Page 9 of Legacy Of Ashes
"Dublin, Liverpool, Amsterdam—our family has people in all these ports." I move around the table to point at specific entries, bringing us within arm's reach. "But you're still paying standard rates instead of using those connections. Cut fees by thirty percent, redirect through family-friendly terminals, save two million annually."
When I reach across him for a calculator, my breast brushes his shoulder. The contact sends fire straight between my legs, making me wet with want. I pretend to focus on numbers while my body screams for his hands on my skin.
"You see what others miss," he says.
"I see opportunity." I punch calculations into the device. "European operations could turn fifteen percent profit within six months."
Conall straightens, studying my work. His presence overwhelms the room—six feet three inches of controlled violence and raw sexuality. When he leans over the maps to verify my calculations, his cologne wraps around me. I imagine that scent on my sheets, on my skin after he's fucked me senseless.
"Your brothers underestimate you," he says quietly.
"Everyone underestimates me."
"Not everyone."
Our eyes lock across scattered papers. The air crackles with electricity that has nothing to do with business and everything to do with the way his gaze drops to my mouth.
I should step back. Create distance. Remember this is work, not foreplay.
Instead, I lean closer until I can feel his breath. "What do you see that they don't?"
"A woman who knows exactly what she wants." His voice turns rough. "And takes it."
Heat floods my body, soaking my panties. The way he looks at me—like he wants to bend me over this table and take me hard—makes my knees shake and my pussy clench with need.
His phone explodes with sound, destroying the moment. He answers with deadly calm.
"Devlin." Pause. "How many down?" His face turns to stone. "Burn it all?"
I watch him transform from the man who almost claimed me into something cold and lethal. Power radiates from him as he handles the crisis, his voice carrying absolute authority that makes my core throb with forbidden desire.
"Secure eastern terminals. Reroute Amsterdam through Cork. Get me Connor—now."
He ends the call and fixes those gray eyes on me. "We're done here."
"What happened?"
"Someone torched our South Boston facility. Three dead, half our inventory ash." His jaw could cut diamonds. "Go home, princess. Let the wolves handle this."
The dismissal burns, but I catch the concern flickering in his gaze. He's protecting me the only way he knows how—by pushing me away.
"This conversation isn't finished," I say, gathering my papers with hands that still shake.
"No," he agrees, his stare scorching. "It's not."
I walk out on unsteady legs, my body aching with unfulfilled lust. My panties are soaked, my nipples hard against my bra, every nerve ending screaming for his touch. Whatever's building between Conall and me just became infinitely more dangerous.
And I've never wanted anything more in my life.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Saoirse walksinto the conference room like she owns every inch of it, and my cock hardens watching her command the space. Twenty hardened criminals shift in their seats as she passes, but all I see is the way her black dress molds to curves I've memorized during sleepless nights.
Fuck. I need to focus on keeping her alive, not fantasizing about bending her over this table.
"Gentlemen." Her voice cuts through cigar smoke and testosterone. "Recent events require restructuring."
