Page 19 of Unrequited
Soft, reverent kisses along my jaw, then his mouth finds mine again, and I surrender fully.
“I want you,” I whisper. “Please.”
“Tell me,” he murmurs into my ear. “Please, sweet lass. Tell me what you want. I want to hear you say it. I couldn’t say no to you, even if I tried.”
His voice is rough, breaking me down with every syllable.
“You,” I whisper. “I want you. I want to be yours, James. I want… more.”
What am I asking for? Why would I say such a thing, knowing full well I can’t have it?
There’s a pause. A heartbeat. Then he whispers, “Then I don’t want to lie to you.”
I nod.
“Seamus,” he says softly, so softly it barely registers. “My name is Seamus.”
I wait for a click of recognition, but none comes.
I don’t know the name, not really. But it fits. It feels right. And I know in my bones he’s telling the truth now. Seamus is the Irish form of James.
“Call me Seamus,” he says. “No one else does. Nobody else fucking does.”
“What do they call you then?” I ask, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
He hesitates for a beat before he whispers, “Boss.”
A jolt vibrates through my hips. My pulse kicks into overdrive.
Of course they do, don’t they?
Then he slides me slowly, sensually down the length of his body, and his erection presses hot and hard against my stomach. I want him. God, I want him so bad it hurts.
“Seamus,” I beg. He stifles a groan when I say his name. “Please?”
But he shakes his head, his jaw clenched.
“No. Not now. We can’t. It’s too dangerous.” He takes a deep breath. “If only you knew who I was…”
His forehead meets mine on an exhale. The way his face is contorted like this, like nothing short of torture, tells me all I need to know.
But how could he possibly be more dangerous than my brothers? Than the men I’ve grown up around?
Yes, I know the Kopolovs are at war with the Irish syndicate, but thiscan’tbe the man they’re fighting. Matvei said just this morning that the Irish syndicate is operating out of Dublin. They’re not here, not in Moscow, and I’ve heard all the names thrown around, and no one’s ever said Seamus.
Just because he has an Irish accent doesn’t mean he’s the enemy.
Panic and desire claw at me. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go back to the cold safety of home. I want to go with him.
I have to voice my fear.
“You don’t want me?” I ask, the desperation leaking out before I can stop it.
He curls his fingers around the back of my neck and pulls me against his chest. His arms wrap around me like a shield, warm and solid and protective.
“I want you too badly,” he whispers. “That’s the problem, sweet Zoya. I want yousofucking badly, I don’t trust myself.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead.
