Kiss Shot (Dublin Mafia: Triskelion Team, Book 2) Read online

  Tonight, he didn’t have to worry about running into Lar and losing his cool, thank fuck. Shane was meeting an old pal for a drink and had deliberately chosen a pub that wasn’t among his cousin’s usual watering holes. Man, he needed something to take the edge off his week and get his thoughts far away from everything related to the Delaney family.

  But first, he had to do more internet digging. Lar wanted him to search for info for a Triskelion Team assignment, and Frank wanted him to dig for dirt on Lar. How fucking ironic.

  Shane’s jaw hardened. Then he flexed his shoulders, revved the engine, and pointed the bike in the direction of home.

  2

  After four vodka shots, selling one’s soul to the devil felt pretty damn good. It was a temporary high in an otherwise shitty situation, but Ruthie Reynolds would take any rays of sunshine audacious enough to penetrate the storm clouds looming over her life. With a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, Ruthie examined the balls on the pool table and lined up her next shot.

  She’d persuaded two brawny eejits to teach her to play pool. After showing her the basics, they’d agreed to an extortionate cash prize for the winner of this game, assuming the girl with the diamond stud earrings was good for it and confident she’d lose. Fucking clowns. She’d show them not to make assumptions.

  Carefully angling her cue stick, Ruthie nudged the white ball into motion. In a perfect kiss shot, it hit off a ball, changed direction, and rolled toward her real target: the striped ball located just outside a pocket. The barest contact sent the striped ball into the basket. “Yes!” Ruthie cried, beaming at her companions.

  Eejit One stared at her with open-mouthed amazement and exchanged a significant glance with Eejit Two.

  “I’m a quick learner,” she said in what she hoped was a husky tone. “And you’re great teachers.”

  She needed to allay their misgivings fast, or the fight she planned to incite would break out sooner than she wanted. Ruthie smiled at the men, leaned over the pool table to draw their attention to her tight jeans—also purchased especially for this occasion—and deliberately screwed up her next shot. She straightened and made a moue of disappointment. “What did I do wrong?”

  “You hit my ball instead of yours.” Eejit One examined her carefully, his suspicions aroused. A big, bald man with a broken nose and scarred knuckles, he was what passed for the brains of the duo. Not that this was saying much.

  Eejit Two was his pal’s polar opposite in appearance: small, lanky, and greasy-haired. He had the twitchy movements of the habitual user, and the unnatural pallor of his skin enhanced this impression. The man’s gaze was fixed on Ruthie’s breasts, which were more prominent than usual in her figure-hugging tank top. His leer did nothing to improve his looks. “You’ll get better with practice,” he said with a smirk. “We could give you some private lessons if you like. Teach you how to handle balls.”

  The only thing I’d like to do to your balls is kick them. Ruthie’s fake smile didn’t falter. “I’m sure you know all about balls,” she purred. Seeing as wanking is probably the only action you get.

  Eejit One shot her a wary glance but didn’t say anything further.

  Ruthie smiled to herself and stepped back to let him line up his shot. “Good luck.”

  The man sneered. “No luck needed. I play to win.”

  Oh, she was sure he played to win. The idea of winning five hundred euros from her was a major enticement. Ruthie had barely fifty euros to her name at the moment, but he didn’t know that. If she’d had money, she wouldn’t be in her present predicament. Paying off the first chunk of her brother’s debts had wiped out her savings account. The second chunk wouldn’t be paid until Ruthie completed her stealth assignment for the Jarvis Agency.

  She’d been wary of them the moment they’d approached her several months ago. It had been in her changing room in Geneva, right after she’d lost a fight. Staring at her swollen knee, Ruthie had finally allowed her doctor’s words to penetrate: her problem knee was as good as it was going to get. She’d never fight at her peak again, never become the next Ronda Rousey.

  The disappointment crushed her. Which was why she’d pushed past her doubts and embraced the idea of receiving training in surveillance and intelligence from the Jarvis Agency. They needed someone with her combat skills, and her knee was good enough for their purposes. Ruthie had envisioned glamor and excitement, more in the style of James Bond than Jason Bourne. The reality of sleazy undercover assignments, spying on drug smugglers and black market diamond dealers, was a rude awakening. When Travers, her handler, had informed her she’d have her first solo assignment, Ruthie had experienced a surge of excitement, a sliver of hope that she’d finally get a case where she could make a difference. And then they’d told her what she was expected to do.

  Ruthie flexed her jaw. Kevin ought to appreciate her efforts on his behalf, but she didn’t expect any thanks from her brother.

  She focused on the pool table. Eejit One lined up another shot. He wasn’t a bad player, but his ability paled in comparison to Ruthie’s. Her opponent coaxed three balls in succession into the baskets. He was catching up fast. She had to hope that his next shot went awry.

  It did.

  The man swore when his ball ricocheted off the edge of the pool table and sent other balls flying, but none in the direction he wanted. Ruthie flexed her shoulders, limbering up for her next shot. She cast a quick glance around the bar. Shane Delaney had better show his face fast, or the game would be over before he arrived. The lads were getting antsy, Eejit One in particular. And rightly so. She was playing them for fools.

  She successfully sank her first shot and deliberately fucked up her second. Sticking her cleavage out to the max, she stood back to let Eejit One do his stuff on the pool table. She glanced at her watch. Nine fifteen. Where the fuck was Shane Delaney? Her brother had said Shane was due to meet a mutual friend for a drink at nine o’clock. Unless he’d had a personality transplant over the last few years, Shane was always punctual. Ruthie scanned the crowd and her breath caught.

  Shane Delaney weaved his way through the throng, cutting a meandering path toward the bar. He was taller than she remembered, but he still had the same high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes that she saw in her dreams.

  Her treacherous heart skipped a beat. Why did Shane have to look so damn good? Why couldn’t he have developed a beer belly or acquired a man bun in the five years since she’d last seen him? Anything to lessen his sex appeal. Instead, Shane had added muscle and a sinfully sexy beard. Ruthie didn’t need to see underneath his T-shirt to know he had rock-hard abs. The memory of their one and only make-out session clouded her vision. She took a deep breath and forced herself to concentrate. She’d spent too much time planning this encounter to screw it up at the last second.

  Eejit One took his next shot, sent the ball wide, and swore at his ineptitude.

  “Your turn, little lady.” His words were laden with more than a hint of a threat.

  Eejit Two blinked in confusion, his friend’s menacing tone alerting him to the fact that something was off about this game. The men looked at one another, and then turned their bloodshot eyes toward her. A fight was brewing, and Ruthie intended to make sure it broke out soon. Brandishing her cue stick with a flourish, she treated Eejit One to a cheeky grin and shot the eight ball into her chosen pocket. “Well, what do you know? You owe me five hundred euros.”

  “You said you couldn’t play,” Eejit Two growled, outrage written all over his gaunt face.

  “She’s a fucking hustler, Dec,” said his slightly smarter friend. “She played us for fools.”

  Ruthie erupted with laughter. “You are fools. The easiest pair I’ve ever hustled, but a deal is a deal. Now pay up.”

  “No fucking way.” Eejit Two got up in her face, the smell of alcohol on his breath a pungent reminder of the danger she was in. “You’re not seeing a red cent of my money.”

  “I’m not interested in cents, red
or otherwise.” Ruthie twirled her pool stick between her fingers. “I want the five hundred euros you and your pal promised to pay me if I won the game.”

  “I’m not paying you anything,” Eejit One said, his nostrils flaring. “Go fuck yourself, cunt.”

  “Now that’s no way to speak to a lady.” Ruthie sidled up to him and stuck her hand into his shirt pocket to grab his wallet.

  “Hey,” he roared, slapping her hand away. Here was the moment Ruthie had been waiting for. She drew back her right arm and delivered a sharp left jab, right cross that sent Eejit One flying. Eejit Two was on his feet in an instant, teeth bared and fists at the ready. He flew at Ruthie and crashed into a table when she sidestepped him at the last second. Eejit One regained his footing and lumbered toward Ruthie, fists at the ready.

  “That’s enough,” said the gravelly voice that still had the power to make Ruthie go weak at the knees.

  3

  Shane Delaney emerged from the shadows, grabbed Eejit One, and hurled the man onto the sofa beside the pool table.

  Eejit Two’s jaw dropped at the sight of Shane and he practically threw himself onto the seat beside his friend. “We didn’t know she was with you, Delaney.”

  “She wasn’t, but she is now.” Shane turned his gorgeous blue eyes on Ruthie and riveted her to the spot with the intensity of his gaze. The floor seemed to shift beneath her. Maybe knocking back that fourth vodka shot hadn’t been the smartest move. Here was the moment she’d been waiting for since she’d returned to Dublin, and all she could do was gawk at him.

  “I didn’t think you went in for hustling, Delaney,” Eejit One muttered. “Your girl tried to fleece me out of five hundred euros.”

  “Let’s call it a practical joke and move on, lads. I’ll stand you a drink, and we’ll forget all about it.” Eejit One opened his mouth as if to protest, but kept silent when Shane held up a palm. “I was telling you how this was going to play out, Murph, not opening the floor for a discussion. I’ll order you both pints of the black stuff with whiskey chasers, and you’ll go back to playing pool with each other.”

  Ruthie snorted. “Probably the only ball action they’ll get all night.”

  Eejit One leaped out of his seat, growling. Shane shoved him back down. “Stay there, and I’ll get your drinks sent over.”

  The man muttered under his breath and shot Ruthie a filthy look. “Got no choice, have I?”

  “You don’t.” Shane grabbed Ruthie by the arm and hauled her over to the bar. When they reached two empty barstools, he spun her around to face him. “Ruthie Reynolds. I shoulda fucking known. Only you could turn an otherwise peaceful gathering into a punch-up in under two minutes.”

  “More like half an hour.” Ruthie’s heart thumped in her chest, making it hard to think straight. “Long time no see, Shane.”

  He pinned her in place with his gaze, his expression inscrutable. “If this is the chaos you bring in your wake, I’d have been happy to extend the ‘no see’ part.”

  His dry delivery took the edge off his words, but they stung all the same. Ruthie widened her smile and aimed for nonchalance. “Now, don’t be mean. We’re old friends, after all. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

  For a painful moment, she thought he’d reject her, but then his face split into a wide grin. He grabbed her up in a bear hug, crushing her against his muscular chest. He smelled spicy and male and oh so desirable. She longed to lean in and never let go, to allow herself to surrender to this man in every possible way.

  The embrace ended as abruptly as it had begun. Shane stood back and gave her an appreciative once-over. “It’s good to see you, Ruthie, especially looking so well.”

  Her cheeks grew warm. She was under no illusions about her appearance. Thanks to years of kickboxing and mixed martial arts, she was more ripped than most men and preferred to conceal her bulky arm muscles and strong legs underneath long-sleeved T-shirts and combat pants. Tonight’s formfitting sleeveless top and tight jeans were an anomaly. She’d bought them with hustling in mind. “You’re a shameless flatterer, Shane Delaney,” she said in a breezy tone that didn’t match her churning stomach.

  His eyes twinkled with humor. “No flattery required. When did you get back? Last I heard, you were gallivanting around Europe.”

  “Hardly gallivanting,” she said dryly. “I did the amateur MMA circuit for a while.” In addition to other less-than-salubrious lines of work…

  “You’ve bulked up since I saw you last.” Shane’s smile widened, and he squeezed one of her biceps. “Impressive.”

  “All part of the job.” The feel of his fingers on her skin made her heart beat a little faster, and his words reignited her self-consciousness over her looks. A betraying warmth crept up her cheeks.

  If Shane noticed her embarrassment, he pretended not to. “I’ve often wondered how you were,” he said. “You haven’t been back in Dublin for years.”

  “If you were interested, you could have gotten in touch.” The words slipped out before she could stop herself. Shit. She hadn’t intended to steer the conversation in this direction.

  His smile faded. “I should never have done what I did, Ruthie. I was Kevin’s mate, and you were his little sister.”

  Shane’s candid words shredded the last of her fake-it-till-you-make-it self-confidence. “And out of bounds,” she finished for him, struggling to keep her tone light. “Until I wasn’t.”

  Their eyes locked. A tense silence stretched the seconds.

  “Sorry about your tooth,” she added, shooting Shane a grin.

  His gaze softened. “You won the fight fair and square, Miss Ruthie, and losing the tooth was my fault. I’ve never forgotten to wear a mouthguard since.” His posture shifted. “I need to order Murph and Dec their drinks. What are you having?”

  “A vodka shot, please.” Inviting her to join him for a drink was a good sign. With alcohol loosening his inhibitions, she’d salvage the situation and inveigle an invitation to a Delaney family event.

  Shane nodded to the barman and ordered. While he was busy paying and organizing the delivery of Murph and Dec’s drinks, Ruthie slid her phone out of her pocket. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking as she typed a text message. She’d played this scenario out in her head many times, but she’d failed to take into account the effect Shane Delaney had on her equilibrium. Finally, she deleted the long, typo-ridden message and sent one that was short and to the point.

  He’s here. Proceed as planned.

  A moment later, Shane’s phone beeped. He glanced at the display and frowned. “Looks like I’ve been stood up.”

  “Hot date canceled?”

  He laughed, drawing attention to the smile lines around his eyes. “Hell no. Do you remember Lenny Keogh?”

  Sure, Ruthie remembered Lenny; she’d seen him three short hours ago when she’d paid him one hundred euros to arrange to meet Shane for a drink and cancel on him at the last minute.

  “He was supposed to meet me here,” Shane continued, “but something’s come up. Typical Lenny. The guy doesn’t contact me for months, and then he bloody well stands me up.”

  The barman shoved two drinks across the counter to them: a vodka shot for Ruthie and a whiskey for Shane.

  “Lenny was never the most reliable of souls,” Ruthie said, picking up her glass. “Sláinte.”

  “Sláinte.” A muscle in Shane’s cheek flexed. “I’m sorry about how we left things, Ruthie.”

  “Sorry that you walked out on me in the middle of the night and legged it to Australia? All you had to do was tell me you weren’t interested in sleeping with me. Switching hemispheres was an extreme reaction.” The words tumbled out unfiltered, shattering any illusions she’d had of steering this engineered meeting into one that would provide her with an “in” to spy on the Delaneys. Fuck. What was wrong with her? She’d kept her shit together in other undercover situations. Why was she screwing this one up so spectacularly?

  But she knew the answer to her questions, and he wa
s standing right next to her.

  Shane’s cheeks darkened underneath his tan. “I’d already planned to go to Australia. I didn’t leave because of you.”

  “No?” She arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

  “I wanted to come over,” he said gruffly, “but I didn’t feel welcome at your house.”

  “Your argument with my brother had nothing to do with me. You could have called me before you got on the plane. You could’ve—” Crap, crap, crap. Ruthie took a deep breath. She needed to pull herself together before she screwed up the entire operation. With a single throat-burning swig, she tossed back the vodka and set the glass on the counter. “Thanks for the drink. I’d better make tracks.”

  “Ruthie—” he began and reached for her hand.

  Despite her best efforts at self-control, she trembled at his touch. “It’s fine, Shane. Let’s forget what happened. It was a long time ago.”

  “I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he said. “I wanted to get that part of the conversation out of the way, seeing as we’d have to have it eventually. I see now that it was a mistake.”

  He hadn’t let go of her hand. The intimacy of his fingers entwined with hers made her light-headed. Unbeknownst to himself, Shane had thrown her a lifeline to fix this encounter and turn it to her advantage. She’d be a fool not to avail of the opportunity. Ruthie drew in a slow breath. “No, you were right,” she conceded. “It needed to be said. I could have tracked you down before you left instead of waiting for you to come to me.”

  “I should have called you. At the time, staying away seemed like the smartest move, but I realize now how badly I fucked up. We were friends before I lost my head and kissed you.”

  They’d been more than friends, at least as far as she’d been concerned. Shane’s rejection had shattered her heart, but his disappearance had cut the ground out from under her feet. However, if she wanted to be Shane’s plus-one at the next Delaney family gathering, she needed to play it sweet. Ruthie plastered on a smile. “Apology accepted.”