Michael (Connelly Cousins #3) Read online

  “No doubt about it,” Conlan agreed. “But it’s more than that. Tell me you don’t feel it, too.”

  Michael thought back to his sudden and violent urge to rip out the eyes of the man who dared to look at her earlier. The same guy who was looking at her ass right now. He fought down the growl that threatened to rip from his chest, and forced his own eyes back to his grandfather.

  “You want me to run a background on her?”

  “No, I’ve already done that.” Conlan’s expression grew more somber as he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “And found nothing.”

  Michael’s eyebrows raised. Flying under the radar was one thing, but everyone left a digital footprint somewhere – credit scores, purchase histories, school records. To not do so required decided effort, and that raised a big red flag.

  “I pay her under the table, of course. Cash. She’s renting one of my apartments over on Sparks Street. Insists on paying three months in advance – all cash – on a month-by-month basis.”

  “In other words, no records, no commitments.” Leaning back, Michael’s eyes returned to her, attempting to look at her objectively (not an easy thing). She had a tendency to keep moving, he noticed, never remaining in one place for long. Granted, the diner was busy, but that didn’t explain the way she continually glanced around her, more alert and aware of her surroundings than most people.

  “Exactly. I’ve tried getting her to talk to me, but no such luck. I’m hoping you’ll have more success.”

  “What makes you think she’s going to talk to me?”

  “Let’s just say you’ve already gotten her to notice you, which is more than anyone else has accomplished,” Conlan grinned knowingly. Michael felt a surge of pleasure, even though he felt as if he’d just been had again.

  “You want me to ask her out, see what I can find out?”

  “No.” Conlan shook his head.

  That was surprisingly disappointing. “Then what?”

  Conlan’s eyes tracked her as she went back into the kitchen. “She’s scared, Mikey. Give her someone she can trust.”

  Michael withheld a snort. His grandfather wanted him to be a fucking “friend”? He didn’t do the friend thing, not with women.

  “She has you.”

  He expected a smile out of the old man, but instead his grandfather turned worried eyes on him.

  “Aye, that she does,” he admitted. The intensity of his feelings flashed in those Irish eyes of his. “But I’m an old man in her eyes. She’ll not come to me for help. Nor will she let her guard down easily, I’m afraid.”

  “What about Lina?”

  “Lina’s got enough to be getting on with,” Conlan said firmly. “And she doesn’t have the same kind of senses you do.”

  The hair at the back of Michael’s neck prickled again. He took it for what it was. A warning.

  As much as he hated to admit it, his grandfather was probably right. While Lina had a big heart, she often failed to see the bad in anyone or anything. Some of that might be his and Johnny’s fault; they did have a tendency to be a bit overprotective where Lina was concerned.

  His eyes flicked back to Bailey again. Her mouth was curved in a smile, but the rest of her screamed “off-limits”. It would take more than a night or two to gain her confidence. And, if he was honest with himself, the idea of getting to know the pretty little waitress better wasn’t unpleasant. But doing so from the friend zone? That might be difficult, especially after that primal caveman shit a few minutes earlier.

  On the other hand, it had been a while since he’d had to work for something, and the challenge might take some of the edge off of his increasing disquietude.

  The thing was ... danger had always been more of a draw than a deterrent.

  Conlan pierced Michael with a compelling stare. “Do this for me, Michael.”

  Even if he hadn’t already made up his mind, that would have sealed it. His grandfather rarely asked for anything, and the use of his given name instead of the usual nickname underscored the seriousness of the request.

  Michael nodded.

  “Thank you, son,” he said gratefully, clasping him on the shoulder as he stood. “I’ll send over what little I’ve managed to pull together. Right now, I’ve got to get back to the kitchen. Stay as long as you want. And don’t be a stranger.”

  Now that he’d committed himself and no longer in a hurry to leave, Michael sat back and simply observed. Body language and behavior revealed a lot about a person, often more than traditional means, though he would use those as well.

  Underneath those delectable curves were some seriously toned muscles. She was coordinated, graceful, moving with an economy of motion he could appreciate. That suggested she stayed in shape, and was a “planner” – not someone prone to impulsive or frivolous behavior. Neither of those things was worrisome, but that constant wary alertness, that was another flaming red flag.

  And since he was observing, he did not miss the way her eyes kept returning to him.

  He had her interest. Good.

  Michael dropped a few bills on the table and got up to leave, catching her gaze once more with a silent message: I’ll be back.

  Chapter One

  Eight Weeks Later

  Michael leaned over the pool table, eyeing his next shot carefully, his body unnaturally still. In a move of fluid grace, his right arm drew back then forward, forcing controlled contact between the stick and the cue ball. He stood and looked away, grabbing for the long neck that awaited him at the table, knowing with certainty that the 8-ball was heading unerringly toward the far corner pocket.

  “How the fuck does he do that?” Kyle asked, shaking his head in amazement. “What is that now, four complete runs?”

  Johnny laughed, his flashing green eyes lively. “Poetry in motion, isn’t he?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Michael’s words couldn’t completely erase the satisfaction in his eyes, nor could they hide the slight curve at the corner of his mouth. The three men were hanging out at Tommy’s, Birch Falls’ favorite local hot spot, shooting pool and downing a few cold beers. The place was packed, as was usual on a Friday night, but there was always a table reserved for them in the members-only back room.

  Two of them were brothers by blood, the third had become one by marriage. It would have been difficult to determine which was which. All three were well over six feet of hard, rippling muscle. Michael and Kyle shared similar long black hair, which they tended to wear loose when just hanging out; Johnny’s was a bit shorter, featured multiple hues of gold streaked with copper and bronze, and had slightly more curl to it, especially when damp.

  Michael and Johnny boasted flashing green eyes that sometimes gave the impression that they were glowing, while Kyle’s were an icy, clear blue. Each was clean shaven, with a strong jaw and finely chiseled masculine features that instantly attracted feminine interest.

  Apart from physical attributes, the men shared several other things as well. The hint of a dark, dangerous air about them; underlying currents of ferocity and passion, contained beneath a surface of self-control. Confidence, an overwhelming urge to protect that which was theirs, and a bond between them that extended beyond blood and friendship.

  Johnny pursed his lips, made some kissy noises and grabbed his crotch. “Right here, big boy,” he taunted, causing the serious line of Kyle’s mouth to crack into a grin.

  Kyle, an undisputed genius when it came to motorcycles, was married to Michael and Johnny’s younger sister, Lina. He designed and built his own customs, as well as knew everything there was to know about any bike ever made. Even before he’d met Lina, Kyle and Johnny had been friends, running in the same circles and sharing a love of bikes.

  Johnny had assumed ownership of the family business (Connelly Construction), which did a thriving business in the small, predominantly Irish community and beyond. Recently married to Lina’s college roommate, Stacey, he was as happy as Michael had ever seen him.

  “So,
who is she, Mike?” Johnny teased. Kyle raised an eyebrow as he racked the next set and Johnny elaborated. “Mike’s unstoppable when he’s got a woman on his mind, aren’t you, bro?”

  Michael shot him a warning glare. The last thing he wanted to discuss was his love life –—or lack of it.

  Johnny chuckled. “Man, I am going to enjoy seeing you fall when you finally find your woman.”

  Michael grunted and lined up the break, placing the cue ball off-center and too close to the bumper. It was more challenging that way.

  A pretty young server wearing too much makeup brought in another round of drinks. She paused when she approached Michael, just like several others already had over the course of the evening. Michael wondered fleetingly if they were taking turns, because he hadn’t seen the same one more than once all night.

  “Busy later?” she asked casually, though her eyes were intense and focused.

  He gave her a quick, dismissive glance. Too young. Too perky. Too fucking eager.

  “Yeah,” was his short answer.

  It was clearly not the reaction she expected. She recovered and followed up with a well-practiced pout. She probably thought the extra tight Tommy’s tee and the quick trip to the ladies’ room to remove her bra and splash cold water on her nipples would have elicited a better response.

  “You sure?” she asked, bringing her ample breasts into better view, pressing them against his arm. “Cuz I get off at midnight, but I have a ten-minute break I can take any time.”

  Why is she still here? Michael fixed her with a hard look. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  The pout turned real, and she seemed confused by his rejection. He moved toward the other end of the table to take his next shot. She finally took the hint and headed out of the back room quickly, ignoring blatant attempts by some of the other patrons to get her attention.

  “What’s with you, man?” Johnny asked, still smiling but looking concerned. “Why don’t you just give her a little lovin’? Sweet thing like that won’t take long. We’ll watch your beer for you.”

  Michael flashed him a look. “Not interested.”

  Kyle let out a slow whistle. Johnny looked shocked. “Uh-oh. This cannot be good.”

  “What?” Michael demanded. More than a little annoyed with the turn the conversation had taken, he straightened to his full height and touched the stick to the floor.

  Johnny shook his head from side to side. “This just isn’t right, Mike. It’s not like you to let an opportunity like that slide by.”

  “Too easy.”

  “Since when have they ever not been easy for you? Hell, you nailed half the girls at the senior high school the year you discovered why your dick got hard.” Johnny’s voice resounded with the worship of a little brother. “And that one had a great ass, Mike. What is that, the fourth or fifth you’ve turned down so far tonight? You’re scaring me, man.”

  A strange sense of déjà vu washed over him. Hadn’t it only been a few short months ago that they’d played out this same scenario? Except that time, it had been centered on Johnny’s uncharacteristic lack of interest, not his.

  Michael’s eyes flashed with impatience. “I wonder what Stacey would say if she knew you were looking at that girl’s ass, Johnny.” It was a low blow, and he knew it, but he was in no mood for his brother’s shit. His gut was humming, had been all week, a sure sign that something was about to go down.

  Or maybe that was the build-up of sexual frustration from going so long without.

  Johnny’s face lost its humor immediately. “You know better than that.”

  The two brothers squared off across the pool table, their infamous Irish tempers rising perilously close to the surface.

  “Let it go, Johnny,” Kyle said quietly, studying Michael’s face. As a general rule, Kyle refrained from getting between them, but he must have seen Michael’s jaw clench and felt the tension rising fast. Whether it was the quiet tone of his voice or the mere fact that he spoke up, Johnny shut up. Sulky now, he turned back to the table and downed the rest of his beer in one long swallow.

  Discreetly, Michael checked his watch again. Nine-thirty p.m. Bailey’s shift at the diner didn’t start for another hour and a half. Normally he waited a couple of hours before heading over, but he was feeling unusually anxious. That sense of foreboding had been riding his ass all night, and it set him on edge. He didn’t want to wait any longer to see her, nor did he have any desire to pass the time with the local talent. Hadn’t, in fact, for some time.

  All thanks to Bailey Keehan.

  She had managed to capture – and hold – his attention, no small feat. The fact that she’d managed to do so with little or no effort on her part? Even more so. She probably didn’t even realize how those shy smiles, quietly spoken words, and stolen glances affected him.

  Images of big blue-green eyes filled his mind, eyes that lit and sparkled the moment he walked in the door, before she could hide them. Pretty pink lips, shiny with vanilla-flavored lip balm, offering a shy smile. Dark hair, pulled back away from her face, tumbling halfway down her back. More often than not a few riotous strands broke free and fell over her forehead and framed her face, giving her a tousled look that haunted his dreams.

  For eight weeks he’d been making appearances at the diner, and each time, she seemed to trust him a little more. They were at the point now where if it wasn’t busy, she’d actually talk to him. It was all general stuff, nothing personal, but it was progress.

  He pictured her now, in that pink and white waitress uniform, far sexier than the tight neon yellow T-shirt the server had been wearing. The skirt rose just a few inches above her knees, hardly daring, but teasing him with the curves it did show. It rested snugly, but not tightly, around a perfectly rounded ass that moved in a natural sway and left him breathless whenever she walked away from him. The V of her neckline showed the barest hint of lush, round breasts, innocent of any push-up bra to enhance their fullness.

  What had started out as a favor to his grandfather had become something of an obsession. Every Friday night for the past two months he’d frequented the diner, sipping strong black coffee in the back corner booth after Kyle and Johnny had gone home to their wives. Sometimes he stayed for only a few minutes, sometimes he sat there for hours.

  Watching. Waiting. And, despite a few carefully placed inquiries, knowing little more than he’d known that first night.

  There were two things he was certain of. One, his grandfather was right - Bailey was hiding from something. And two, the more he was around her, the more he wanted her to trust him with her secrets and her body. Oh, he wanted her.

  Thus far, he’d made no attempt to talk to her beyond the Friday night sit-ins. Nor had he allowed her to see him away from the diner. He feared if he had, she’d get spooked and all would be lost. He could see it in the way she looked at him, she was cautious yet curious, too; and the way she held herself when she took his order, as though poised for instant flight. He was allowing her to get used to him, feel more comfortable around him, before he took things to the next level: connecting outside of her safe zone in the diner. For someone as used to instant gratification as he was, it was proving to be a difficult task. But he knew, without a doubt in his mind, that it would be well worth whatever effort it took, in the end.

  The harder the challenge, the sweeter the victory.

  Leaning over the table, Michael took another shot, a perfect bank that completed yet another run. Kyle groaned loudly.

  Michael wondered where Bailey was, and what she was doing before her shift. He knew what he wished she was doing. It involved him, a bed, and that sweet little pink and white waitress uniform.

  * * *

  Bailey Keehan sat on the far side of the bar amid the shadows of the last booth, sipping her drink and feeling out of place. Her companions (she couldn’t really call them friends) were on the dance floor with what she had to admit were some pretty hot guys. She’d been asked to dance a few times herself, but had steadfas
tly refused, preferring instead to observe from the sidelines. Bailey was more comfortable in the shadows than she was in the center of a dance floor.

  Coming here had been a mistake. Even if it was Alyssa’s twenty-first birthday, she should have said no. It wasn’t like they were friends or anything; they just worked at the same place. But Alyssa had been very sweet and helpful, and after repeatedly declining her invitations to go out over the past six months, Bailey hadn’t had the heart to say no when Alyssa practically begged her to celebrate her first legal foray into Tommy’s.

  The ice in Bailey’s glass was completely melted, diluting the powerful Long Island Iced Tea she’d unintentionally ordered hours ago. The bartender heard “iced tea” and assumed she’d wanted the high-octane version, but drinking was something Bailey generally avoided. It wasn’t safe. Alcohol dulled the senses as well as the brain, and staying alert was critically important.

  She swirled the stir-stick around absent-mindedly, counting the minutes before she had to leave for her shift at O’Leary’s. As it did so often these days, her mind wandered to Michael Connelly. A shiver ran down her spine just thinking about him, not out of fear, but something else entirely. Something Bailey wasn’t used to feeling. A tingling ache that centered behind her navel and caused her to press her thighs together. The same one that had her nipples pushing against her silky shirt and made her wish she’d chosen the bra with thicker cups.

  Michael Connelly might just be the sexiest man she’d ever seen. A face straight out of mythology, a living example of male perfection. Silky dark hair, eyes the color of pristine emeralds that she swore sometimes glowed when he turned them her way. Rich, full lips that quirked a lot, as if he was enjoying some kind of private joke. She got shivers thinking what those lips could do, especially in combination with those long, capable-looking fingers of his.

  She wondered where he was at that moment, what he was doing. Other than his weekly visits to the diner, they hadn’t crossed paths. Despite having spoken with him on several of those occasions (beyond the usual server-patron dialogue), she still had no idea where he lived or what he did. Their conversations were generally light and non-personal, covering “safe” topics like the weather, local goings-on, and things like that.