He’s breathing heavily. His chest feels warm against my body, considering he’s outside with no clothes on.
Now other feet are circling us.
Hanging upside down over Quinn’s back, I grab the top of his boxers. Why isn’t he putting me down?
“Sir,” another voice says in an Irish accent. Oh God, I hope it’s not Sam.
“Uh, Mr.-” I start.
“What took you so long?” Quinn growls, still holding me in a fireman’s lift. “Deal with this guy.”
“Yes, sir, right away,” a second voice with an American accent replies as Quinn gradually lowers me until my chest is in his line of sight.
I cling to his neck for stability, feeling his shoulder muscles tense beneath my grasp.
My body slides against his as he sets me down on the ground. I take in a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. My bullet nipples are hardened from the chilly air, lightly brushing against his chest through my thin tank top. His warm breath tickles my hair, and the heat of his hands radiates through my lower back, connecting me to him.
He feels like a hard, warm rock.
I’m absolutely fucking boiling.
His blue eyes flash down to mine like I’ve hit him with an electric bolt. Then he sharply releases me from his grip and steps back.
I see then who he’s talking to.
About ten (I’m too distraught to count) men in black circle us. All are wearing the same black trousers, black shirts, and earpieces.
I feel like I’m watching a slow-motion movie. Two of them drag a belligerent Liam down the street by the armpits. He shouts my name as they haul him away.
I don’t know where they’re taking him, but it better be another state because if I see him again, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.
As I watch Liam, my teeth chatter, and my whole body is like ice, but I don’t care.
He just cost me my visa.
“Clodagh, you have no shoes on, for fuck’s sake,” Quinn growls.
I snap back to reality and turn to him, dazed. We’re not touching, yet it feels like we are.
His glare intensifies.
I look down. He’s standing in the street in his boxers. He’s not wearing shoes, either.
One of the men in black clears their throat. “Sir, shall we-”
“No,” Quinn cuts in. He lets out an agitated breath and stares at me as if I’m the biggest pain in his ass. “Clodagh can provide you with a statement in the morning.”
My stomach lurches. A statement?
I look around at the guys. They all look as uneasy as me. I guess they fucked up too, by not being on the scene quicker.
There’s Sam.
My weak wave is met with a sheepish smile from him before his attention drops to my chest.
Quinn’s jaw tightens. “Go inside.”
The neighbors probably don’t see this kind of show very often. What do you get when you mix a drunken Irishman, a bad nanny maid, and an angry billionaire?
Deported.
As quickly as they arrive, the men disperse.
I stiffen as Quinn places his hand on my lower back and leads me toward the house. The touch of his hand burns my skin. It must be a combination of the cold night air and my embarrassment. Only minutes ago, I was fantasizing about those hands caressing me in bed.
I feel his breath against my neck when he speaks. “Mind your step. There’s glass.”
Quinn guides me into the house and shuts the door behind us. He lets out a heavy breath and then turns to me, arms crossed against his bare chest.
I stand frozen in the hallway, my teeth chattering and my heart hammering. “I’m fired this time, right?” The question comes out squeaky and weak.
I don’t let him answer. “Don’t. I don’t want to leave New York.”
Appealing to his emotional side isn’t working, judging by the annoyed curl of his lip.
I smile weakly. “If you don’t want to do it for me, do it for your immigrants.”
Jokes aren’t working either.
His jaw works as he glares at me. It’s always working. “You’re a fucking handful.”
Hmm. It’s not a term of endearment, but it’s not “you’re fired” either.
I attempt another weak smile. “At least there’s not a dull moment with me. It’s good to break from the schedule.”
“Did you ask him to come here?”
“What?” I stammer. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Is he your ex?”
I shake my head adamantly. “No! Just someone I… I made a mistake with, and he likes me.”
“I gathered that,” he mutters dryly. “Is that the guy who messaged you?”
I nod. “All I seem to do is apologize to you,” I say in a tiny voice.
The muscle in his jaw works overtime. “It appears so. And it’s only been four days. Mrs. Dalton never had idiots showing up at my door like this. Then again, Mrs. Dalton doesn’t look like you.”
His eyes drop to my chest. I forgot I was semi-naked. Almost.
When they lock with mine again, they flash with something that looks a lot like desire. I must be delirious from the cold.
“Is that the last of the guys obsessed with you, or should I tell my men to be on alert for more?”
If he’s joking, then I’m not fired yet.
Is he joking?
He’s not smiling.
“I left the rest back in Ireland.”
His scowl doesn’t give way.
“Uh, what are they going to do with him?” I ask, feeling slightly anxious about Liam. The guy’s an ass, but I don’t want him to get into serious trouble for a drunken mistake.
“It’s unlikely you’ll be hearing from him again.”
Jesus Christ.
“They’re going to… kill him?”
My face must go white because he almost chuckles. Almost. “No, Clodagh, I’m not a murderer. They’ll shove him in a taxi with a good stern warning.”