Defiant Queen (Mount Trilogy #2)

“Cartel is asking around about the disappearance of their lieutenant.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” I locate a free booth close to the door behind me.

“No, and they’re getting insistent about it.”

I think back to that night and the several witnesses in the room. The crooked city councilman, the hypocritical megachurch preacher skimming from the donations, and the oil baron with an ego bigger than mine.

All of whom I have information on, and all of whom would love for the cartel to take me out in hopes that their secrets would die with me.

“Everyone knows the consequences if they talk. Feel free to send reminders on my behalf.”

J knows that by reminders, I mean a team of enforcers.

“I think the preacher is the weak link. He’s a pussy,” J says.

“No. He’s the least of our worries. He doesn’t want to give up his Gulfstream or his mistress. We’ve got the least amount of leverage on the oilman. Watch him. If the cartel goes to question him, make sure he’s temporarily unavailable.”

“How temporarily?”

“Let him know that it’d be in his best interest to take his family on an extended vacation to their villa in Italy.”

“And if he balks?”

“Just fucking do it, J. You want to prove you can handle more? Handle this shit.”

J’s tone changes. “It’s under control. Enjoy the rest of your vacation.”

“You run into problems, call me. No surprises.”

“Got it, boss.”

I hang up, annoyed that this escape of a vacation has been interrupted by cartel bullshit.

J knows as well as I do that the cartel will never find the body, and without a body, they can’t prove it was me. And without proof, they wouldn’t dare make a move.

But the witnesses. They could be a problem.

They won’t be.

I’ve waded through deeper shit than this and come out clean, and I expect this won’t be any different.

I push open the door of the booth and check the time on my phone. The gala should already be under way, and there’s not a chance in hell I’m letting Keira miss the awards.

She doesn’t know it, but I made certain that Seven Sinners was entered in multiple categories on a last-minute basis. I have zero control over the judging, but her product speaks for itself.

I also didn’t tell her because if she doesn’t win, there’s the added bonus of not knowing she was in the running to begin with.

I’m not sure at what point I decided I needed to protect her from more than just physical threats, but also from what I know would be a crushing disappointment. This week has changed a lot of things.

I reach the suite and close the door behind me, listening for sounds of the stylists, but all is quiet. “Keira?”

“One second!” she calls from the vicinity of the bedroom. “I’m almost ready.” She sounds much better than she did when I left.

I wait in the living room area and contemplate pouring myself another drink as my mind goes over J’s call again, but decide against it.

Instead, I stare out the window I fucked Keira against days ago. One more thing I wish I could repeat.

Fuck, I wish I could have this whole week again. But tonight, we go back to reality. The jet will be waiting on the tarmac for us as soon as the gala is finished.

“So, what do you think?”

I turn toward her voice as she steps into the bedroom doorway, and freeze.

Her dress, a brilliant green that matches her eyes, hugs every curve and yet conceals enough to be the epitome of class. Her hair is in some elaborate style with strands falling around her face.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Is that a good Jesus Christ or a bad one?” she asks, stepping into the living room. The slit up one side of the dress flashes a toned leg and fuck-me shoes.

“That’s a ‘Jesus Christ, I hope you’re not still hungover, because I don’t know if I want to let you leave this room tonight.’”

Her lips curve into a smile. “Actually, I feel fine now. Must be the Irish in me.” She gives me a once-over, her gaze stopping on my crotch. “You always look good in a suit, but you seem to have a minor problem.”

“Don’t ever refer to my dick as minor.”

She laughs, and the sound reminds me of how freely she let it loose last night.

Fuck. I have to stop thinking about it.

She crosses the room, flashing a glimpse of leg with every step, a mischievous glint in her eyes.





Keira





Bits and pieces of my memory returned as Brigid and Briana did my hair, makeup, and nails.

They chattered away in the most adorable accents ever, asking what I’ve seen and done in Dublin. I had to fight to recall even those bits and pieces.

“I’m pretty sure we danced in a pub?” It came out as a question because even though the hazy recollection was there, it was hard to picture Mount, who I apparently called Lachlan, doing such a thing.

“Sounds like the craic was mighty,” one of them said. I’d gotten their names mixed up as soon as they walked in the door.

“Crack? I don’t do that. Crack is whack.”

Both the girls laughed at me. “Not crack. The craic. The fun. A good time. You need to work on your Irish. You’re definitely American, even though you blend in here lookin’ like you do.”

As they continued teaching me Irishisms, my mind went elsewhere. Back to last night where I felt like I was trying to fit together a thousand-piece puzzle with no box to guide me.

Now, as I walk toward Lachlan in our suite, something has shifted. I feel that in my bones, and it terrifies me.

Then I remember what I said.

“Dance with me, Lachlan. Dance with me in Dublin.”

And he did. I remember the feel of his body pressed against mine as we swayed to the slow songs, and the grip of his hands around my waist when he lifted me into the air like I weighed nothing.

The man I’ve thought was a monster has given me the best week of my life, and from what I recall, the best night of my life, and I have absolutely no idea how to handle that information.

This was only ever supposed to be sex. Repayment on a debt owed. But it has spiraled out of control, and now I’m terrified it’s becoming something else entirely—which is impossible.

I know I have to shift the focus back to where it started. Sex. I need to wipe away my incomplete memories of last night because they’re too good to be true.

The man who danced with me in a bar in a city I’ve wanted to see my entire life can never give me the happily-ever-after I thought I was getting once before. And not because he’s a con like Brett was, but because he’s Lachlan Mount.

I need to remind myself that I’m nothing but a possession to him, and we can never be anything more.

I stop a foot away from Lachlan. No, Mount, I remind myself. I reach out with a new boldness and grab a handful of cock.

He sucks in the barest of breaths, no doubt shocked by my action.

See? I can do this. Whatever happened last night will be forgotten, and we’ll be right back where we belong.