Carnal Urges (Queens & Monsters Book 2)

When I open my eyes, it’s morning.

I’m on my side, facing the windows. The curtains are drawn, but a sliver of light peeks beneath, spreading golden sunbeams across the floor. Declan slumbers behind me, his breaths deep and slow, one arm thrown over my waist. His nose is buried in my hair.

I’m not a particularly religious person, but I do believe in miracles. I know there are so many things we cannot understand, but that have the power to move us regardless. Mysterious things. Wondrous things. Things of great beauty that speak to the soul.

Things that heal us in places that have been broken so long, we thought they were lost forever.

Lying in this warm bed in this quiet room with this beautiful man, I feel miracles all around me.

Declan stirs, stretching his legs. His arm tightens around my waist. His lips find my nape, and he gently kisses me there.

His voice thick with sleep, he says, “You camels snore something wicked.”

I start to laugh.

“It’s not funny. I barely got a wink of sleep.”

“You’ll live.”

I roll over in his arms and smile at him. He returns it, smoothing my hair from my face.

He murmurs, “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you.”

Adjusting his head on the pillow, he lets his gaze travel all over my face. He sighs softly in contentment. “Thank goodness I didn’t become a priest.”

I arch my brows. “Yes, that would have been a poor career choice, considering your tendency to shoot people.”

“I almost did, though. I planned on pursuing my master’s in Divinity, but went into the military instead.”

I stare at him, certain he’s joking. “Really? You?”

He chuckles. “Aye. I wasn’t always a hard-ass. Once upon a time, I was very much the romantic.” A cloud passes over his eyes. “But life disabused me of all my romantic notions early on.”

I reach up and caress his rough cheek, instinctively knowing there’s a story there. A story of loss and pain.

A man with a big, black “Vengeance Is Mine” tattoo inked into his chest has some seriously heavy baggage.

I take a shot in the dark and guess at what it might be. “You were in love?”

His lips curl. It’s a smile, but a bitter one. “If only it were that simple. No, what led me away from god is how my entire family was murdered, one by one, and no one was ever held accountable for it. None of their killers ever paid a price.”

His voice drops. “Until I decided to make them pay. And pay they did.”

I stare at him with my heart beating fast and my stomach twisting. “Who killed your family?”

In his pause, I sense an ocean of misery.

“There were bloody gang wars in Ireland then. Every day, there was more violence. My parents were caught in the crossfire of a shootout at a café. They were celebrating their wedding anniversary. My older brother, Finn, died in an explosion at a pub. My younger brother, Mac, was killed in a collision with a lorry driven by two IRA members on their way to blow up a bank. And my sister, Cecilia, was in a nightclub that was set on fire by a gang who wanted to intimidate its owner into paying protection. It didn’t work, because he died of smoke inhalation along with twenty-three others, including my sister. The doors had been barricaded. Emergency personnel didn’t get there soon enough to get everyone out.”

I rest my cheek against his chest, close my eyes, and snuggle closer to him. There’s nothing I can say to make it better, so I don’t even try.

“I had nothing and no one left, including my faith, so I joined the Air Corps. From there, I was recruited to the Directorate of Military Intelligence, Ireland’s version of the CIA. And I learned to kill people. Bad people. Threats to national security and the like. I did it so well, I kept getting promoted. Then our family’s priest, who’d emigrated to the States before my parents died, contacted me. Said he’d heard of my reputation. Said he didn’t agree with my choices, but he’d made some contacts here I might find useful.”

His tone turns dry. “For a price, of course. The church looks the other way for sinners whose pockets are deep enough.”

“Anyway, it got me to thinking that I needed to expand my base of operations. There were evil men all over the world who weren’t being held accountable for their deeds. So I came here, where no one but the priest knew what had happened my family, joined the Mob, and worked my way up.”

“You’re good with navigating male-dominated hierarchies.”

He exhales heavily. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. There’s no better way to destabilize a system than from the inside.”

“So you’re a Trojan horse.”

“Aye. The goal is checks and balances. There’s only so much official legal systems can do. They need a helping hand.”

I think about that for a while. Counterterrorism, counterespionage, whacking bad guys while pretending to be friends… He’s got a lot on his plate.

No wonder he’s always so crabby.

“Now that all the heads of the other families are gone, what will happen?”

“They’ll regroup. It’ll take a while, but there’s always a new snake to replace the old one. But you’re not in danger anymore of being used as a bargaining chip for them to try to get Kage to reopen their shipping routes.”

“Because…?”

“The word’s out. You’re mine. Anyone who dares to do so much as breathe in your direction dies.”

I groan. “I’m sick.”

“How so?”

“That made me fall for you even harder.”

“If that turns you on, you’re definitely spy material. It takes a certain kind of personality to excel in my line of work.” He pauses. “Which is why I thought you might be interested.”

I look up at him, aghast. “In murdering people for a living? I’m sorry, but no matter how evil they are, I couldn’t do it. I don’t even like to kill spiders.”

“There are many other ways to be useful as a spy.”

I furrow my brow. “So it was your idea that those assholes on the ship interrogate me?”

“No,” he says firmly. “My idea was that I’d be your handler. Potentially. But they ran with it and decided to do a trial by fire.”

“Handler? What’s that?”

“The person who gives you assignments.”

I think for a moment. “Except for the killing-people part and you being my boss, it does have a certain glamorous appeal.”

Eyes alight, he murmurs, “We’d be like Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

“You really like that idea, don’t you?”

“Don’t you?”

“What about the yoga studio I’m planning to start? I’d have to change the name to Fit for a Queen—When We’re Not Out Spying.”

“You could still have your studio. Most people who work in spycraft lead completely normal-looking lives on the outside.”

“Spycraft,” I repeat, trying out the word. “Ooh.”

He chuckles. “See? You like the idea, too.”

I quirk my lips. “Let’s table this discussion for after breakfast.”

He smiles like he’s already got it in the bag.

“Changing the subject: how long do you think this truce between you and Kage will last?”

Declan rolls onto his back and tucks me under his arm. I slide my leg over his and wind my foot under his ankle.

“Dunno. I’m still Irish, like his family’s killers. He won’t be able to look past that for long.”

“So you were planning to put him in prison?”

“No, that was the FBI’s plan. He was on my hit list, until you asked me not to hurt him. But now he owes me a favor, the bastard.”

“Is he really that bad?”

He huffs a short, hard breath out his nose.

I take that as a yes. Nat and I are going to have to put our heads together about how to handle the guest list at her wedding. The rehearsal dinner could be a bloodbath.

Which is the last thing the poor girl needs, considering her first fiancé never showed up for theirs.

Declan turns his head and looks at me with a hard glint in his eye. “Speaking of people I should’ve killed when I had the chance, did you see Stavros while you were in New York?”

“I haven’t seen him since you tried to ship me off to him like you were returning a sofa.”

The hard glint fades from his eyes. It’s replaced by a tender shine. “You were so angry with me over that.”

“I still am. You’re not the only one who can hold a grudge.”

He rolls over, pressing me against the mattress, and grasps my jaw. “Any way I can make it up to you?”

His tone is suggestive. His eyes are hot. And that big pistol he’s packing between his legs is nudging my thigh, hoping for playtime.

I press the smile from my lips and answer him somberly. “Yes. Address me as Your Royal Highness from now on.”

Gazing into my eyes, he murmurs, “Anything you want, my queen. Anything and everything, no matter what it is.”

Then he kisses me, and in his lips I taste forever.