But now I’m glad I did it.
The potentially redhaired man could have some sort of connection to the Irish. That would just be too big of a coincidence if not, right?
He climbs into a black sedan, and I’m about to start my motorcycle to follow him when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Pulling it out, I answer without looking at the screen with a curt, “What?”
“Wirth?” her sexy, raspy voice is so unique I know it’s Maeve. Fuck, why the hell is she calling me?
“What’s up?” I ask, wondering if she’s somehow spotted me. “I’m kind of busy at the moment.”
Then I hear her sniffle before she says, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I just, I wasn’t sure who else to call and was wondering if you could come over.”
Goddammit.
What if she’s being manipulated by the ginger, forced to give the Irish intel?
“Did he hurt you?” I blurt out as I squeeze my eyes shut. “I mean, did someone hurt you?”
“No, nothing like that,” she says before adding, “Well, not recently. I just don’t want to be alone tonight.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Nothing. Forget it. I’m sorry I called. I’ll let you go,” she says in a rush.
“Wait!” I shout to stop her before she goes. “I’ll come over,” I agree. I do want to see her face, to figure out what’s going on with her and the ginger and to make sure she’s okay. “I’m, ah, actually in the area. The Knights needed someone at the bar for a, um, a delivery,” I lie to explain why I’m already here in town.
“Oh. Okay. If you’re sure?”
“I’ll see you in a few,” I tell her before ending the call. “Shit,” I grumble to myself, wondering what the hell I’m doing.
I need to tell someone my suspicions about Maeve, but I could have it all wrong and then she would pay the price.
It’s probably stupid, and could even be some sort of setup, but I can’t stop myself from cranking up my bike and driving around the block a few times before finally pulling into a parking spot in her complex.
Climbing off my bike, I decide to send Malcolm a quick text.
I’m at Maeve’s in Wilmington if you need me.
His response is nearly instantaneous, The fuck you telling me for?
Just in case you need me, I reply again with a grin before I slip my phone into my pocket and make my way to her door.
I’ve barely knocked when she yanks it open. She throws her arm around my neck so fast that I don’t even have a chance to see her face. For all I know, some random woman could be hugging me. But then I inhale her strawberry and vanilla scent and know for certain it’s her.
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask when she doesn’t seem inclined to let go.
“Yeah, sorry.” She gives a small laugh before finally letting go and taking a step backward to let me inside. In that second, I notice her eyes are red like she’s been crying. “It’s just nice to see you again.”
Before I can ask any other questions, she’s shut the door and then she’s grabbing my face to pull my lips down to her sexy mouth.
“Slow down there, doll. What’s the hurry?” I ask even as my hands move down her back to squeeze her amazing ass through her cotton shorts, ready to tear them and her t-shirt off to get to her curves.
“I just, I need you,” she says with her palms sliding down my chest along the opening of my cut.
“Need me?” I repeat. Fuck, it’s hard to keep my head on straight when she says shit like that, making my throat tighten and my dick throb and lengthen in my jeans so fast I get dizzy from the blood loss.
I try and tell myself that she’s just like every other woman and that it’s just sex – a much-needed release.
But fuck if it doesn’t feel different when I’m near her – like there’s a gravitational pull I can’t fight no matter how hard I may try, just like the first night we were together. Not that I’ve tried to resist all that much.
Maeve knows how to push all of my buttons in the best fucking way. The woman is addictive. And if I’m not careful, I may lose myself in her and lose sight of the reason why I’m here in the first place – because I can’t trust her. The Dirty Aces can’t trust her.
I just saw with my own eyes a man leaving her place, a ginger who may prove that she’s not loyal. That should be enough to make me push her away, but it’s not.
Of course I still want to ask her who the fuck the man who left her apartment was, if he’s hurting her, if she’s fucking him.
I figure out a roundabout way of finding out the answer to the second question. Sliding my fingers down the back of her shorts and through her wet slit, I push two inside of her, making her gasp. “Are you sore?” I ask.
“Sore?” she repeats. “From last night?”
“Yeah,” I reply as my lips and tongue feast on her neck while my fingers pump in and out of her pussy. “Or today? Earlier tonight?”
“What? I-I haven’t been with…anyone…since you…” she trails off as her walls tighten around my fingers.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” she answers in a sigh when I feel her getting closer and closer to coming; and for some stupid reason, I believe her. “W-what about you?”
“What about me?” I ask. My teeth nip at her sensitive flesh below her ear. The move makes her pussy clench in response.
“Have you…been with anyone?”
“No,” I say, smiling against her skin because of her question and from being able to feel her reaction to my mouth on her, getting her worked up just as much as my fingers fucking her. She’s gasping and moaning, her lower body squirming as she fists my cut, desperate for a release.
Wanting to
