighed as I stepped into my small sanctuary. My acoustic guitar rested against the left wall, my futon mattress filled the right corner, and the one small window looked out over a quiet street lined with three-deckers nearly identical to mine. A set of sagging laminate shelves held my textbooks and journals.

I peeled off my sneakers and slumped down onto the bed. My life seemed stuck, bogged down, as if somewhere along the way I'd stepped into deep mud and hadn't even realized it.

There had to be some way for me to escape.

# Chapter 2

The overhead bell tinkled as I pushed my way into the bar, the orange flow of sunset already tracing across the scattered tables. Good God, it was only 4:30 p.m. and already darkness was coming. As much as I looked forward to a white Christmas, there were some aspects of a New England winter which I could do without.

A sturdy, middle-aged woman, built like a Mack truck and outfitted in a nicely tailored sapphire blue dress, was working efficiently behind the bar, slicing up limes. She looked up and nodded in approval.

"You're always right on time. I value that."

I smiled and moved around to join her, hanging my Holy Cross hoodie on the hook at the far end. Aside from my textbooks, it was my one memento from the four years of time I'd invested in that place.

I picked up the rag and wiped down the bar. "It's good to see you, Mrs. O'Malley."

"Ah, lass, call me Bridgit," she insisted, as she always did. I found it hard to comply. Her presence was such a force, her movements so full of bull-like strength, that I thought of her as apart from the rest of us mere mortals.

"You should stay around for the night," I suggested. "I'd like the company." I brought my eyes down to the bar before me, pretending to focus on scrubbing out a spot. It was much more than the company; I felt intensely guilty about being a silent partner to her husband's continual cheating. It was as if I was now complicit in his activities, expected to lie to his wife for him, when all I wanted to do was turn the cheating bastard over to her fury.

But when Eileen had taken her sabbatical from this job and asked me to cover for her while she was gone, she made me vow not to disturb the balance of the bar. She wanted to come back to a quiet work environment. So, as much as it tore into my heart every day, I went along with it.

Mrs. O'Malley shook her head with gusto. "Sorry, lass, far too much to do. Tonight's the baby shower for my niece. As soon as Jimmy pries himself out of that office of his, we'll get going. Just what does he do in there all day long?"

I bit my lip and focused tenaciously on the swirl of wood before me.

There was a movement from the back room, and Jimmy strode out, wiping his hands. He nodded to his wife. "Ready to go?"

"Of course," she responded, finishing up with the limes. "The present's in the car."

Jimmy turned to me. "You know how to lock up, Katie. Make sure you call for the taxi when you are ready to head home. I know you don't live far, but don't walk there. You know this neighborhood. Those Cubans are fockin' bastards who can't be trusted around a woman."

I internally noted the disconnect of him making a statement like that, but wisely held my tongue.

Mrs. O'Malley came out from around the bar and nodded in agreement with her husband. "And that halfway house across the street – the Jefferson Hotel – you can't trust any man who's staying there."

I'd already heard this lecture numerous times. "I'll be fine," I assured them. "Besides, Joey's here to protect me."

The lanky man's eyes semi-focused for a moment as he heard his name. He turned from the TV, giving a thumb's up.

Jimmy rolled his eyes, but his wife hooked his arm and gave him a tug. "The lass'll be fine. We need to get going." A tinkle of the door's overhead bell and they were walking around the corner to wherever they'd found street parking.

I sighed, looking over the quiet crowd. It was Saturday night, supposedly the most happening night of the week. But we had only our six regulars – two lethargically battling it out over pool, four at the tables. The TV was running coverage of the celebrations for the Red Sox.

First I made sure we had plenty of limes, lemons, cherries, and other detritus that made a bar run smoothly. Next, I ensured every wood surface in the place gleamed. I handled the occasional drink order. The clock next to the TV ticked slowly, methodically, and it seemed to get louder as the evening dragged along. This was my life. This was my youth, my energy, all vanishing, never to be retrieved again. If Eileen didn't return soon, I would become trapped here, lost forever, and the ticking clock would mark the passage as my hair turned grey and my bones brittle.

At one in the morning I allowed myself the pleasure of a task that involved at least a little mental activity. I turned and did an inventory of the liquor. This could keep me busy for at least a half hour, if I examined each bottle carefully and gave thought to where it had come from.

I smiled as I reached the top shelf. Jimmy must've had a rough day – the Redbreast was nearly empty. We were also running low on Glenmorangie and Jack Daniel's. The men in here tended to go for the harder stuff. Maybe the run-down atmosphere of Worcester did it to them. Once a mill town, it had struggled to re-invent itself with twelve colleges and a few large medical centers. That might have been great for the dance clubs, but for the middle-aged men seeking basic jobs, there just wasn't that much out there.

I felt for them. My own future seemed fairly bleak.

I caught Joey's attention. "I'm just going in back for a sec."

His nod seemed almost a sleepwalker's motion. "Sure thing, Kate."

I wasn't quite sure if he was fond of an apathy-inducing drug or if he had mental issues. He was friendly enough, and well meaning, but there was a gap between his brain and the rest of the world.

The TV blared a rich rendition of "Sweet Caroline" as I moved into the storeroom. It was haphazardly piled with boxes and bags, with no rhyme or reason to the layout. It was always something of a treasure hunt to dig through here, and I felt a rich sense of triumph when I was able to locate all three bottles I was seeking. I tucked the Redbreast under my arm, took the other two bottles one in each hand, and returned back to the main room.

I had only taken my second step across the wood floor before a strange sensation tickled between my shoulder blades. I drew to a stop by the corner of the bar, depositing my three bottles on it, before sweeping my eyes across the room.

The pool players were finishing up their game, looking as if they might call it a night. The four staring at the TV could, for all purposes, have fallen asleep. And there –

Time crystallized, and the world around us faded.

There was a stranger in the back corner. His chair balanced, tilted, against the far wall. His moss-green eyes held mine with a look far beyond any intensity I had ever experienced.

I lived between breaths as I soaked him in. He appeared in his late twenties, well built, with loose, dark brown hair which just skimmed his shoulders. A shadow of a beard caressed his face. His black t-shirt hugged his body, emphasizing his six-pack stomach and firm biceps. His jeans did the same for his muscular legs. A soccer player, maybe, with a build that was both lean and strong.

Emotion swirled in his eyes as he drew his gaze down me. A distant part of me wondered that I was not nervous, not filled with all the usual butterflies and lustings that came during this stage of the mating dance. But this was different than anything I had ever felt before. I was mesmerized, captivated, and wholly connected with the man before me. Rather than feeling hesitant, I arched my shoulders, meeting his gaze, feeling viscerally the movement of his eyes down my dark blue long-sleeve, lingering on my slender waist. He traced the gentle curve of the jeans on my hips, slid down my lean legs, and drew to a stop at my mid-heel leather boots.

I wanted his eyes back on my own. I craved that connection, that stunning blast of electricity, that had awakened something dormant within me. I raised my fingers and ran my hand through my long, dark hair, pushing it back from my face.

The barest hint of a smile danced at the edge of his sensual lips. And then he drew easily to his feet.

A bolt of lightning zagged through me, and my skin crackled with energy. My heart pounded against my ribs.

I wanted him with every cell in my body.

Yes. Yes.

The two pool players put their cues in the rack and moved in front of him, waving at me as they headed out the door. "See ya tomorrow."

That seemed to shake the other four out of their TV stupor and they stumbled to their feet, leaving their glasses where they lay. Joey gave a distracted nod. "Guess it's about time for us, too."

I barely heard them. My sole focus was on this one man, on how I had been waiting my entire life for this one moment.

He was here.

The thought sent a fresh flare of longing through me.

Thank God there were no other men in my life right now. It had been eight long months since I'd broken up with Derek, that bastard, and I'd come to accept my nun-like status as I dealt with the pressures of finals. It was as if the universe had held me open, waiting, prepared for this one moment.

Joey shook himself, as if he were just coming awake, and he looked over at the stranger. "Hey, you, the bar's closing up now. Time to head out."

The man paused as if he'd barely heard the order. He held my gaze, a hint of a question in his eyes.

I could feel every pulse of my blood through my body. The tsunami of desire threatened to drown me, capsize me, wash away all reason. The sane spark of me, deep within the roiling waters, pleaded with me to take it slow, to at least take a breath before losing myself totally within whatever whirlwind was around us.

His smile spread in knowing understanding. He nodded at me and turned to the door. The four regulars made way for him, waiting until he was down the street before waving at me and heading out. The room echoed with the silence.

It took me a moment before I stepped over to the door, turned the bolt, and flipped the sign from "Open" to "Closed."

I found myself going over to the corner he had been sitting in. I eased myself down into the seat. It was still warm from his presence. I breathed in the aroma of musk and pine. A powerful ache soaked through me, roiling in my chest, sinking to much, much lower.

My thoughts went to _The Godfather_ by Mario Puzo. In the novel, Michael Corleone had been hit by _Colpo di Fulmine_ \- The Thunderbolt. " _This was an overwhelming desire for possession, this was an inerasible printing of the girl's face on his brain and he knew she would haunt his memory every day of his life if he did not possess her. His life had become simplified, focused on one point, everything else was unworthy of even a moment's attention."_

I had laughed when reading that, thinking the description outrageous. Nobody felt a connection like that any more. That was a fantasy from fairy tales, from Snow White glimpsing her Prince by the edge of a wishing well.

Now I knew better. Now I realized that – for the rarest of individuals, perhaps just once in a lifetime – that bolt of electricity could sear your soul in a way which would change you forever.

I closed my eyes and let out my breath, drowning in a need I'd barely known I had submerged within me.

# Chapter 3

I glanced at the door for the fiftieth time, desire honing me like a glowing metal rod ready for the anvil. He had to come back. Whoever he was, he had to return to me.

My mother's cautionary voice tickled in my ear. Was he one of those recently-released felons that appeared at the Jefferson Hotel, struggled to keep their head above water for a few weeks, and then sank into the mire of their own history?

I fervently hoped not. Because, the way I felt right now, I wasn't sure I would care.

The door's bell chimed and I spun with a pounding heart. My shoulders sagged. It was a waif-like teen, perhaps five-seven, with blonde pigtails and a peach skin-hugging dress which barely reached below her thong.

A dark cloud grew within me. Thunder rumbled as Jimmy sauntered out from the back hall, took her by the arm, and vanished again with her.

I knew I'd promised Eileen, but this was getting to be too much. I vowed to text her again tomorrow to find out when she'd be coming home.

Joey turned from his perch by the door to wave his empty glass at me. "Another Bushmills, Kate."

I snagged the bottle, noting it was closing in on empty. The amount the crew could drink in a day was just mind-boggling. It was probably the only reason Jimmy could keep the bar going – although it baffled me that the place broke even. I moved to Joey's side and poured out his glass. The last drips shook out.

I nudged my head. "I'm going back for another one. Watch the bar for me, would ya?"

"Sure, sure," he agreed absently, his eyes glued to the set. His hand took the whiskey to his mouth as if set on auto pilot.

I dropped the bottle into the recycling bin – a concession Jimmy had made to me when I complained about the waste of throwing all this glass away. I shouldered my way into the stock room, then began digging around for the Bushmills. If yesterday's trip here had been a treasure hunt, this time it was more like trying to locate Atlantis. I was sure I had opened up every single box in the room before finally locating a bottle stuffed behind the back radiator.

I wrapped my fingers around its neck, walked back along the dimly-lit corridor, turned the corner –

He was sitting at the bar.

The shock of it staggered me to a stop. He was staring right at me, those moss-green eyes holding a glint of amusement as they drew down me. I glowed under his gaze, seeing myself through his eyes. My grey cashmere sweater hugged my body, soft, inviting the touch. The low cut allowed my silver Saint Michael's medallion to glitter between the curves of my breast. The jeans and boots accentuated my slender figure.

A swirl of desire built in his eyes; the corners of his mouth eased up in a knowing smile.

Heat washed through me, and my throat went dry. I moved behind the bar, focusing on putting the Bushmills where it belonged, striving desperately to regain my center.

I'd never had a man affect me like this – never. The thunderbolt. It was real. And it was dangerous. I knew nothing about this man sitting in front of me. He could be a dangerous felon for all I knew.

I didn't care.

The thought flashed in my brain, hot, powerful, and I squelched it before it could take root.

I had to get this under control. I had to figure out who he was.

I took in a deep, steadying breath and turned to face him. He was wearing a dark brown leather jacket over a black shirt. His hair had that same tousle, his chin that same stubble that made me long to run my thumb along it. The glass before him was nearly empty, with only a slight glisten of amber liquid in it.

I nudged my head at the glass. "You want some more?"

His gaze traced down to my neckline, then back up to my eyes again. His voice was rich, resonant, and shimmered throughout my body. "That depends."

My throat went dry, and it was a moment before I could reply. "Depends on what?"

His smile grew, and he dropped his voice down lower. "Are you a betting woman?"

I couldn't help it. I stepped closer to the bar, leaning against it. I told myself it was so I could hear him better. But as I breathed in that scent of his – musk and pine – waves of heat washed through me. It took me a moment to remember what his question had been.

Something about betting.

"Depends on the stakes."

He nodded at that. He held up his glass before me, turning it so it caught the light. "You tell me what I was drinking, and I'll tip you twenty for your bartending skills."

A thrill of excitement darted through me. I could use twenty. I might be able to forego ramen for the week and get several nights of Ziti's pizza.

"And if I can't guess it?"

His finger slid along the glass. "Well, then, I guess you'll just have to..."

My heart thundered in my chest. "... have to?"

His eyes held mine. "Have to tell me your name."

My breath whooshed out of me, and I burst out laughing. He seemed caught by me, and for a moment he didn't speak, just watched as I soaked in my joy. Then he held up the glass, his eyes holding a new emotion, something deeper. "So you'll drink?"

I grinned. "Absolutely."

As I reached out to take the glass our fingers brushed each other's. An electrical charge shimmered through us; every corner of my body resonated with the power of it.

I was thankful that I was still leaning against the bar. Drawing my fingers away from his was like pulling away from a powerful magnet. When the contact broke, I curled my fingers tightly on the glass.

_Take your time_ , I warned myself. _You need to learn more about him._

I brought the drink to my nose, closed my eyes, and took in a few gentle sniffs. I didn't hold out much hope of figuring this out – we must have had forty whiskeys on our shelf – but I would give it my best try. A trio of nice sausage pizzas was on the line here, after all.

I drew in the aroma of...

I stopped in surprise. Raisin. Honey. Toffee.

Nobody in the bar besides Jimmy drank this stuff. Could I really be that lucky?

I raised the edge of the glass to my mouth, taking in the remaining swallow. The liquid coated my tongue, slid along my throat, and sent a warm shaft of desire into my core.

I opened my eyes.

He was staring at me, transfixed, as if I were Venus rising naked from the ocean on a clam shell. His jawline was tight, and when he spoke there was a hoarseness to his voice.

"Well?"

I gave the side of the glass a thankful kiss for bringing me such luck, then placed it down before him. I turned to the back wall, selected out the bottle of Redbreast, then faced him again. Without a word I poured him a fresh glass.

He turned the glass in place, his eyes still on me, now brightening with respect. "Apparently you have some experience."

"Oh, more than enough," I agreed with a smile.

He ran his thumb over the section of the glass that I had kissed, and the flames within me cranked higher. I could imagine him running that thumb down the side of my neck... under the curve of my breast...

His eyes twinkled, and he reached with his other hand to his back pocket, pulling out a worn black leather wallet. He flipped it open; his driver's license and some sort of a business card showed in the sleeves. He drew out a worn twenty and held it out to me.

"I always follow through on what I say," he murmured, his eyes holding mine.

I couldn't help it. When I reached out to take the bill, I let my fingers run along his, and the burning desire within me billowed to new heights. I pressed my thighs together, trying to rein in the out-of-control hormones which were raging within me.

I barely knew him!

I folded the twenty in half and slipped it into the front pocket of my jeans.

Jimmy's furious shout echoed from the side of the room. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! What the fock, Katie?"

Sharp, violent heat flared in the man's eyes, replaced so quickly with stillness that if I hadn't been staring right at him I'd never had seen it. He turned on the stool, looking calmly at Jimmy. "That was a tip for good service," he coolly stated. "I'm running a tab for my drinks."

Jimmy took an angry step into the room, his paunch jiggling with his emotion. "The hell you are."

Joey spoke up from his stool, drawn from his stupor by Jimmy's loud voice. "Uh, I started the tab, Jimmy," he explained. "It's there on the cork-board by the phone. Kate was out back getting me some more whiskey when he came in."

Jimmy stalked over to the corkboard, stared for a moment at the white note, and all of a sudden he was the friendly, pedophile-uncle again and not a raving ball of fury. "Ah, right, of course, lass. You're one of the best bartenders we've had. Only a month and I've got you well trained." He patted me on the shoulder.

The blonde girl came out of the back room, her hair now in one long ponytail behind her. "I gotta get home or my parents will kill me."

Jimmy looked at me, and I punched the taxi button on the phone. A few minutes later she was safely on her way. I wondered if she'd make it in before her curfew, or if she'd be grounded.

I wondered if her parents had any idea what she was up to.

Jimmy looked over the man before him as if Jimmy were the stallion of a herd and a rogue horse had just come up on the horizon. He glanced down at the wallet which still lay open on the bar. His voice held more than a hint of challenge in it. "So, staying at the Jefferson?"

I looked down in surprise. The business card did have their logo in the top corner, as well as the name and title of the manager of the place.

My chest constricted. I should have known...

The man calmly nodded, unfazed in the least. "Name's Sean Miller."

Jimmy's eyes drilled in on him. "What were you in for?"

Sean could have been talking about the weather. "Armed robbery, in New York City. Sentenced to fifteen, let out in seven."

"What did you rob?"

"Italian restaurant. They were causing trouble for my friend's bar. Trying to run them out of business; thought we were the wrong sort for the neighborhood. Me and a few of my friends went to teach them a lesson."

Jimmy's gaze became considering. "And did you?"

Sean's lips twitched into a smile. "They never reopened."

Jimmy reached back and tore the note from the corkboard, dropping it the trash. His grin was expansive. "First two drinks are on the house, as a welcome to your new life. But we run a clean establishment here. No trouble, you understand me?"

Sean gave him a toast. "Loud and clear."

Jimmy glanced around the room, then turned to me. "I'll be in my office."

I nodded. "Sure thing, Jimmy."

My heart was thumping against my ribs as he turned the corner, effectively leaving me alone again with Sean. The remaining patrons could have been window mannequins for all they figured. Questions tumbled one after another in my mind, and I fought them all down with furious energy.

Sean watched me, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "So? What d'ya want to know?"

I steeled myself. He seemed open to talking, and this might be my only chance for some answers. "Why did you do it?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "I told you. The Italians were muscling in on us. Thought we Irish trash should clear out of their territory."

"Wasn't there another way?"

He paused for a moment, looking at me with consideration. His voice was more measured when he spoke again. "I would have preferred it," he admitted. "However, the rest of the crew was beyond talking at that point. I went along to make sure nobody got hurt."

A tremor of nervousness ran through me. "And did they?"

He shook his head, holding my gaze. "I made sure I was the only one with a gun, and I focused their energy on smashing the place. We locked the patrons in a back store room. Nobody was hurt."

I thought of him in that tense situation, a rowdy mob set out for revenge on one side, and only Sean stood between them and their victims.

"I guess sometimes you do the best you can," I murmured.

"That you do," he agreed. He nudged his head toward the back hallway. "I see you know something of that yourself."

I found myself smiling. "Certainly not the job I thought I'd land when I graduated," I agreed.

"Holy Cross?"

My throat went dry. Had he been stalking me?

He chuckled, his eyes flicking to the back wall. "You wear their hoodie," he pointed out. His gaze shadowed. "Or is that your boyfriend's college?"

I shook my head vehemently. "He went to Worcester Tech," I snapped.

I flushed, realizing that even after all these months I thought of Derek as having power over me, as still being a presence in my life. "Ex-boyfriend," I clarified. "And good riddance."

He grinned. "Sounds like a story." He took a sip his drink. "Let me buy you a drink, and you tell it to me."

I knew I should resist, but I found my hands reaching for the Redbreast and pouring the glass. He clinked his against mine, and I felt the vibration of it deep within me.

I took in a mouthful of the whiskey, and it was all I could hope for. Somehow it loosened the gears of my long-silent machinery, and once they began turning, the words flowed out.

"Bastard seemed charming at first. Attentive, that sort of thing. But in a short while it crossed over into full blown jealousy. He said one of my friends was too needy and drove her away. Then another was too flashy. God forbid I talk to a male. By two months in he was watching my every move, screaming at me every night, and I was almost afraid to leave him. I thought that might just make it worse."

He nodded, his eyes holding mine. "But you did."

I took another drink. "Yeah, my friend Eileen went with me to tell him and to get my stuff from his apartment. Good thing, too. He was furious. I stayed with her for the next two weeks, just in case he got some wild idea in his head." I gave a wry smile. "Luckily when he graduated, his company sent him out to the Berkshires." I shrugged. "So I'm all right now."

His gaze sparkled. "I'd say you were more than all right."

I looked down in my drink, flushing. I had gotten so used to Derek's snide commentary and harsh language, to his continual put-downs, that handling the compliment seemed a completely foreign task, like trying to juggle flaming torches. I rolled Sean's words around in my mind, soaking in the feeling of it, and Sean sat quietly before me, sipping his whiskey, acting as if we had all the time in the world.

It struck me that I'd never been this comfortable with anybody. Derek would have been launching into a monologue right now to fill the silence, ranting about my choice of friends or the clothes I wore. Nothing was ever quite right to please him. But with Sean we simply were. It was as if he were the exhale and I was the inhale. I could breathe him in, breathe deeply, and his strength would fill me.

Sean laid his fingers along mine, and I could feel the texture of them in every corner of my soul. The warmth filled me, lifted me, and brought exotic flavors to the liquor in my mouth.

His words were a soft caress. "I want to know."

And I told him.

For long hours I described what it was like to grow up in Waterbury, Connecticut, a run-down brassware-industry town which had fallen in on itself and decayed. My father was a cop, my mother, a teacher, and my four brothers and I lived a wild but happy life in our pothole-riddled street with houses jammed cheek-by-jowl against each other. We knew nothing else. We had a sense that we could hold out against anything.

And then there was that day that we came home from school to find our mother weeping on the couch. My father had been shot and killed in the line of duty.

Everything changed. My brothers took their mission to look after me with serious intent. They watched my every movement, examined every boy who showed interest, and ruled that none met their stringent standards. When I finally escaped to college, I thought this was my time to be free and find myself.

And then I had met Derek...

There was a noise from the hallway, and I looked up in surprise. Jimmy came out, shrugging on his coat. "Time, boys," he called out to the room.

I blinked. Could it be closing time already? It seemed only the blink of an eye, but the clock was right there on the wall. I had never had a conversation like that with a guy before. Sean had been attentive, concerned, and he hadn't interrupted to find ways to "fix" things. He'd simply listened, offered support, and been there for me.

My heart whirled into even deeper emotions, and I didn't want him to leave.

Sean peeled another twenty out of his wallet, placing it on the counter.

I shook my head. "That's too much. My drink was only –"

He folded his wallet and tucked it back into his pocket. "Get some mozzarella sticks to go with that pizza," he suggested.

My eyes widened. "How did you know?"

He chuckled. "When I mentioned the twenty the first time, your eyes flickered over in the direction of Ziti's. If this bar is your source of income, I figure you're living on chicken soup and pretzels."

I took up the twenty. "I appreciate it. Thanks."

He held my gaze for a long moment. "My pleasure."

The way he said it sent waves of longing down my body. And then he was turning, walking through the door, and only the echo of the bell was left.

# Chapter 4

I stepped through the bar door wearing the best clothes from my closet. A rose-colored top with a plunging neckline; its silver embroidery made my Saint Michael's pendant sparkle. The jeans had a hint of silver on their back pockets as well. I looked around...

He was sitting at the bar, his eyes on me, his mouth turning up in a knowing smile.

I flushed, forced my feet to stay in motion, and Mrs. O'Malley's voice rose above the thundering of my heart.

"Ah, you're such a good lass, Katie. Come around back here with me."

I hung my hoodie on the hook and joined her. She passed over the small, white cutting board of limes she was working on. I took up the knife, carefully making even wedges of them.

She leaned against the side of the bar, looking at me. "You know to be careful of those guys from the Jefferson," she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "Half of them go right back in the joint a month after release. It's the life they know. It's just their nature."

My cheeks flushed with the heat of a blacksmith's forge. She was clearly doing this in front of him on purpose. It was all I could do to nod.

"Unreliable guys," she continued, her gaze steadily on mine. "Trained to lie. They'll say anything. You can't trust 'em."

I focused on the lime before me, carefully cutting my way through its skin. I knew Mrs. O'Malley meant well, but Sean wasn't like that. When we'd talked last night, he hadn't tried to manipulate me. He'd simply listened and been there for me. I wished fervently that she'd finish with her little sermon and move on her way.

My savior came in the shape of her philandering husband, stepping in from the hallway. "Bridgit, my dear, won't you be late for that mah jongg game?"

She glanced at the clock and nodded. "You're quite right. I just wanted to make sure I had a chat with Katie here before I left." She stepped forward to lay a hand gently on my shoulder. I could smell the jasmine and orange of her perfume – it was all she ever wore. Then she moved around the bar.

Jimmy went with her to the door. "I'll be home late again."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course you will. When is it any different?"

Jimmy turned to me. "Oh, Katie, come here a sec."

I went around to join them. He handed me a key on a ring with a large, Crayola-green shamrock on it. "Thought you should have this. So you can lock up with your own key for now on."

I thought of refusing it. Surely Eileen would be back home any time now and I'd be free of the place. But I bit my lip, remembering my promise to her to not cause any trouble. There was no harm in taking the key, after all. I'd just give it back when I could quit. I nodded to Jimmy and tucked it in my back pocket.

Mrs. O'Malley gave a wave of a ringed hand, then turned and walked out the door. She headed right around the corner to the side street.

I had barely gotten halfway back to Sean when the doorbell tinkled again. I turned and sighed. This girl was Japanese, if I had to guess, with straight black hair to her waist and a delicately pale, oval face. She wore a simple white shell and black leggings, with black, satiny, slipper-like shoes.

It was all I could do not to shake my head. Had she been lurking in the street, waiting for the very second she could enter the room?

She stepped toward Jimmy, digging her hand in the massive Coach bag at her side. It was decorated with dark pink hollow circles on a paler pink base. A delicate frown creased her forehead as she stuck her hand further into its depths.

"I can't find my cigarettes."

Jimmy waved a hand at her. "We'll get you some later. We should –"

She pulled away from his outstretched arm, stepping back to the door. "I need my cigarettes," she insisted. "I'll pop across the street to the liquor store. I'll be back in a sec."

He looked as if he would protest, but she turned and slipped through the door, the chime announcing her departure.

Jimmy sighed in exasperation and moved over next to Sean. His voice was a growl. "Women."

Sean's eyes held twinkling amusement, but he did not answer. I found myself lost in that gaze, in the rich greens, in the subtle flecks of gold...

There was the tinkle of a chime behind me, and confusion flitted through me. Surely she couldn't have made it across the madness of Kelley Square and back again that quickly. Maybe she had found the cigarettes –

Sean's gaze was hardening, steeling, and a shaft of fear drilled through me. I'd seen that kind of look in my father's eyes, a few times in the depths of Waterbury's grittier blocks. I knew what it meant.

My heart thundering, I turned in place.

A pair of massive men, nearly contenders for sumo wrestling, stepped through the doorway. They had skin the color of café au lait, and if I had any question about their background it was dispelled by the large Cuban flags each had tattooed on his right bicep. They wore red muscle shirts and faded jeans.

The one on the left was larger, thicker, with a bald head which shone under the bar's lights. The one on the right had tight curls against his head and a scar under his right eye. He seemed to be the leader. His gaze honed in on Jimmy. "You in charge here?"

Jimmy's paunch swung as he turned to face the intruders. "Yeah, I'm Jimmy. Jimmy O'Malley. Whatd'ya want?"

Curly-head looked at Jimmy dismissively. "We got a message for you. We don't want you here."

Jimmy's hands clenched into fists. "Yeah, well look around, _rafter_. There's still signs up on Millbury Street for kielbasa and kiszka. You jerks are just the latest wave to come in and try to stake your ground. This spot here is mine, and I ain't moving."

Curly-head glanced at his friend, and the bald man stepped forward.

Jimmy strode up to stand right in front of him. "You get out of my place, or I'll –"

The bald man grabbed him beneath each arm, arced him up in the air, and slammed him down on his back into the nearest table. It smashed, its legs giving way, sending Jimmy to the ground in a cascade of splinters and planks.

The bald man turned to look at me, a leer growing on his face.

Sean seemed to move between time. One moment he was on his stool, the next he had interjected himself between bald-guy and me, driving a left uppercut hard into the Cuban's jaw. The Cuban's head rocked back, and Sean drove a right roundhouse into the side of his head. The man flew back against the wall by the door and leaned against it, staggered.

Curly-head snarled and drove in like a bull. Sean stepped aside, evading the charge, and slammed his elbow down into the guy's kidney. The Cuban howled in pain and rage, spinning in place. He raced again at Sean, and this time Sean threw a jab at his temple, the momentum of the man's body giving it extra force. The man's legs buckled, folded, and he drove head-first into the door.

Sean balanced on the balls of his feet, looking at the two men, his eyes alert for any sign of movement.

The bald man blinked himself back into awareness. He looked at Sean for a long moment, his fingers flexing, considering another round. His eyes moved up to Sean's – and he stopped. Something he saw there made him let out his breath and drop his eyes. He bent down to drag his friend up, draping one of the curly man's arms over his shoulder. Then he drew open the door with his other hand and together they lurched around to the right.

Sean moved to the door and shut it behind them, turning the bolt. Then he went over to Jimmy and gently hauled him up, his shoulder muscles flexing with the weight. He looped Jimmy's arm over his shoulder and eased him over to the stool.

Sean's voice was low. "You all right?"

Jimmy groaned, rubbing at his lower back. "I think so." His gaze filled with anger. "But if those bastards –"

There was a hammering at the door. Jimmy flinched, curling in on himself. Sean turned in place, his hands solidifying into fists, his shoulders braced for action.

The Japanese girl stood there at the other side, her lips closed in a red pout. Her high voice scraped through the glass. "What the hell, Jimmy?"

Sean stepped forward to open the door. As she stepped into the room her mouth went into a round O. She looked from the smashed table to the numerous cuts on Jimmy's arms. "What in the world happened?"

"It's the fockin' Cubans," snapped Jimmy. "We'll teach them. They should go back to that fockin' island where they belong!"

The girl wrapped her arms around herself. "I wanna go home."

Jimmy growled, but he nodded at me. I went around behind the bar and grabbed the phone, punching the button. Ethan didn't even bother to greet me when he picked up. Caller ID in action.

"I'm around the corner," he said, hanging up.

The girl took one last look around the place, then went back out to the street, rubbing her hands on her arms to keep warm. Ethan pulled up and they were gone.

Jimmy looked at me. "Pour me a double. Some for you, too. And get him whatever he drinks."

I put out three glasses, grabbed the bottle of Redbreast, and poured out the drinks.

Jimmy looked at Sean in surprise. "You drink Redbreast? Are you a Cork man?"

Sean nodded. "Born and raised there, at least until I was nine. Then my ma sent me to live with her sister in Hell's Kitchen, in the heart of New York City."

Jimmy raised a toast to him. "To standing your ground."

We all clinked glasses and drank down the rich liquid, honey coating our throats. Jimmy rubbed at his neck for a moment before looking back to Sean. "You learn to fight in the city?"

Sean gave a slight shrug. "My old man was a boxer, small time stuff. He could be a foul mouth when he drank, but when he was sober he spent time boxing with me. It was what we did. I thought this was how all boys grew up, learning footwork and making the speed bag dance."

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. "Whyd'ya move to the states?"

Sean's lips pressed. "Sometimes my old man would use my ma as a punching bag. When I was nine, I tried to defend her one time, and he turned on me. My mother moved us out the very next day. She sent me to the states, and she moved back in with her parents in County Kildare."

"And your dad?"

He shrugged. "He got drunker, got run out of town, and we haven't heard from him since. For all I know, his liver failed on him."

Jimmy patted him on the shoulder. "Well, whatever that man did wrong, he did one thing right. He taught you how to defend yourself. And that, my friend, is a valuable talent."

The phone rang, and I turned to pick it up. Seamus's voice was terse. "Put Jimmy on."

I handed the phone over to Jimmy. "It's Seamus."

Jimmy paled, but he took the phone, placing it to his ear. "Yeah?"

The stream of swears and fury was so thickly brogued that I could hardly make out individual words. Jimmy listened through it without saying a word. When the verbal assault ended he clicked off the phone, handing it back to me.

"We're closing up, boys," he said to the rest of the room.

I'd completely forgotten the others were even there. They seemed frozen in states of shock, sitting in their seats or standing by the pool table. One by one they creaked into life, putting down their items and heading to the door. They skirted the broken table as if it were contagious with the plague.

I went toward the broom, but Jimmy shook his head. "Trai Hok and his wife will come by and take care of all of that. You're going home. Call Ethan back. Make sure he watches you until you get into the house. You understand me?"

I nodded and pushed the button. Ethan picked up on the first ring. "Thought so," he said without preamble. "Be there for you in a jiff."

Sean started to get up out of his seat, but Jimmy put a hand on his arm. "I'd like you to stay. Seamus wants to meet you. Give thanks for your help here."

Sean eased back into his seat. "Sure, if you want."

He looked across the bar at me, his eyes creased with concern. "You all right?"

I nodded, forcing a smile to my lips. "I'm fine," I assured him. I drained down the last of my whiskey and put the glass back on the bar.

He reached his fingers to rest on top of mine for a moment. They were tender, warm, and I thought how only minutes ago those same fingers were curled with tight precision, were keeping me safe from a world of hurt. My body blazed with heat, and for a wild moment I wanted him to come home with me. I wanted him to be the one to escort me to my door, to my bedroom, to...

His gaze swirled with passion, and I could see the ripple in his shoulders, feel the press of his fingers against mine.

His voice was hoarse. "You stay safe."

There was a honk by the door, and I forced myself to draw my fingers away. I pulled on my hoodie and went around the bar. As I passed Sean, I couldn't help myself. I ran my hand along the back of his brown leather jacket, drinking in the texture of it, that smell of leather that is equaled nowhere else in nature. His head turned to meet mine, and I could see the strength there, the power.

Then I turned, and the whirling dervish of Kelley Square ran on before me as if nothing had happened. On the opposite side of Kelley Square I could see Seamus's black Escalade entering the intersection.

I stepped into the cab and settled back into the stale-cigarette-smelling interior.

Ethan rattled away the whole ride home, about the Cubans and who knew what else, but I barely heard it. I could only see Sean in motion, a panther, a control of muscle and power that I had never experienced before. Ethan drew to a stop before my house, and I was in a daydream as I unlocked the door, closed it behind me, and stepped into my room.

I slumped into my bed, fully dressed, my head delving deep into the pillow. All I could see was Sean, heart-stopping Sean, and I wanted him with every ounce of my body.

# Chapter 5

The hem of my purple-swirled shirt barely skimmed the top of my jeans; the cool November wind sent an edge of chill against the exposed skin as I crossed from the taxi to the bar's door. I stepped inside, swept my gaze around – and I stopped in confusion.

He wasn't there. Not only that, but half the chairs were gone, too. The two pool players were silent in their game. The other four patrons had huddled together around a single table near the corner pocket, as if their solidarity would protect them.

I automatically hung my hoodie on its hook and began mechanically chopping limes, but my brain was racing like a freight train.

He had left.

He had gotten into a fight, his parole officer had found out, and he'd been moved. He could be who knows where.

I might never see him again.

My heart thundered in panic. Sean was the one man I'd ever wanted, the one man I'd connected with. And he was gone.

Jimmy poked his head around the edge of the hallway and nodded when he saw me. "Good. You're here. Seamus and I are having a meeting back in my office. Bring us the Redbreast and the Bushmills."

Of course!

My shoulders relaxed in overwhelming relief. A smile spread broadly across my face. I'd been foolish. That explained all the missing chairs. Surely Sean was part of the gathering. After all, he'd saved the day.

I grabbed the two bottles. My feet were light as I went down the hall to the office. I could hear muttered voices and scraping chairs as I approached.

The room was jammed with probably a dozen men, all serious and in low discussion. Seamus, his body lean and hard even though he must've been nearly fifty, was at the desk with Jimmy. I pushed through to deposit the two bottles on its gleaming wood surface. I grabbed up the two empties that were waiting for me. Then I turned and swept the men, looking –

He wasn't there.

I blinked in disbelief, looking again. There were a collection of ages, from twenty to sixty. The builds ranged from slim to chunky. Some even looked in fairly good shape. But none of them were the one man I wanted, I craved with all my being.

My shoulders sagged as I slowly took the path back to the main room. I swung down the two bottles – and sighed. The recycle bin was overflowing.

I wanted to find the rewind button on this day. I desperately needed to restart and try again.

Somehow I carefully balanced the two new bottles on top of the others. Then I gingerly lifted the whole tub in my arms. I turned to glance at Joey.

"Joey, I'm going out back for a sec."

He absently waved a hand at me, intent on the basketball game.

I hefted the container more snugly in my arms before setting into motion. The office door was closed as I passed it. It took some juggling before I was able to draw open the outside door and move out into the back lot.

The nearby street lamp shone a cold glow into the small area of blacktop. The dumpster was large, black, and the lid kept in most of the stench. A smaller receptacle next to it was half-filled with bottles and lids. I upended my own container into it, making a loud clatter in the night air.

There was an echoing clatter from within the shed.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I turned slowly, staring at it. The shed was corrugated aluminum, perhaps ten by fifteen, and held snow shovels and other sundry equipment. I hadn't noticed before, but the door was half-way open.

Had a raccoon gotten in there, or was it something worse?

I carefully put down the empty container and reached for the tire iron leaning behind the dumpster. My brothers had drilled into me the idea of keeping a weapon in locations you might be vulnerable, and this dumpster certainly applied. I wrapped my fingers along its grip, keeping it low along my leg, then crept carefully toward the opening.

There was no light coming from the shed, and when I got to the door I carefully peered around the edge of it. All I could see within were shadowy shapes. I stepped into the opening –

A man moved before me, large, muscular.

I reacted on instinct, fire pounding in my veins. I swung the tire iron in an arc, up, around, aiming to drive the end of it solidly into his head.

His hand flew up with lightning speed. He caught the top part of the iron inches from his skull.

He stepped forward into the light.

It was Sean.

My breath came out in an explosive gasp. "Jesus Christ, Sean, I could have killed you!"

He gave a wry smile, taking the tire iron out of my hand and putting it down against the shed wall.

I shook my head, my breath still coming in heaves. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

He pushed the door open fully, letting in the light. "With everything that happened yesterday, Jimmy said I could keep her in here. Just in case the Cubans get ideas of retaliation."

I stepped forward into the shed. "Keep what?"

And then I saw it.

The room had been swept, cleaned, and organized. Years of chaotic debris and flotsam now sat stacked and neat along the edges of the wall. In the center of the room sat a black Triumph motorcycle, its silver handlebars gleaming in the streetlight. It could have been a mirror image of the one James Dean had ridden.

My eyes rounded as I approached it, running a hand along its black leather seat. "It's _gorgeous_ ," I sighed. "What year is it?"

"1955. All original," he stated with a hint of pride. "I had it in storage while I was in prison. Just got it back out again."

"No wonder you want to keep this safe," I breathed. The large front headlight was like a beacon, calling me. The words were out before I thought. "I want to ride it."

He came over to stand before me, looking down at me. In the darkness his face was in shadows, his leather jacket blending into the night.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "God, Kay, you are amazing."

I leant back against the wall, looking up at him, my heart thundering in my chest. Kay had been my father's endearment for me. When Sean said it, it sounded soft, sultry, and just right.

I reached out for his hand. My fingers slid along the back of his, and he groaned.

His throat tightened, and he gave his head a short shake. His voice rasped. "You should stay away from me, Kay. Far away. I will be trouble for you."

I found myself sinking into those moss-green eyes, losing myself in their depths, and everything else fell away.

"I can handle the trouble."

His shoulder muscles rippled as he held in place and looked down at me with smoky eyes. Then in a heartbeat he was pressed up against me, his broad chest pushing hard into my breasts, his lips finding mine, claiming them. I gasped as his tongue slid into my mouth. Liquid gold coursed through me, sending my nipples tingling, and heat lower down. I opened my mouth fully to him, losing myself into the sensations of his kiss, utterly lost. Nothing in my life had ever prepared me for the feelings that shook me.

His hands came to my hips, pulling me in harder, then they slid up along the bare skin of my back. Shivers raced down me as he deftly undid the snaps of my bra. My breasts burned with heat as they were freed, as the delicate nipples raked against the moving fabric. He slid his hands around to my breasts, taking one in each hand, sliding his fingers up so they straddled each of my nipples. He squeezed, and the sensation that flooded through me staggered me.

He trailed kisses down my neck, down my chest, and with a slide of his hands he'd pushed my top and bra up over my breasts to expose them to the night air. The nipples hardened further in the cold, and I groaned in pleasure. He squeezed again, and the sensations layered into something indescribable. Then he brought his mouth down to my right breast, and I reeled at the feeling. He slid his hands down to cup my rear, supporting me, and I arched into him, craving more, craving that swirling tongue on my other breast.

"Please," I groaned.

He chuckled, moving his head to the other side, and I wrapped my hands in his thick hair, holding his head in place. I wanted that mouth on every part of me. I wanted his body against mine, I wanted us naked, I wanted –

Jimmy's voice called, loud, sharp, from the entry to the bar. "Katie, you out here?"

I squeaked in shock, grabbing to pull my shirt down over my breasts. I hastily reconnected my bra and brushed back at my hair.

Sean's eyes were still dark with passion, but he gave me a wry smile as he stepped back.

I moved out of the shed and looked over at Jimmy. "Just admiring Sean's bike," I stated, hoping the darkness covered my burning cheeks.

Jimmy nodded, already turning. "Get him in here, too. We're about to get started."

Sean came up behind me, closing the door and snapping the lock shut. His hand slid along my hip, and the heat of desire flooded through me again, swelling my breasts, moistening my sex.

His voice sounded low against my ear. "We'll finish that up later."

He picked up the empty container for me and guided me through the door before closing it behind us. He gave me one last look, fragrant with promise, before moving into Jimmy's office and closing the door behind him.

The hours ticked past with maddening slowness. If normally the night moved by at a glacial pace, tonight it was as if I were watching sand dunes creep slowly, lethargically, under the steady efforts of the wind. My body was aflame, and every move or twist of my body sent it into new surges of desire.

Finally there was the sound of feet and a stream of men emerged, heading across the bar to the door. Jimmy came with them. "Seamus will be staying around with me for a while. You can head on home. Sean's out back – he said he'd take you."

I grabbed my hoodie and had my arms through it before I got halfway down the hall. I stepped out through the back door.

The motorcycle was out on the pavement, pointed at the street. Sean was astride it, a full head helmet on, the visor up. A second, matching black helmet hung in his hand.

He handed me the helmet, and I put it on without a word. I climbed on back. The vibration of the bike beneath me, and his firm, leather-clad body before me, nearly sent me over the edge. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling myself as close as possible.

He groaned, revved the engine, and then we were pulling out into the street. The bike was like butter beneath his guidance, smooth, easy, almost floating along its path. I felt as if I were in another world. I blinked in surprise when my olive-green three-decker appeared out of nowhere.

I didn't want to go in.

He looked back at me, his eyes swirling with a mix of emotions. Desire seemed intertwined with the tightest reins of restraint.

"Kay, I am warning you. If we start down this path –"

Every cell in my body craved him. My throat nearly closed up.

"You are right for me. You are the one man, the only man in the world, who has ever been this right for me."

He groaned with desire, then looked at the three-decker. "Do you have a leather jacket?"

I nodded, climbed off the bike, and ran inside, not even taking off my helmet. I grabbed the jacket from the closet, then ran back outside. I didn't want to give him the chance of changing his mind, of riding away and leaving me alone on this dusty street.

I zipped it up as I climbed back on behind him, wrapping myself around him again. I tapped him on his thigh, putting my head near his ear.

A playful urge tugged at me, and I called out, "I feel the need – the need for speed!"

A rev of the engine, and we were off.

He took us away from the bar, north, and I didn't care where we were going, just that we were together. The bike's vibration sent waves of pleasure coursing through me; his body before me was sturdy, strong, and all I could ever want. The night was glorious, the sky full of twinkling stars against a black velvet backdrop. He took us up onto 290, the elevated highway swirling amongst the buildings of Worcester, then over Lake Quinsigamond.

We moved beyond the city limits, into suburbs, then forests, and then we turned north onto 495. We passed a scattering of cars and trucks – but to me it was as if we were alone, two travelers in a large, empty world. Nothing else existed besides us two.

The bike's rumble eased, and we curled off an exit ramp down into Bolton. The town was one of apple orchards and dairy farms. My heart began beating more quickly. Just what did he have in mind?

He guided the bike off the main street, up narrow, winding roads until he reached the opening to an apple orchard. There were no buildings in sight. He steered the bike onto a dirt path, and we climbed up through rows of trees for perhaps two miles. At last we reached the crest, and he drew to a stop, leaving the engine idling.

The vista was stunning. The autumn hillside sprawled out beneath the moonlight, and in the distance I thought I could see the twinkling lights of Worcester. It was magical.

He turned in place, put his hands under my arms, and lifted me, his shoulders rippling with the effort. I curled my leg as he brought me around, settling me down to face him on the gas tank, my legs astride his. He reached forward to undo my helmet clasp, then hung it on one of the handlebars. He undid his own, placing it on the other side.

The bike rumbled beneath us, his thighs were warm beneath mine, and I wanted him with every beat of my heart.

Our lips slammed together with mutual need, our mouths open, his tongue tantalizing me, driving my already hot flames into searing heat. His hands were at my chest, pulling the zipper of my jacket and stripping it off me with ruthless efficiency. Then he was pulling my top over my head, tossing it on the ground next to my jacket, and pressing kisses all down my neck, my chest, to the curve of my breasts where they were exposed from the bra.

His voice was hoarse. "These last hours have been torture."

I laced my fingers in his hair, pressing his lips against my breast, and his hands undid the bra. I momentarily released my hold to shrug it off, then gasped as his lips seared my nipple. My hands came up around his back, pulling him in, as his teeth teased at first one nipple, then the second. The night air was brisk, and my entire body shone with desire.

He groaned, reaching forward to switch the engine off, then he wrapped his hands beneath my rear and stepped over the bike, carrying me with him. He strode the few steps to a nearby apple tree, pressing me up against its bark. His mouth found mine again, and my breasts flattened against his chest as he drove in against me, his need for me evident against my stomach.

He dropped to one knee in front of me, undoing my jeans, sliding them down my legs to my feet. He pulled off one boot, then the second, then my socks. My toes relished the feel of the soft ground beneath my bare feet. Then he was pulling my jeans fully off.

He looked up at me and groaned in desire. He moved his head forward to start kissing along my thigh, running his tongue along the edges of my panties. I leant back against the trunk, nearly fainting with desire, the rough bark tantalizing my skin.

He hooked a finger around each side of my panties, then slowly, languorously, he pulled them down until my sex was revealed. He let them drop to the ground. I stepped out of them, and he looked up at me, his breath going out of him. The moonlight shone, silver, on my naked body, and my nipples stood hard, ready, eager for him. The only thing I wore was my Saint Michael's medallion glistening at my breast.

I reached for him, my throat all but closed up with passion. "Oh, Sean."

His eyes swirled with emotion, and then his lips moved to my sex. The impact of his tongue rolled my head back against the trunk, and my hands came down to twine in his hair. His fingers kneaded my ass, squeezing, pinching, as his tongue danced against my hard clit. I could feel my juices easing down my leg as his tongue picked up speed, as his hands squeezed and urged me on.

I held in my moans with every ounce of energy I had, but one finally escaped me, shuddering my body.

He looked up at that, his lips glistening. His eyes shone in the moonlight. "I want to hear you."

I flushed. In all the years I'd been with Derek, I had trained myself to be silent. Not that there were many times that I reached orgasm, with his self-centered approach to sex. But both of our apartments had thin walls, and he hadn't wanted anybody else to hear any noise I made.

I'd never had sex without muffling my reactions.

He pinched my ass, and I groaned at the sensation, craving more. His eyes held mine.

"The nearest house is miles away. There's nobody to hear you. I want you set free."

He brought one hand around, maintaining his gaze, then slid two fingers up inside me.

The pleasure of it nearly sent me over the edge. I leant back and a low, guttural groan coursed from me.

"That's my Kay," he murmured. "Sing for me."

He pressed his fingers in deeper, and my groan was lower, richer. He withdrew his fingers and brought them to my lips. "Taste yourself. Taste how beautiful you are."

I sucked in his fingers, swirling my tongue around them, and he groaned in response, pushing his head back into my sex. His tongue moved into action, and my body danced with his motions, arcing, pulsing, with his fingers in my mouth, his hand on my ass, his tongue delving and swirling, sucking and pulsing.

Suddenly I could feel the crest build and I dug my fingers into the hair at the base of his neck. He brought both hands back to support me from my ass, pulling me in hard, driving his tongue deep inside me. The waves rose, rose, carrying me with them, and then they were crashing, exploding like fireworks, and my groans shook through my body, filling my soul, tremoring every corner of my being.

My knees wobbled, and Sean's hands moved under my arms, lowering me down to kneel before him.

I put my hands on either side of his face, my breathing slowing from its breathless heights. I drew his mouth into mine for a long, heartfelt kiss. Time drifted away.

When I finally drew back, I stared at him in amazement.

"I had no idea," I breathed. "No idea at all."

He ran a hand through my hair, his gaze caught on mine. "You are so beautiful," he murmured. "You deserve so much."

I put my hands on his hips and pulled left. He drew to his feet at my urging, and in a moment I had him placed against the same apple tree that had recently supported me. I stayed kneeling before him, and began undoing his belt buckle.

His cock throbbed hard against his jeans, and he groaned. "Oh, Kay."

The buckle came free, and I undid the button, then the zipper. I gave a hard tug, and the jeans slid down to his ankles. His black underwear was pressed out by the pressure of his cock. I slid a hand against the fabric, against the hard member beneath it, and the breath left him.

Slowly, gently, I slid the underwear down his body, admiring his form. The man was in incredible shape – and his cock matched him in every way. I moved my mouth to the top of it, carefully, gently sliding my mouth just over the head, letting my tongue swirl the pre-cum around its top.

Sean shuddered, bringing his hands down into my hair, holding my head in place.

I brought my hands around to grip his firm ass, using only my mouth to slide down deeper, ever deeper, along his shaft. His hips rocked with my motions, and I ran my nails along his skin, smiling as he arched in response, as his breathing grew hoarser, more guttural. He was already close, so close.

I slowed down and he groaned with desire, his fist in my hair tightening, but I resisted his motions. I tantalized him, licking him, pressing my lips in a ring, letting the thick head of the knob pop in and out of that pressure.

His voice was ragged. "Jesus Christ, Please, Kay –"

I dug in my fingers, slammed my mouth against him, and took him fully into my throat. He gasped with pleasure, let out a long groan, and then he was coming, hot and salty, deep into my throat. The pulses went on for long moments, his breath coming in shuddering gasps.

And then, at long last, the pulses slowed, eased, and I sucked gently on him, taking down the lingering remnants of his desire.

He pulled me up to my feet, drew me against his chest, and I wrapped my arms within the leather jacket he was still wearing. He brought his arms around me, pressed his head down against mine, and we were one.

# Chapter 6

I hesitated for a moment before climbing out of the cab. I felt so different, so alive, and I wondered if every person in the bar would see it in me. I didn't care. Let them laugh, let them tease me as much as they wanted. Nothing could spoil my mood. Not as long as Sean was there waiting for me.

I stepped to the door, pressed it open – and frowned.

It was hard to take in. For the month I'd worked here the room had always been near-empty. But now it was packed with men, standing room only, talking in tones that seemed oddly out of place. It was not the lively banter of a Friday night out. It was rich with a tense energy, of anticipation and shadowed darkness.

It came to me. It was the way my father and his friends had talked when a dangerous assignment was looming on the horizon. Like they knew the risks – and they were looking forward to it.

I pushed my way through the crowd to the bar, joining Mrs. O'Malley there. She nodded at me. "Need three more pints of Guinness and two Harps," she stated without preamble. I grabbed up the glasses as she continued pouring out whiskies.

I tried to glance around for Sean as I filled and set out the drinks, but in the throngs it was hard to see individual faces. My heart pounded against my chest. Clearly they were gearing up for action against the Cubans, and they would want Sean in the thick of it.

Sean could get hurt – or worse.

There was a hand on my shoulder, I turned, and Sean was there. A wealth of emotions swirled in his eyes, and I folded in against him, wrapping myself into his chest. His arms came up around me, holding me tight.

All of a sudden it was that momentous morning again, the last time I had seen my father alive. I had hugged him this very way, sensing something in his tension, something hovering in the air. I had begged him not to go. He had kissed me on the forehead, said he loved me, and then he had gone.

He had gone.

My throat closed up on me, and the urge to beg Sean to stay nearly overwhelmed me. I clung to him as if I were on a life raft in the middle of a raging storm.

At last he gently pushed me back, looking down at me. His gaze held steady promise. "I'll be all right."

"You can't know that," I moaned.

He gave a wry smile, brushing one hand along my cheek. "You're my lucky charm."

My hand went to my medallion.

I brought both hands behind my neck, undoing the latch. The latch that had not been released since that day of my father's funeral.

I held it in my hands for a long moment, then looked up to Sean. "This was my father's. I want you to wear it."

His eyes stilled, and he looked at me in stunned silence. At last he found his voice.

"Kay, are you sure?"

I nodded, holding out my hands.

He dropped to one knee before me, and I brought the chain around his neck, bringing my head next to his to do the clasp. I lay my hands against his neck for a long moment, feeling the strength in his shoulders. Then I slid my hand up to twine in his hair, and he bowed his head.

I kissed the top of his head. My voice was a mere whisper. "Be safe. Come home to me."

He reached up to gently take my hand, then he turned it as he brought it around to his lips. He pressed the softest of kisses against the inner part of my wrist. I could feel it course through me, down to my very toes.

When he rose again, his eyes were steady and firm.

Pride shone within me. If anybody could get through what was to come, he would.

Seamus climbed up onto a chair by the TV, hitting the wall with his fist a few times to get the room to settle down. He drew his eyes around the crowd.

"You know what to do. Now let's go do it. Nobody disrespects us in our own place. Nobody."

The men growled in agreement, and the stream began moving out the door. Jimmy came by the front of the bar, glanced at his wife, and kept walking, with Seamus close behind.

Sean held my gaze for a long moment, and I stepped back. I wrapped my arms around each other and gave him a small smile. I would be right here until he returned to me.

He nodded, turned, and then he was lost in the crowd.

When the room cleared there were the six regulars along with two stout men in their forties. The newcomers took seats right by the door.

Mrs. O'Malley nudged a head at them as she went around to gather up glasses. "They'll keep an eye on us here, just in case," she commented to me. "But we won't need them. Seamus will teach those bastards a lesson. Nobody messes with our family and gets away with it."

It seemed I couldn't go sixty seconds without glancing over at the door, but Kelley square swirled on in its maddeningly complex dance of slammed-on brakes and screeching tires. An ambulance screamed through, delving across the center of the chaos like a surgeon's blade through a cancerous tumor.

And still the door remained motionless.

I went out to wipe down the tables, to refill Joey's Bushmills, and it was maddening, maddening. How could I be cutting up limes, as if nothing at all were happening, when somewhere out there Sean was diving into Hell? Where were they? What were they doing? What kind of a place were they going to assault – and who was there to fight back?

Mrs. O'Malley shook her head. "Lass, you're going to have a nervous breakdown at the rate you're going," she warned me. "Take deep breaths. Here, have some Redbreast. It settles the nerves." She poured me a shot.

I took the glass without hesitation and downed it in one smooth swallow. It hit me hard; I leant against the bar for a moment, but I welcomed the distraction. And she was right. The chaotic thoughts eased up, if only for a bit.

"They'll be fine," she calmly assured me. "Seamus knows what he's doing. Done this many times, back home."

I looked over at her, at her deep brown eyes heavily lined with mascara. "How about Jimmy?"

She snorted, glancing at the gold wedding ring on her finger. "It should've been Liam, his brother," she murmured. "Now _there_ was a man. He was Seamus's partner, you know. You had the two of them side by side, and nothing could stand in their way. We were engaged, once."

I could hear the ache of longing in her voice.

"What happened to him?"

Her eyes grew cold. "The British bastards," she snapped. "Shot him six times. In the back." Her eyes swung to the door. "My brother would have gone up to take them all on, but I managed to convince him to come with me to the states instead, to get Jimmy out of harm's way. Things were tense back then."

She shrugged. "Jimmy was a miserable failure as a soldier, but he was a sweet talker, and somehow I gave in to him. I thought that he might grow into his brother's shoes." She snorted. "He never did."

"Still, you two seem to love each other," I offered.

She snorted again. "That bastard would stick his cock into a tub of ice cream, if it had a hole in it," she snapped. "But a vow's a vow, and he's not a mean drunk. We have our separate worlds, and he makes sure the bills are paid. So that's life."

I pressed my lips together. That didn't sound like much of a life at all. I wondered how people got themselves into these situations, got so used to misery that they began to think of it as normal and even something to hold onto.

Sean's face came into my mind, and with it a longing which nearly toppled me. There was a man worth loving, worth risking all for. At every turn he'd defended those he cared for. His mother, his friends, me.

He had to come back to me unharmed.

The bell tinkled, and my heart stopped. I gripped the edge of the bar and looked up.

Sean had Jimmy's arm draped over his shoulder and was half-carrying him in through the door. Jimmy's right leg had a spreading bloodstain on the front of the calf and he wasn't putting any weight on it. Sean had a dusky-purple bruise on his temple and his black shirt was torn in several places.

Mrs. O'Malley grabbed up the Redbreast and was around the bar in a heartbeat. For all her talk, her face was filled with concern as she helped her husband into his seat and handed over the bottle. He swigged down a mouthful, returning it to her.

"Tripped over a case of beer," he growled. "Missed half the fight."

There was a honk outside, and he looked up. "That's Seamus. He'll take me to the hospital." His eyes turned to Sean. "You lock the place up, and you and Katie get over to our house. The guest room is up the stairs and on the left." He dug in his back pocket, bringing out a key on a ring. "Lock up after you get in there. Don't open for nobody until me or Bridgit get home. Understand?"

Mrs. O'Malley put her arm under Jimmy, gently hauling him to his feet. "I got ya."

Sean opened the door for them, and they walked the few steps to the waiting Escalade. In a moment they were inside and it pulled away from the curb.

The remaining men in the bar didn't need a word. They filed out into the darkness. Sean set the bolt, flipped the sign to "closed", and then turned to me.

My breath returned to me. I raced to him, my arms threading within his leather jacket, needing to feel his body against me, his skin, to know he was all right. He groaned in pain as my fingers pressed against his back, but he didn't pull away – just held me tighter against him. He pushed me back against the bar, and I went willingly, my mouth turning up toward his, my body aching with need for him.

He looked at me, hot with passion, and then he growled with desire. "God, Kay, what you do to me. I have to get you somewhere safe." He turned with me, moving me in front of him down the back hall. We got out into the parking area, and his Triumph was waiting. We climbed on, put on our helmets, and then we were roaring down the street, deep into the heart of Worcester.

I barely took in the twists and turns before we pulled up in front of a dark blue Colonial house with a two-car garage on the side. The houses on the street were close but not oppressive. He took the bike around the side of the garage, through a gate, and brought it to a stop in the neatly mown back yard. High fence surrounded us on all three sides.

We climbed off the bike and went to the back door. He used the key, pushed it open, and we stepped into the kitchen.

I reached for the light, but he caught my hand in his, shaking his head in the dark. He closed the door behind us, locking it, then led us through the shadows, somehow navigating his way across what must have been a living room. We reached the front door and he guided us up the stairs. The door to the left was open, we went through, and he pushed it closed behind us.

The moonlight streamed in through the open windows, gilding the world with silvery edges. His eyes shone with hot desire and need. His voice was guttural and strained. "Kay – I'll warn you –"

I threw myself at him, pressing my mouth into his, holding nothing back.

He groaned, his shoulders rippled, and then he was lifting me and carrying me over to the bed. He dropped me on it so my hips were at the lower edge, my legs hanging off the end. His hands popped my jeans button, raked down the zipper, and the fabric ripped off of me, taking my underwear down to my knees at the same time. He yanked them the rest of the way, then his hand drove into his back pocket, coming out with a foil pouch. He had his jeans loose and sliding down to the ground as he latched his fingers on his underwear and sent it in the same direction. His cock throbbed hard, huge, and I gasped at the size of it.

He slid the condom on, my knees came up on either side of me of their own accord, and then he delved into me.

My cry of pleasure echoed throughout the empty house as he filled me, stretched me, plundered me in a way I'd never even imagined possible. The cry became a long, drawn out moan, a song, and he groaned in response, twining his hand into my hair. He pounded into me, harder, harder, and my body arced in response, desperately needing him. My ankles crossed at his waist, pulling him in more deeply, and his breath came in short, urgent gasps.

"Kay – I – My God – Kay –" and then he was shuddering, exploding, throbbing deep within me. That was all I needed. I shattered, a million crystals rising high into the night sky, reflecting silver light, turning, spiraling.

Then, at last, at long last, I was drifting, falling, settling down into a quiet river.

He lay down on top of me. I relished the weight, the sense of security, the feeling of his cock within me and his strength all around me. I drew both hands around to his back, pulling his shoulder blades in against me.

He turned his head to look at me, and the emotion which shone in his eyes took my breath away. It was all I could do to get his name out.

"Oh, Sean."

He stilled for a long moment. Then he leant forward to tenderly, gently press his lips against mine.

Within me, I could feel his shaft give a soft but noticeable throb.

I nuzzled against him with my nose. "You sure you aren't too sore from tonight's adventures?" I gave a soft tilt with my hips.

His cock twitched again, and a gleam came into his eyes. His mouth came down to mine, gentle at first, then more insistent, and the world fell away.

# Chapter 7

The mattress beneath me was soft and comfortable, the comforter on top billowy and jasmine-smelling, and I blinked my eyes open in confusion. Golden sunlight streamed across an unfamiliar room, dancing on the royal blue covers and thick cream carpet. The walls held small watercolors of forget-me-nots.

I rolled to my side, but the bed was empty. A single rose lay on the pillow, its crimson petals glistening.

I smiled, taking up the stem and admiring the blossom. Sean was astounding. His body brought me to heights of pleasure I'd never thought possible. And he truly cared about me as well.

For some reason nervousness whirled in the pit of my stomach. It all seemed too good to be true. Something would happen. Surely something awful would happen, to take this all away from me.

I pushed the thought away, climbed out of bed, and gathered up my clothes from where they were scattered around the room. I took a few minutes in the bathroom to freshen myself up, then picked up the rose. There were quiet sounds of movement coming from downstairs, so I headed down the stairs and across the neat living room with its dark green couch and flat-screen TV.

Mrs. O'Malley was in the kitchen amongst her pine cabinets and white marble island. She nodded in welcome as she sliced tomatoes. Sausage and eggs were already frying on the stove, and the aromas sent my stomach grumbling.

"Morning," she said with a smile. "The boys will be back soon. They're just off with Seamus to check on things." She tossed the tomato slices into the pan and shook it around. She nudged her head at one of the stools by the counter. "Take a seat. Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea would be fine," I responded. In a minute a steaming off-white mug was sitting before me. Next came the plate with the fragrant breakfast. She put hers alongside mine and came around to sit.

I took a bite, soaking in the delicious flavors. "How is Jimmy?"

She drank some of her tea. "He's an ox – he's fine. Just twisted something and scraped off a layer of skin; the doc said to take it easy for a few days. There weren't any serious injuries, thank God."

She looked over at me. "I might'a been wrong about Sean. I'm woman enough to admit it. Seamus says Sean was a key part of what went down last night. When Jimmy got hurt. Sean was right by his side, holding off three of the Cubes until he got on his feet again. Then Seamus came in with the cavalry. A few of our boys wanted to escalate, but Sean talked them 'round. He was a good soldier."

My cheeks warmed. That was my Sean she was talking about. He was a man to be proud of.

And yet that twisting came back into me. He'd just been in a turf war – and this was only going to get worse. A voice in my head said we should run, run, run...

The back door pushed open, and Jimmy came through, then Sean. He wore the same dark brown leather jacket, a dark grey shirt nearly identical to the black one from yesterday, but somehow he seemed even more handsome than the first day I'd seen him. His eyes had richer depths, his shoulders had a stronger set.

He was mine.

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile, and he came around to my side, sliding his hand along my waist and giving me a squeeze. His lips met mine for a long kiss. When he drew back, he traced his fingers along my face. "Good morning, beautiful."

Mrs. O'Malley looked over at Jimmy. "So?"

He plunked down on the stool on the other side of her. "Looks like it worked. The Cubans weren't expecting that kind of a show of force. They thought me and my bar were all they had to deal with." He grinned. "Now they know better."

He nudged his wife. "We did good, huh? Just like the old days."

She gave a snort. "You fell on your ass while Seamus and Sean took care of business," she returned. She ate the last bit of egg off her plate and stood, taking the plate over to the sink to rinse it off.

Jimmy's shoulders fell, and he looked down at the counter for a moment. At last he turned to Sean. "Joey's going to run the bar today, to give Katie a day off. Just in case, you know. So you take her out, have some fun." He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and drew out some bills. "Get her some real food. Not that ramen crap she's been eating."

Sean took the bills and tucked them into his own wallet. He looked over at me. "Ready to go?"

My plate was empty, and I stood, putting my hand into his. "Absolutely."

We walked out to the Triumph. As I picked up my helmet I noticed an odd, thick wire sticking out of the lower part of the visor. "What's this?"

He smiled as he put his on. "In-helmet communication. Figured it might be nice to be able to talk while we're riding." He climbed onto the bike, and in a moment I was at his back, hugging myself close to him.

I chuckled. "Testing, testing."

He turned the key, and the bike purred into life. "Got you loud and clear," he responded. He turned his wrist, and the bike glided out of the back yard and onto the street. "Swing by your house so you can take a quick shower?"

"Sure, my landlady gets her hair done Thursday mornings, so you can even come in for a while."

I could hear the smile in his voice. "Tempting, so tempting, but we won't have time for any entanglements. Not right now."

My curiosity was piqued. "Oh? Why not?"

"You'll see," was all he would say.

In a few minutes we pulled up to the three-decker and walked up to the door. I hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door to my room. My tiny room would undoubtedly seem barren, lacking... but at last I led us in.

He looked around with interest, his eyes landing on the guitar, the row of books. "Cozy."

I gave a snort. "That's one word for it." I rummaged through the shirts, drawing out a long sleeved green one, a pair of jeans, and the other items I'd need. "I'll be as quick as I can."

"I'll be right here," he promised.

It was hard turning from him, and I probably showered and dressed more quickly than I ever had in my life. When I came back to my room he was standing at the window, staring out into the street, a distant look in his eyes. He turned at my approach, his gaze warming.

"You make it challenging to stay on a timetable," he murmured, stepping forward to put his hands on my hips. "It would be so nice to –"

A grey Subaru Outback eased past the house and turned into the driveway.

I sighed. "And there she is, right on cue."

Sean chuckled, picking up the helmets. "Your chariot awaits, My Lady."

We headed north, up 190, and by the time we turned west on 2 I had settled in for the ride, soaking in the lovely foliage along the twisting, turning road. The sunshine was glorious, bringing out rich orange rusts and deep crimsons from the leaves. At times he'd go off the main road and into smaller nooks, then there were spots where he hit a straightaway and opened her up, the wind blowing back my hair.

And we rode.

Our conversations streamed along with the miles, easy, relaxed, about anything and everything. I learned he adored bread pudding with a caramel-whiskey sauce. He'd always wanted to explore Alaska. He missed his mother and wished he could visit more often.

I told him about life growing up with four older brothers. Three of them were now cops like my father had been, spread out in Miami, Vegas, and Boston. The fourth ran a restaurant near Hartford. My mom was still a teacher, still trying to convince ninth graders that Emily Dickinson and Sylvia Plath had meaning in their lives.

The sun was embellishing the sky with purple spirals and violet whiskers by the time we were near home again and easing down the ramp into Worcester's Shrewsbury Street district. With the area being block after block of delicious food, I wondered where Sean was planning on taking me.

I smiled as he pulled into the parking lot of the Flying Rhino. Out of all the restaurants here, this one definitely had the most personality. Lime green walls, cherry-red chairs, the menu was eclectic and, by all reports, delicious. I'd never been here before. And, best of all, they'd be quite fine with our jeans and motorcycle gear. They took all comers with a smile.

My lobster ravioli was absolutely stunning, soaked in a sherry sauce, and I took another sip of my Riesling. "I won't have room for dessert, at this rate," I teased him.

His eyes gleamed. "No dessert here," he countered. "I have other plans for us."

I smiled, not even asking. I was going to leave everything in his capable hands. So far, this had been one of the best afternoons of my life.

When we were done, we suited up and drove south this time, down 146. In no time at all we had reached an abandoned drive-in. The large, stone archway entrance was cordoned off with a neon-yellow cable. Sean guided the bike around the outside of the arch, through the dense weeds, and we went up the gravel road to the drive-in area itself. The speakers and posts were long gone, but the plant-speckled pavement still had its traditional undulations. The projection house was half caved in, and the large screen had a few missing panels, but in the glowing moonlight there was a romantic, nostalgic feeling to the place.

A thick row of trees shielded us from the noise of 146, and it gave only a soft murmur as cars whooshed past.

He pulled to a stop in a prime viewing location, in front of the looming, pale screen, and I obediently climbed off. He opened up the side bags and laid out a large, dark green blanket for us. Then he brought out a bottle of bubbly, an elegantly-wrapped cheesecake, and a collection of plastic utensils and plates.

I looked at the cheesecake, impressed. "S&S Cheesecake, Bronx, NYC. I've heard about them."

He grinned. "Only the best in the world," he agreed. "Come, have a seat." He undid the wire cage around the cork, wrapped his hand around the top of the cork, and gently eased it off. He winked at me. "Keeps the most bubbles in the wine," he advised me. "Gets you drunk more quickly."

"Oh, does it?" I teased. In a moment he had our glasses poured, and he held his up.

His eyes became serious. "Kay, you are the most amazing woman I've ever met. To you."

I blushed and tapped my glass against his. "Thank you. For everything."

He took a sip, and then a playful look came back into his eyes. "And now for the main feature."

He reached behind him and drew out a large iPad. He arranged the Champagne bottle before us, leaning the iPad against it. Then he pressed a few buttons.

Top Gun began playing, the deep bass notes echoing across the empty field.

I laughed out loud, settling back. "How did you know I liked this movie?"

His eyes twinkled. "Oh, just a guess. Would you like some cheesecake?"

"Absolutely!"

The dessert was as stunning as anticipated, the stars twinkled overhead, and by the time the movie reached its blue-hued sex scene with Tom Cruise bringing Kelly McGillis to new heights of pleasure, Sean and I were right there with them.

# Chapter 8

I twined my fingers into Sean's across the bar's counter, content simply being with him. We had talked so much over the past few days that I felt that we could read each other's thoughts. He was everything I could have hoped for in a man. After all the false starts, after all the heartache, life was finally dealing me a hand I could savor.

I wished I could push away the feeling that it was all about to come tumbling down on our heads.

The Cubans had not made a peep after Sean and Seamus's 'visit' two nights ago. I had no idea if this meant that the Cubans accepted the new status quo or if they were gearing up for something even more spectacular. But for now the two bodyguards lounged in boredom by the door, the regulars skittishly glanced around at every odd noise, and Jimmy paced the floor with a cock-sure attitude which seemed unnatural.

I watched him with curiosity. Had he always had this false veneer over him, or had I become more aware of it since talking with his wife about his past? I could see now how he tried to project an aura of self-assuredness, but the twitch in his eyes showed the undercurrent of nerves. Maybe it'd all been brought out by the recent conflict – but I had a sense it had always been in there. Maybe that was part of why he entertained his series of girls. Maybe they helped him feel more a "real man" amongst his peers.

A tinkle sounded at the door. I turned, and a combination of disappointment and resignation coursed through me. At least this one might have been twenty-two or twenty-three rather than barely legal. Her skin was Renaissance-pale, with wavy, red hair shimmering down past her waist. She wore a delicate, pale-blue dress which skimmed her knees. Her handbag was cream, with a Pegasus and a rose on its center, and she clutched it with both hands.

Jimmy's eyes lit up, and he strode forward. "Ah, there you are. I thought you might have gotten lost."

She nudged her head back toward Kelley Square. "Had to make my way across that deathtrap on foot. It took me nearly ten minutes."

Jimmy patted her warmly on the back. "Not to worry, my dear. Come on in the back where we can talk a bit." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, guiding her into the dim hallway.

My heart sank as they turned the corner. I found myself pulling my phone out of my back pocket, clicking the text app, and sending yet another message off to Eileen.

Sean's voice was low. "No answer from her yet?"

I shook my head, staring at the screen. "It's been over a week since she last wrote. I hope she's OK. I know her grandmother was very ill. Maybe things took a turn for the worse."

He patted my hand reassuringly. "Or maybe she just misplaced her phone or something. I'm sure she'll get back to you soon."

His brow creased. "You know, if you really hate working here that much –"

I stuffed the phone back into my pocket. "I promised Eileen I'd keep things together until she got back. If I quit, and they had to hire another girl, they might not take Eileen on when she came home again. She's been working here for nearly a year now and loves it. She'd never forgive me if I made a mess of things here."

His fingers brushed over mine. "You're very loyal to her."

I gave a wry smile. "She was there for me when I finally wrenched myself away from Derek. I owe it to her."

A shadow crossed his face. "I hate to think of you with that man; the things he did to you."

I squeezed his hand and smiled. "That is all in the past now," I assured him. "I could never trust him; he lied constantly to me." I looked up into those steady eyes. "I know you would never lie to me. I trust my heart to you."

He curled my fingers around his hand, then lowered his head to kiss them.

Time drifted by, our conversation wrapping us in a warm cocoon, and I barely noticed when the red-head slipped out on her way home, or the traffic in the square slowed to just a manageable Twister game. But at last Jimmy emerged from his office, yawning and stretching his arms over his head.

"That's it, boys," he announced to the guys. "Time to head on home." He turned to Sean. "And you, I think you have something to show to that girl of yours."

I looked at Sean in surprise. "You do?"

His eyes sparkled. "I was waiting until you were done for the evening."

Jimmy made a waving motion. "Go on. I'll lock up. You two have fun."

Sean came around and held out my leather jacket for me, then we went out to the back lot. He rolled the Triumph out of the shed. In a moment we were in motion, but not toward my street. Instead we headed south just a few blocks and pulled up alongside a rectangular, three-story brick building.

I looked at it in surprise. "I know this place. Didn't it used to be a schoolhouse?"

He nodded and then guided me in to the back door. He punched in the code, and we started up the stairs. "I've got a studio on the third floor. Jimmy and Seamus are helping me with it, in thanks for my assistance."

A twist went through my stomach at the thought of Sean getting deeply involved with those two. "Are you sure..."

We had reached the door, and he turned to look down at me. "Am I sure what?"

I dropped my eyes. Here he was, trying to get back on his feet, finally in his first new apartment, and I was going to ruin the evening for him. I shook my head and put on a smile. "Nothing. Let's see this new place of yours."

He put the key in the lock, turned the knob, and pushed open the door.

I stepped through, my mouth falling open in surprise. It was stunning. The floor was polished wood, shining in the moonlight. The walls were exposed brick interspersed with white. A bank of windows overlooked the city, edged by white curtains. A large bed was against the far left wall, made with a thick, ivory cover and several large pillows. Small oak tables stood on either side of it. There was also a sturdy oak dresser, an oak table with two chairs against it, and a modern kitchen in white and chrome.

I stepped in, turning in place. "Sean, it is fantastic!"

He smiled, coming to me. "I'm glad you think so."

He had left the lights off, and the moonlight gave a glittery sheen to everything in the room. He shrugged off his leather jacket, took mine, and hung them on hooks by the door.

As my eyes adjusted, I realized that there were large paintings on the walls – squares and rectangles interrupting the steady brick pattern. I approached the one hanging over the black couch. "And what is this poster of?"

As I drew close, I realized it wasn't a poster. It was a black and white photograph – blown up – of his Triumph. It was a side view; the bike's front wheel was tilted slight toward the camera, as if the motorcycle were giving a come-hither look to the viewer. The emotion in it stunned me.

"Did you do this?"

He came up beside me, and the look in his eyes was almost hesitant. "I did. What do you think?"

I looked up at him in amazement. "That is incredible!"

The smile that brightened his face was like a child's at Christmas, and I wrapped him in a hug. I gazed again at the photo. "Do you exhibit these?"

He shook his head, glancing again at the image. "My father said doing art was for pussies, for those who couldn't earn their living properly with their own two hands. One time I brought him a photo I'd taken of a local church. I was so proud of the way the shadows fell across the green." He looked down. "My Dad grabbed it from me and ripped it into confetti. Said I was wasting my time with this nonsense, and should be focusing that energy on practicing my footwork."

I laced my fingers into his. "Well, your dad was a fool, because these are great. I want to see them all."

The next one was a field of rippled white, with just the tops of a pair of Adirondack chairs poking up from the center. I realized this must have been a massive snowstorm to have so thoroughly covered the wooden chairs.

"From a friend's yard, during a blizzard," he explained.

The scene could have been just a simple document of the inches that had fallen, but again Sean had managed to work so much more into it. The two chairs seemed close, like lovers, but the snow had held them apart, had all but covered them up. They were forced to wait, frozen, immobile, until spring came and gently released them.

My breath caught in my throat. My voice was a mere whisper.

"That was us."

He brought his hand up to brush my hair back from my face, his gaze tender. "Oh, Kay –"

He drew me in, and his kiss was gentle, soft, and burrowed deep into my soul. He swept me up in his arms and carried me to his bed. He laid me on the blanket, then stood, gazing down at me. "Wait there for just a moment."

I watched as he moved to a closet, withdrew a medium-sized box, then walked around the room. At each counter and table he placed a pillar candle and lit it. Soon the entire room sparkled with glittering flames.

I gazed around at the effect. "Sean – it's beautiful!"

He stopped by the bureau, leaving the empty box by its side. He set his phone into the Bose speaker unit and pressed a button. In a moment rich cello music, laced with longing and desire, swelled from every corner of the room.

I recognized it at once as one of my favorites. "That's Yo-Yo Ma, playing Bach."

He seemed caught for a moment, lost in time, then he came back to my side, kneeling. His eyes glistened with emotion. "Kay, sweetest Kay, I never thought I would find you."

He drew me to him, and while I had thought the kisses of the past few nights could never be topped, something in the way he held me, he pressed his lips to mine, brought tears to my eyes. I wrapped my arms around him, and his tongue met mine, but not to claim me – to save me.

His hands went to the bottom of my shirt and slowly, tenderly peeled it up my body, as if I were the most precious present he had ever received. His eyes glowed as he removed it over the top of my head, letting my hair cascade back down over my shoulders. He dropped the shirt to the side, his eyes never leaving me, and he drew in a long breath.

"You are stunning. Someday I will photograph you."

I crossed my arms self-consciously over my bra, blushing. "I don't think that's a good idea."

He gently took my hands in his, drawing them back away from my breasts. "I will capture for you how I see you, and then maybe you will understand." His head lowered to nuzzle along my left breast, and fire blazed within it, peaking my nipples, sending waves of desire throughout my body. His lips suckled at the soft flesh, pushing along the edge of the bra, and I craved him with all my being.

He slid down the bed, slowly undoing the button of my jeans, then sliding the zipper down one notch at a time. I could hear each soft click, could feel the liquid flowing in my sex. By the time he slid my jeans down my legs my skin was alive with sensation. Every movement of the fabric felt like a tantalizing caress.

I was now only in my black lace bra and matching panties. He smiled at that, his eyes moving down me. "You are art incarnate," he murmured. "You were made for me."

If before he had been a windstorm, a raging river, tonight he was the steady, inexorable waves of a beautiful tropical seashore.

And he was mine.

I drew up to sitting, putting my hands at his waist. "You are my present, too," I reminded him. "Let me unwrap you."

His eyes sparkled with amusement mixed with something stronger, but he remained still as I slowly, languorously drew the fabric of his shirt along his rippled muscles and up over his thick, well defined biceps. By the time I drew the neck over his head, letting his thick hair fall through it, his gaze had become richer, swirled with passion.

My Saint Michael pendant glistened against his skin, and my heart swelled.

He was mine.

My hands moved to his belt, slowly undoing the buckle, sliding the leather through the loops one rung at a time. By the time the last bit drew clear, the outline of his need for me pressed hard against his jeans.

I slid my hand along the bulge for a moment, and his breath caught. He reached a hand out for me, but I leaned back, shaking my head. I brought my hands down to his button, pulling the fabric apart so the fabric around the button stretched, stretched... and then finally the button popped free.

He groaned.

I slid his zipper down inch by inch, letting each click echo in his body. Finally I reached the end. He lifted his hips, and I slid the jeans off of him with a twisting motion, giving his skin the time to crave even more touch.

His black underwear was tented, and I smiled up at him.

"Maybe you should take a photo of both of us," I murmured.

His gaze was full heat, mixed almost with a sense of wonder. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes."

I eased off the bed and stood between him and the window, so my body would form a silhouette, my shadow falling across him. I slid my right strap off my shoulder, then my left. I put my left arm across my breasts, holding the bra in place, then with my right I undid the back.

His breath was coming in long, slow draws, and his eyes soaked me in like a salmon breathing in the scent of its long lost home.

I lowered my arm, arching my back slightly, and he gave a long groan of desire.

I turned in place, showing my back to him, then hitched a finger on each side of my panties. As I slid them down, I bent over, so that by the time they reached the floor my hair was pooling at the floor by my feet.

I looked around the side of my calf to the bed. His face shone with torment and desire.

His voice was rough. "God, Kay, I need you. I need you."

I turned to slip my hand into his jeans pocket, finding the foil square I knew would be there. I put a corner in my teeth, then went to the bed. Again he raised his hips as I drew his underwear down the length of his lean, muscular legs. I straddled his thighs, ripping the packet open and drawing the condom down the rock-hard length of his shaft.

His hands went to my legs, sliding their way up to cup my ass. He groaned again, his body arching.

I lowered myself, my moist opening finding him by instinct, the pressure of him stretching me, filling me, and I slid until I was fully seated against him. My nipples brushed against his chest, and electricity sizzled through me, racing down into every corner of my being. I slid up again, savoring every moment, then down, more quickly this time.

His groan was louder.

His hands slid to take a firm hold of my hips, I drew my calves tight against his, and then our rhythm grew, built. It echoed between us like ripples building off each other.

Our moans echoed off the brick walls, drowned out the music, soared over the buildings and streets of Worcester County.

And then at last we were exploding, cascading, showering the moonlit world with silver-laced notes of unadulterated release.

# Chapter 9

I blinked my eyes open, feeling both exhausted and satiated beyond all reckoning. My breath caught, and I stared at the sight before me.

Sean was asleep. The thick, white comforter was drawn to his waist, and he looked like a Greek God come to life. His six-pack and sculpted form could have been marble, the sensual curve of his bicep a masterpiece created by Michelangelo.

And he was mine.

Sean opened his eyes, and for a long moment we were lost, were connected in a way I had never thought possible. And then time became a distant memory.

It was nearly noon by the time I was sitting at the oak table finishing off a delicious stack of pancakes. He had made us a batch from scratch, complete with strawberries and whipped cream.

I pushed the plate back with a grin. "I could get used to this."

He reached over to sweep the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. "I would like that."

His phone buzzed, and he looked down at it. "It's Jimmy – I need to take this."

I waved him away. "Of course. I'll just check up on things." I pulled my own phone over.

He went to the far side of the room, hitting the answer button and talking quietly into it. I checked my email – nothing of note – then went to the Worcester Telegram webpage to see if anything was up in town.

It must have been slow news for a Saturday. The lead story was some blonde curly-headed moppet, age fifteen, who had managed to break a record for sculling. Apparently she was already quite tall for her age, and the reporter expected even greater achievements from her as she grew into her full strength.

Sean came back to me. "They need me for something over at the warehouse for a few minutes. If you want, we can swing by there, then go for a ride before you have to start work tonight."

I smiled. "I'd like that a lot. As long as we leave time after the ride for me to change and have a quick shower, that sounds perfect."

I slipped back into my clothes from yesterday and stood by the door while Sean gathered up his wallet and keys. The photo here was the only color photo in the entire room, and like the others, it held an intense power in it. This one was a close-up of a burning home. It seemed to be a second story window, with glowing crimson flames licking out of the black opening. Thick, ivory smoke billowed up from the eaves of the roof, visible just above. The wooden shingles of the house were buckled and twisting, as if the heat were pushing them out from within. The whole piece gave a sense of power – of intensity – and of imminent collapse.

The feeling hung with me as I climbed onto the back of his bike, as we navigated the hellish doom which was Kelley Square and then headed further into the depths of Worcester. The brick warehouse was down a narrow, back alley, with high buildings on all sides. I could barely make out the blue sky above.

He glanced at the black metal door, then me. He took off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar. "You stay right here," he stated. "I'll be back in a few minutes, and then we can have that ride." He smiled. "We should have time to make it down to Providence, to ride along the bay for a while. How does that sound?"

I smiled. "It sounds lovely."

He patted me on the arm, and then he turned and went to the door. He knocked, the door was pulled open, and then it swung shut again.

The image of Sean's photo hung before me. The flames were almost alive in their bright, forge-hot glow. I could hear the groaning of the timbers, the whooshing of the air driven by the heat. Time ticked by and I wrapped my arms around my chest. Where was Sean? I wanted to get away, get out onto the open road, where the breeze blew free all worries and concerns. I knew the fresh salt air would shake loose these phantom thoughts.

A scurry of a movement in the side alley made me jump, and I climbed off the bike before I knew I was doing it. I pulled off the helmet and tucked it under one arm. Maybe I would just ask to wait inside with him. Surely they couldn't be much longer.

I went to the door, and a crack of light shone along its edge. I realized that they hadn't closed it fully after he went in. Maybe I could ease in without anybody noticing, and just stay by the door. I was sure they wouldn't mind.

A scratching noise came from the alley, and that settled the issue for me. I pushed the door open slightly and stepped in.

The warehouse was fairly large, about the size of a football field, and all the windows were boarded over from the inside. The area near me was all in darkness and shadows, with stacks of boxes and other random supplies piled in haphazard heaps. A grouping of large lights on stands was at the far end, centered around in a circle. There were low voices and milling people.

Curious, I stepped forward.

I had reached a pyramid of Guinness cases when the scene resolved more clearly for me, and I staggered, leaning against them. It took a minute for my brain to catch up with my eyes, for the meaning of the scene to coalesce into a firm thought.

The lights were all pointed at a large, king-sized bed, done up in black satin sheets with red accent pillows. The Japanese girl from several nights ago was sprawled, naked, across its center, and one hand languidly stroked the shaft of a middle-aged man who stood at the side of the bed. She looked half-bored, half-annoyed.

On the other side of the bed, the Renaissance beauty from yesterday was standing with a crimson robe around her, her face done in bright makeup. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Mrs. O'Malley was speaking to her through gritted teeth, her voice low, but the emotion evident with every sharp movement of her hand.

Finally she pointed to the bed, reached out her hand, and ripped the robe off of the girl, leaving her pale skin stark naked under the glare of the spotlights.

I spun in place, racing the short distance to the door, slipping through, and closing it carefully behind me. My heart pounded against my ribs as if it wanted to break free and run... run...

I climbed back onto the bike, in complete shock, retreating within my closed visor and my leather jacket. I wrapped my arms around my body, still unable to fully take in what I had seen.

The door opened, and Sean strode out, coming over to the bike with a satisfied look on his face. He slipped on his helmet, closed the visor, and my earpiece crackled into life. "And here we go! Ready for a ride?"

Unable to speak, I tapped him on the leg. He rolled on the throttle, and we eased away from the warehouse, abandoning all those within to their torment.

As he took us up onto the highway, I brought my phone out of my pocket and, with shaking fingers, queued up Mozart's "Requiem". He chuckled as the first notes echoed through our ears.

"In the mood for some music, are we?"

I tapped his leg in confirmation.

I could hear the smile in his voice. "As you wish, my darling." He revved the bike, bringing up the speed, and the world flew by.

I barely knew where we went. The music soared and cried. The landscape turned from rolling hills to ocean waves. And yet all I could see were the streaks of tears on the young woman's face, the hollow shock in her eyes as her robe was stripped from her, as she was exposed to the group. She had not made any move to cover herself. She had seemed trapped, helpless, beyond saving.

I blinked. We had come to a stop on my street, in front of my house. I had lost complete track of time. The sun was easing below the horizon, in deep crimsons and fiery oranges, and they reminded me of the house in Sean's studio apartment, burning, burning, burning.

He turned off the bike's ignition. His voice was cheery. "And here we are!"

My throat closed up. I couldn't think. I didn't know what to do. The thought of going back to the bar turned my stomach, and I swayed.

He half turned. "You OK back there?"

I found my voice. "I'm not feeling well. I think I'm going to call in sick tonight."

His voice took on a note of concern. "It wasn't the pancakes, was it? Could you be allergic to something?"

I shook my head, forcing my tone to be even. "I think my landlady had the flu last week, and maybe I got it from her. I just want to go in and rest."

"I'll come in and –"

I shook my head, climbing off the bike. "I appreciate it, but I'd rather just go in and crash for the night. I'll keep the helmet, and that way when you come get me tomorrow I'll be all good to go."

He drew me into a hug. "If you're sure, but how can I kiss you goodbye?"

"I don't want to get you sick," I murmured. Truth was, I knew if I lifted my visor, and he got a clear look at my face, that he'd know something was wrong. And I doubted I'd get free of him easily after that.

He chuckled. "Sick from a kiss? After how close we were last night, that -"

My voice nearly broke. "Please..."

He stilled. "You really are worn down, you poor thing. You should have said something."

I shrugged, biting my lip. I was afraid I might burst into tears if this went on for any longer.

At last he gently patted the side of my helmet. "You go on in. You seem exhausted. Get some rest. I'll come by in the morning and see if you're feeling better.

I squeezed his hand, and then I turned and walked to my house. Once in my room, I went to my window and waved at him. He waved back, and then his bike eased smoothly down the street and out of view.

I took off the helmet, placed it on my dresser, lay face down on my bed, and sobbed.

# Chapter 10

I held on as Sean carefully threaded the bike into the back lot behind the bar, drawing to a stop by the shed's door. I climbed off the back and stood aside as he unlocked the latch. When he pushed in the bike I followed him into the shed, not saying a word. My helmet had been firmly in place when he arrived at my street, and I had barely spoken on our trip over. He had been concerned, but seemed to ascribe my short answers to my flu. More than once he had asked if I wanted to call in sick again, but I had refused.

I wanted to see Jimmy with my own eyes.

How could Jimmy and his wife be involved with this? Surely there was some mistake. It was one thing for him to be overly amorous with every woman who came within reach. But what I had seen yesterday had escalated the situation beyond my worst nightmares. I could still not quite bring it all in. Some part of me hoped it was a mistake – a bizarre hallucination created by a flash fever.

But I knew, deep in my heart, that what I had seen was real.

Sean removed his helmet and put it on a high ledge, then turned to me. "Hand it over," he teased.

I blinked my eyes several times, took in a deep breath, then undid the latch. I slid the helmet up off my head and handed it to him.

He put it on the shelf alongside his, turned back to me – and stopped. He put a hand out to my cheek, his brow furrowing.

"Jesus Christ, Kay."

I flushed. I knew I looked ragged from the long night of crying and lack of sleep, but I had done the best I could with cold washcloths and make-up.

Apparently it had not been enough.

His voice was tight. "You need to go home, Kay. You don't look well at all. You should be in bed."

That's where I wanted to be – curled up beneath the covers, the pillow over my head, the door locked. But I resolutely shook my head.

"I'll be fine," I insisted. "I want to see Jimmy."

Something in my tone of voice caught his attention. He tilted his head slightly, like a hunting dog which has caught the barest hint of a hidden deer. His gaze settled more deeply into mine, and his fingers brushed down my cheek to my shoulder.

His voice steeled with concern and determination. "What is it, Kay? What's wrong?"

I couldn't help it. The exhaustion, the worry, the being apart from him, all coalesced into an ache which delved into my core. I folded against him, his arms automatically came up around me, and tears cascaded from my eyes.

He groaned, drawing me in hard against him. "What is it, Kay? Tell me what it is. Whatever it is, we'll face it together."

At long last he gently pushed me back, looking down into my eyes. His gaze called for me to trust in him. "You can tell me."

My throat closed up, and I could barely get the words out. "I know, Sean. I know the truth. And I don't know what to do."

A ripple of tension moved through him, and he turned for a moment, slipping his phone into the speaker on the shelf. A push of a button, and Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata began playing. Usually the slow, steady notes soothed me, but today they merely drove my panic into stronger waves.

Sean dropped his voice, taking my face between his hands. His gaze held mine with serious focus. "Kay, what do you know?"

I found it hard to even say the words out loud. "Sean, I followed you. I followed you into the warehouse. I saw the girls, and the bed, and then Mrs. O'Malley stripped the robe off that girl..."

I couldn't continue. My tears started fresh, in waterfalls, and my legs could barely hold me up.

His breath left him, and he drew me in again. He ran his hand down my hair, soothing me as if I were a little girl. The music rolled on, rich, aching, and at long last I had run out of tears and my breathing had slowed again.

His voice remained low, and it was hard to read the emotion behind it. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Kay. You shouldn't have to see that warehouse. And I'll get us free of it. I just need a little time. You need to trust me."

My voice cracked. "But that girl..."

He nodded. "Girls get lured into that type of situation every day, because the market demands fresh, new meat. They probably thought they were being recruited for an indie film and were star-struck at the opportunity. Then, with one twist after another, they found themselves under those bright lights."

I looked up at him. "We have to save them."

He kissed me on the forehead. "We should get you home."

I shook my head again. "I'm staying." I brushed at my face. "I want to see Jimmy."

His brow creased in concern. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I won't attack him," I assured him, although saying the words sent a rush of pleasure through me. "I just want to look at him. Besides, I promised Eileen I'd stay."

As much as I tried to inject enthusiasm into the sentence, a deadness echoed in my heart when I finished. I didn't know if I could do it. Even with all Eileen had done for me, this was asking too much.

His lips drew into a thin line, but at last he nodded. "If you're sure."

I turned and walked to the shed door. He took his phone from the speaker; the music vanished, replaced with a dense silence. We walked together into the bar. I took my normal station behind it, while he settled on a stool. His eyes held on me, dense with a swirl of emotion.

Jimmy was by the pool table, talking with the players, and his eyes lit up as we came into the room. "There you are, my Katie!" he called out, his arms wide. His forehead creased as he drew closer. "Good God, girl, you look like shit. You sure you want to be here?"

I nodded, drawing my eyes over him. Somehow I'd expected him to sprout red-tipped horns from his skull or to have developed razor-sharp canines. But he was the same Jimmy he'd always been, the wide, bright smile and the fluffy body. He was like the friendly uncle that everybody loved at parties.

How could he be involved in what was going on?

Sean reached his hand across the counter, and I twined my fingers into his. His gaze held rich concern.

There was the tinkle of a bell, and my heart constricted in turmoil. I could barely bring myself to turn, to see –

A moppet. A cascade of blonde curls. The girl was tall, perhaps five-feet-nine, but slender, wearing a Worcester Crew aqua t-shirt and long, black sweats. She had a bright, hopeful gleam in her eyes which made my heart ache.

She was fifteen.

Jimmy bounced forward with enthusiasm, drawing his arm around her shoulder, and she flinched. A flare of tension burst through my shoulders, and Sean's fingers tightened on mine. A new level of serious attention was in his gaze, a steel I had not seen etched there before.

Jimmy's voice was bright. "This way, my darling." He ushered her down the hall toward his office.

I took in one deep breath, then two... then I was storming from behind the bar, prepared to –

Sean swept me up from behind, continued walking me down past their office, out the back door, and back into the shed. He shut the door, popped his phone into the cradle, and swiped at it while turning to me.

The soundtrack to Gladiator came on. Normally I adored the power of the piece, the contrast of a choreographed Viennese waltz counterpointed with the brutal efficiency of the Roman Empire war machine.

But in this shadowy shed, with the thought of that innocent fifteen-year-old girl falling into the clutches of Jimmy's predatory hands, the music only fired my determination to do righteous battle.

My voice came out in a hiss. "We have to stop him! Sean, he's in there with her. We have to get her out!"

Sean's face was lost in the darkness. "Kay, we need to take it slow."

My voice rose. "Slow? Sean, she's fifteen! _Fifteen!_ She'll be scarred for life! My God, how can you sit here even talking about this?"

He reached to hold my hand, and I yanked it back as if his grasp was red hot. As he moved, the glimmer of silver at his neck caught my eye.

He was wearing my father's medallion.

My anger, frustration, and exhaustion boiled over into a new, lethal combination, one that cored me with iron. I stared at him with cold fury.

"Give me my necklace back."

His hand automatically went up to his chest, and his eyes widened.

His voice was hoarse. "Kay –"

I took a step forward, my hand out. "Give it to me. Now."

He paled, but his hands went behind his neck, and in a moment he was holding out the pendant to me.

I grabbed it from his hands, my eyes welling yet again. This couldn't be happening. I was utterly lost, and there was no way to rewind back to when things were OK.

Things would never be OK again.

I stuffed the pendant into my left back pocket, and then from my right I pulled out my phone. I brought it around to my face. My entire body was solidifying, calcifying, being coated with ice and layered over with feet of snow. I was submerging. Soon I would be drowned.

Sean's voice was distant, a whisper in the wind. "Kay, what are you doing?"

I barely recognized my own voice, its guttural growl. "I am calling the fucking police."

My finger was nearly at the screen when he popped the phone out of my hand. "Kay –"

He was six-feet, one-hundred-eighty pounds of solid muscle, and I stepped up in front of him with clenched fists. "That girl is fifteen, and I am calling the police," I seethed. "And you and I are done."

I reached for the phone, but he held it higher, his gaze pleading with me to trust him. "Kay, just give me –"

I turned, ready to storm straight across Kelley Square and find somewhere – anywhere – with a phone. I didn't want to take one step back into that bar without sirens blaring and lights flashing.

He grabbed at my arm, his strong fingers holding me in place. "Kay, listen to me." His eyes were now swirling with a wealth of emotions I could not even name.

"I trusted you," I spat. "I trusted you, and look what you turned out to be."

His voice was hoarse. "I trust you with my life."

I stared at him, beyond any emotion I could name, beyond anything I had ever felt before.

"Then prove it."

He stared at me for a long moment, the connection between us a sizzling bolt of energy which could have lit up the darkest night.

And then at last, at long last, he spoke, and his words resonated with a kaleidoscope of emotion.

"Kay, that girl is twenty-two."

I gazed at him in disbelief. "You liar! She was in the paper! She's fifteen!"

He shook his head, his gaze locked on mine. "She's a woman, Kay. And she's in there on purpose, to get close to Jimmy."

I stared at him in shock, the world taking on a dream-like state. Lisa Gerrard's ethereal vocals soared around us, but all I could see was the tense line of his shoulders, the hollowed shadows in his eyes.

My voice was barely a whisper. "How could you possibly know that?"

He released my arm, put his hands out to the side, and it was as if he were surrendering himself wholly to me.

"Because I'm an undercover cop."

Kay and Sean's story continues in A Soul Ajar, Book 2 of this Worcester Nights series!

http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/asoulajar/

You can also get the Worcester Nights boxed set so you have all four in one complete set!

http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/

Be sure to sign up for my newsletter! You'll get updates on free giveaways, great discounts, and the latest releases. I never spam and all names are kept private!

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If you enjoyed this story, please leave a review on Amazon, Goodreads, and any other review site you enjoy. Together we can make a difference!

# Dedication

To Debi Gardiner of GardinerDesign.com and Bob Evans of ArckArts.com who helped me create the original cover. Bob's Triumph served as the gorgeous model, and Bob's photography talents are stunning.

To my Dad, who supports me in all my writing projects. My Mom's writing expertise always comes in handy. To Jenn, who provided detailed ideas and suggestions.

To my writing group, especially Ruth, Fred, Dean, and Joan who offered invaluable advice.

To Shala, Remo, Mona, Mary-Anne, and Val, who chimed in with feedback.

To the great folks at Goodreads, especially Heather Jacquemin, Toni, and Tala who delved into specific tweaks.

To Sandra Baublitz, who always does such an awesome job of providing thorough editing and proofing –

<https://www.facebook.com/sandrabaublitzediting>

To three authors who inspired me immensely when I tackled this project. Glynnis Campbell was the first to show me that amazing storylines and appealing characters could combine with racy language. Eve Carter and Emily Jane Trent then helped me envision these characters and plots in a contemporary environment. Thank you so much Glynnis, Eve, and Emily!

Most importantly – a warm message of appreciation goes out to all my enthusiastic, loyal fans everywhere! Thank you for your support, encouragement, and feedback. It's because of you that I am working so diligently on the sequels!

# About the Author

Ophelia Sikes fervently believes that every one of us deserves dedicated, passionate love in our lives – coupled with a soul-deep respect which supports our dreams.

Ophelia adores Worcester, Massachusetts with all its gritty streets, rows of muted-colored three-deckers, and tough-as-nails can-do attitude. She's lived in this area since college, with only a few brief flings in other locations. No matter where else she travels, she's always delighted to return home.

From the row of restaurants on Shrewsbury Street to picnicking at Elm Park, from the summertime boaters on Lake Quinsigamond to the St. Patty's Day Parade, there's just something about Worcester. She hopes she's brought this lively, unique town to life for her readers around the world.

Half of the proceeds of this book's sales benefit battered women's shelters.

Please send along as much feedback and suggestions as you can. The more we can polish these worlds and characters, the more we can help the cause.

Ophelia Sikes can be found at:

http://OpheliaSikes.com

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Newsletter:

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Worcester Nights series:

Kate's life sucks. She's tending bar at a run-down dive. Her immoral boss fondles every co-ed within reach. The clientele is made up of TV-glazed zombies, drunkards, and ... who is that in the corner?

The Thunderbolt Hits.

She hadn't thought it was real. But when she looks into Sean's eyes, the force of the connection staggers her. Her mind desperately seeks to pull her back - he's an ex-felon. Far too talented with those rippled muscles and toned fists. He's everything she should be staying away from.

She craves him from the depths of her soul.

His touch smolders her skin; his fingers expose her to worlds she never dreamt existed.

But when his secret is ripped free from the dark shadows, their lives teeter on the brink of destruction.

Book 1 - Dwell in Possibility

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/dwellinpossibility/

Book 2 – A Soul Ajar

http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/asoulajar/

Book 3 – A Song of Soul and Hope

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/asongofsoulandhope/

Book 4 – Stop One Heart from Breaking

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/stoponeheartfrombreaking/

Boxed Set of Books 1-4

http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/

Bermuda Nights series:

Amanda desperately needed to get away. Her whole life had been about pleasing others - her straight-laced parents, her rule-bound teachers. When her best friend, Kayla, suggested they hop a cruise from Boston to Bermuda, Amanda leapt at the chance. This was her one chance to light the night on fire.

And then Evan stepped on stage.

Evan was exactly the man her country-club parents would have disapproved of. Ripped abs and soul-deep eyes. Lightning-fast fists. One glance and she knew she has to be his - if just for these seven brief, torturously-exquisite days.

And, oh, Evan could play her. His fingers were connoisseurs of her body, drawing out her deeper notes, sending her soaring to heights she barely knew existed. She lost all sense of self, of rules.

Until the day she saw what she was never meant to see - and her world changed forever.

Book 1 – Resonating Souls

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/resonatingsouls/

Book 2 – Wine-Dark Dreams

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/winedarkdreams/

Book 3 – The Soulless Abyss

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/thesoullessabyss/

Book 4 – Wanting All

http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/wantingall/

Boxed Set of Books 1-4

http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/

Italian Nights series.

Hannah and her sister, Megan, have been given the trip of a lifetime. They are cruising the Mediterranean Sea. Starting at Rome, they are working their way counter-clockwise through Florence, Monte Carlo, Barcelona, Sardinia, Sicily, and Pompeii. Life is their playground.

And then Hannah meets Brandon.

Brandon is strong, intelligent, loyal, and everything Hannah could possibly dream of in a man. He has also just walked in on his fiancée in bed with his best friend. Hannah is willing to wait as long as it takes for him to work his way through this betrayal.

And then all Hell breaks loose ...

Book 1 – Love's Heat

<http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/lovesheat>

Book 2 – Carved Into My Heart

<http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/carvedintomyheart>

Book 3 – Lost In Darkness

http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/lostindarkness

