Perfect Sinner by Maggie Cole

3

Nolan

There'sno way to quiet my mind. A Bailey is sleeping under my roof. If Gemma's telling the truth, they're coming after her. Our protection makes my family an even bigger target than before. And all I keep seeing is her face, covered in tears.

I've welcomed the devil to reposition his fork straight at me.

She could be lying.

She wants to commit suicide, it's so bad.

Lifeless images of Gemma don't leave me all night. It's a contrast from her outgoing, fun personality. It tugs at my heart. I rotate between worrying about her and reminding myself she has Bailey blood flowing through her veins.

The news of who she is should end the attraction I feel toward her, but everything feels amplified. Visions of her pink ass with my handprint on it don't ever leave me. Unless she's playing me, she wants me. It doesn't help me turn off my racing thoughts of things I want to do to her.

Jesus. She's Rory Bailey's daughter. Nothing can happen between us.

After several hours of failing to sleep, I kick myself for wasting more time. I throw on my pajama bottoms and head to my office. The clock reads three in the morning. I fire up the computer and try to concentrate on cracking the new algorithm.

I might as well be staring at a blank screen for over an hour. All I keep visualizing is Gemma alive and Gemma dead. I debate about checking on her. My conscience finally wins, and I creep down the hall. I quietly open her bedroom door.

It takes my eyes a few minutes to adjust to the darkness of the room. I step closer. Everything in my body comes to life. She's hands down the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She must have washed her face before bed. The makeup that stained her face is gone. Her cheeks have a natural blush and a few freckles. She must have covered them up with her foundation. Her pouty lips are a soft pink. Most women would pay for her lashes, but they have to be natural since they match her strawberry-blonde hair. For the first time since meeting her, she has a peaceful expression on her face.

Relief floods me that she's okay and didn't do anything to herself. It hits me how worried I was, and it's another thing I'm unhappy for feeling. I shouldn't care. She's a Bailey. I've vowed never to hesitate when it comes to one of them. Yet, here I am, not only hard as a rock from staring at her but caring way too much about her well-being.

A Bailey princess.

I need to get out of here.

My resolve is weak. Instead of leaving, I take a seat in the chair but immediately rise. It's lumpy, so I grab the items and realize I'm holding her folded clothes. At the same time, she stirs. She turns toward me, stretches her arms above her head, and hugs the pillow. Her creamy, flawless skin makes me think of dripping caramel on her again. I've never thought twice about the sticky substance before, but it's quickly becoming an obsession.

I tear my eyes off her momentarily. Her bra is black see-through lace. Her panties match. I don't know what they call them, but it's one of those pairs that show off the bottom of her ass cheeks. Unable to resist, I torture myself further and sniff them. An earthy scent, mixed with lavender, which I assume is from her laundry soap, flares in my nostrils. I hold back a groan then ball them up in my fist. I neatly stack her clothes and bra on the table next to me and clutch the panties.

She takes a deep breath, and a soft moan fills the air. I lean closer, studying every part of her. The urge to pull the blanket off her so I can see what she looks like naked grows until I make myself leave.

When I get to my bedroom, I glance at my phone. It's nearing six. I sniff her panties one more time and let out the groan I've been holding in all night. I place them in the nightstand drawer next to my bed. Then, I run my hand over my stack of O'Malley pub T-shirts and find the softest one I can. I wish I could take a picture of her in it and send it to her father just to piss him off. I take it to her bedroom. I put it on the chair and creep out again.

Since I'm worthless unless it involves obsessing over Gemma, I go into the kitchen and find my shaker bottle and metal ball for my smoothie. I normally use a blender, but I don't want to wake her. If she's telling the truth and hasn't been sleeping, this might be the first time she's gotten rest in a while.

Sometimes I use fresh or frozen fruits and vegetables, but I also have flash-dried produce that got turned into a powder-like substance. I add that to my bottle, along with several supplements, put the cap on, and shake it for several minutes. I open the lid, grab an egg out of the fridge, and crack it open.

"Tell me you aren't drinking that with a raw egg." Gemma's slightly raspy voice cuts through the air.

My heart stammers. She's in nothing but my T-shirt. She can't be. I have her panties, and her nipples are poking straight at me. I lock eyes with her. I pour the egg into my smoothie, put the lid back on, then shake it again. Against my will, my eyes travel down the length of her body. Satisfaction grows seeing her in an O'Malley T-shirt. I don't think she catches me ogling her though. When I reach her face again, she's gaping at my torso.

"My eyes are up here, princess," I cockily state.

Her cheeks erupt into crimson flames. She recovers and straightens her shoulders. "You wouldn't happen to know where my panties are, would you?" She smirks.

Heat climbs up my neck and floods my face. I curse myself. What was I thinking? I open the lid, reply, "Nope," then take a long drink to try and cover up my reaction.

She steps so close, her aura pounds into my flesh just like the previous night. She tilts her head up and bats her eyelashes. In a sweet, innocent tone, she asks, "So if you're not the panty thief, who is?"

I finish the rest of my smoothie faster than usual in an attempt to calm my skyrocketing pulse. I get done, step to the side, and wash out my cup. "Not my fault if you can't keep your clothes together. Maybe you didn't wear them and forgot?"

She huffs. "Hmm. I've never forgotten something like that before. But that means I leave the house without wearing panties. Is that your assumption of me?"

Amused, I can't help it and grin. I look down and meet her blue eyes. "Are you saying you've never gone out of the house without underwear on?"

"Is that what you do?" she fires back.

"Depends on if the boys need to breathe."

She lets out a small laugh, and her face lights up further. "So they get sweaty often? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

I turn it on her again. "Is that how you decide to wear your panties in public or go bare?"

"And we're back to the mystery of who the panty thief is," Gemma chirps.

"Not sure what you're talking about," I lie.

"My clothes were on the chair when I went to sleep. I woke up, and they were on the table. The chair only had this T-shirt." She tugs at the chest and then releases it.

"Huh. You might want to get some things from your mom's place today."

Her face falls.

My initial thought is that she doesn't want to stay here longer. But then I remember her concerns about Orla killing her mother. I firmly declare, "I have questions. She's going to answer them."

She scrunches her forehead and blinks hard. "I don't want my mom to die."

"She won't. She's under O'Malley protection. And right now, you all increase the Bailey threats on my family. So I'm going to ask, and she's going to answer," I insist.

Gemma tugs on a lock of her hair. "Are you always so insensitive?"

My gut twists. Yesterday wasn't normal for me. Sean's warning to me in my dream set me off. Finding out Gemma and Hailee were Baileys intensified my already edgy state. I reply, "No. I'm a really nice guy, but I'll never have any love or trust for a Bailey as far as I can throw them."

Her body stiffens and she turns away.

I instantly regret being such a dick. But maybe it's better we keep the lines clear. She's a Bailey. I'm an O'Malley. If she doesn't want any part of them, I'll protect her, since it's in my family's best interest. Other than that, she shouldn't expect much. Her family hurt mine too many times to count. Even if she's telling the truth, her blood makes it impossible for me to ever fully trust or like her. Liam may not be able to cut off ties with Hailee, but once this is over and Rory, Orla, and whoever else is coming after Gemma are dead, we'll go our separate ways.

She clears her throat and moves away from me. "Is it okay if I make some coffee?"

"I don't drink coffee."

She spins. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. That shit is acidic, addicting, and overall bad for your body," I claim.

She looks at me as if I'm crazy. "You do realize eating raw eggs puts you at risk of salmonella, right?"

"My eggs are pasteurized. Do you eat sushi?"

"Yeah. I love it. Why?"

"It's raw. You have the same risks."

She rolls her eyes. "If you get sushi from a quality restaurant, your risk is extremely low."

"Yeah. Same with eggs."

She sighs. "Okay. You have fun when you get food poisoning. Where can I go to get a cup of coffee around here?"

"Get dressed. I'll take you to the cafe down the street."

"Can I take a quick shower?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks." She leaves the room, and I stare at the back of her, wishing I could watch her remove my T-shirt.

I scrub my face in frustration, reprimanding myself for my thoughts. I throw my cup in the dishwasher and go into my bedroom. I take a shower, throw on a pair of gray joggers and a faded green T-shirt with the O'Malley pub logo. It's different from the one I gave to Gemma. It's also soft, since Nora can't stand selling stiff T-shirts.

Gemma's waiting on the couch when I get out to the main room. Her hair is twisted and tied into a messy bun. She rises, and my dick twitches. She twisted the T-shirt I gave her into a knot on her stomach. If I look close enough, a hint of her abs is showing. Her skirt from last night hugs her hips perfectly, displaying her bare legs that I want to lick caramel off of.

She catches me ogling her again and says, "Did you forget your underwear in those pants?"

Shit.I tear my gaze from her thighs, realizing I've got a semi, and she's watched it develop. I grab my keys and arrogantly reply, "Nope. Full coverage, princess, unlike you. Let's go."

Her face turns maroon.

I spin away from her while texting my cousin so I can attempt to get control of my cock. He's in charge of adding extra security to us wherever we go, so I tell him we're going to the cafe. I lead her to the garage and open her door. She slides in the car, keeping her legs pressed firmly together.

I take a few deep breaths before I get in the driver's seat, reminding myself she's a Bailey, and not just any Bailey. She's Rory's daughter. Besides his brother, Mack, there might not be a more disgusting human being on this planet.

We get to the cafe, and I put my hand on her back and lead her inside. Three of my cousins are already inside. Another three are behind us. No one would know they are watching us.

It's a typical weekday morning. The line is long but moves quickly. We get to the front of the counter. The male barista eyes Gemma over. My guess is he's in his late twenties. He says in a chipper voice, "Welcome to Morning Bean. What will you be drinking today, doll?"

I scowl at him. Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, "Do you call all your customers doll?"

He cocks an eyebrow at me. "Just being friendly."

"Keep your side comments to yourself," I warn him.

I ignore Gemma's questioning, or maybe it's an amused stare. I keep my eyes on the punk in front of me and ask, "Gemma, what do you want?"

She clears her throat, and that goddamn raspy voice of hers tortures me further. "I'll take a double espresso long, please."

I have no idea what that drink is, but the fuck-me eyes the barista is continuing to give her pisses me off further. He has the balls to ask, "Got a hard day in front of you?"

Gemma sweetly replies, "No. Just a—"

"How much is it?" I interject.

He gives Gemma a frustrated look then punches the order into the computer. "Five eighty-two."

Gemma digs into her purse, but I toss six bucks at him.

He picks up the money then hands me the change. "What's your name, doll?"

"Are you looking for issues?" I growl.

"Nolan," Gemma mutters and pulls on my arm.

"I need it for the drink," he states.

"Nolan. That's all you need to know." I lead Gemma to the other end of the counter and cross my arms.

She doesn't say anything until we get her drink and sit down. "Are you always so rude to restaurant workers?"

I snort. "Says the woman who was super disrespectful to Molly last night."

She gapes at me. "I was not rude to her."

I accuse, "You were a total snob. You dismissed her like she wasn't good enough for you. Do you have something against waitresses?"

"I was not a snob. And she was fawning all over you with her lovesick puppy dog eyes."

"That's not true," I claim.

"Yeah, it is. Do you two have a thing or something?"

"You're kidding me, right?"

She shakes her head then takes a sip of her espresso. "No? If you don't have a thing, then does she know it?"

"You're out of line," I reply.

"Oh? How so?"

"Molly's brother is my best friend. I've known her forever. He's in Europe, and I promised him I'd watch out for her. We're friends. That's it," I insist, and it's the truth.

"Well, you should tell her that."

I fire back, "You should be nice to her."

"You should be nice to innocent baristas doing their jobs."

I groan. "Doll? You think that was an appropriate comment to make to you?"

She laughs. "You don't have any idea what random men say to me. That was tame. And especially when I used to waitress. So no, I'm not a snob against servers."

My chest tightens. The feeling I want to kill someone pops up. "What do they say?"

"Nothing. Let's drop it."

"No. I want to know," I insist.

She avoids answering me. "Can you take me to my mom's after this? I'll pack and tell her I'm staying with Hailee."

My focus snaps back to our reality. "We already discussed this. I have questions I need answers to."

Worry floods her expression. She lowers her voice. "Nolan, my mom doesn't even know about Orla contacting me or that I know who my father is."

"You need to tell her."

Gemma pins her big blue eyes on mine. "I told you why I can't."

I lean closer to her. "Listen to me. The time of hiding this is over. Your other sisters need to know what is going on, too. They need to be aware in case anything out of the ordinary happens to them."

She swallows hard. "Liam said the O'Malleys would protect them."

"We will. But everyone needs to be aware of things. And their phones need to be checked, too," I advise.

She closes her eyes and turns toward the window.

I shouldn't touch her, but watching her grapple with this is painful. I reach across the table and grab her hand. She looks at me.

I sternly say, "I'm not trying to be a dick. If you want my protection, you have to trust me. I know what needs to happen in this situation."

She studies me. Her lips curve into a frown. "Doesn't really seem fair I have to trust you, yet you'll never trust me."

The truth hangs in the air. I want to tell her I regret saying what I did this morning, and that it's not the case, but I can't. She's still a Bailey, with their DNA in every cell of her body.

My phone rings, and I answer, "Liam?"

"Hailee called her other sisters. I'm swinging by to pick you and Gemma up. Hailee wants to talk to her mother," Liam says.

I tighten my grip on Gemma's hand. "We're at Morning Bean."

"I'm two blocks away. Meet me outside," Liam instructs.

I hang up. "This issue is solved. Hailee called your sisters and mom. We're going over there now."

She purses her lips in anger and shakes her head.

I calm my tone. "Don't be upset, princess."

She glares at me. "Can you stop reminding me what I am? And Hailee should have talked to me first."

"I think that goes both ways."

"What does that mean?" she spouts.

I shrug. "Maybe Hailee thinks you should have told her."

"I told—"

"I know. You have your reasons. She has hers. It's all I'm saying. But I think you have more issues to deal with than adding holding a grudge against your sister to your plate." I release her hand and rise.

She stands, picks up her coffee, and looks up. "No matter what you think of me, my mother was severely beaten by my father. I still remember it even though I was a toddler. She fled North Carolina in the middle of the night with four daughters. My sisters weren't even one. I know you have your agenda, but I'd appreciate it if you and Liam let us talk to our mom without you verbally assaulting her. My father abused her enough."

My insides flip with rage. Any man who abuses a woman should be dead in my book. I can only imagine what Rory put her mother through. Imagining what Gemma described makes me feel bad for all of them. "I'm not out to hurt any of you."

Her face hardens, but her lips shake. "Good. If you meet my mom, please remember she's been through a lot. Don't talk to her how you talk to me."

Her words are a slap in my face. It stings. I've never had any woman claim I'm anything but nice to them. I usually get told how sweet I am. But ever since my father died, the mere mention of a Bailey sets me off. A lump forms in my throat. I swallow it and try to find the right words, but everything seems wrong. I hate that I've been a dick to Gemma. If she weren't a Bailey, I wouldn't think twice about watching everything I say and how I deliver it. But she is, and it makes me feel unbalanced. My immediate reaction is to apologize, yet I can't seem to find the words or swallow my ego. I finally settle on, "I'll be nice."

She nods and turns. I almost reach for her and pull her into my arms. I want to tell her I'm sorry and I'll stop being a dick. Something inside me won't allow me though.

She moves toward the door, and I follow. Liam's car pulls up, and we get inside.

"Gemma, you okay?" Hailee asks.

Gemma quietly replies, "You should have asked me about this."

Hailee sighs. "They all need to know."

Gemma twists her fingers in her lap and stares out the window. No one says anything the rest of the ride.

Liam and I stand in the hallway outside their mother's condo for over an hour. We barely speak, and we suddenly hear the women shouting.

Her mother opens the door, and Liam steps in front of her. I step to the side of him and let him talk, trying to remember my promise to Gemma that I will be nice to her mom.

At one point, her mother asks who I am, wants to know what I want with Gemma, then asks, "So my daughter is your prisoner?"

Gemma cries out, "Mom! Stop! That's not—"

Her mother spins fast and cuts her off. "You do not know what you are doing or what these men are capable of. This isn't a game or a wild night out, Gemma."

Gemma's eyes fill with tears, and I suddenly feel suffocated. "You don't think I know that? They've destroyed my life in the last nine months. I've lived in fear, quit my job I worked my ass off for and was good at—no, I was amazing at it—and now I've become a hermit to the point my friends won't even talk to me. My half-sister infested my home so badly, I can't ever walk in there again without the feeling of rats crawling on me because the one night I took a sleeping pill, I woke up with them all over me. Every night, I get in bed and can barely sleep. My stomach feels like an acid pit eating at me all day. So don't stand there and tell me what I know or don't know. I'm fully aware this isn't a game, Mother."

Her mother covers her mouth with her hand and whispers, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. You should have told me."

"Like you should have told us who our father is?" Gemma fires back.

Her mother breaks down in sobs, and Gemma brushes past her. I'm about to go after her, but Hailee does. She eventually comes back into the room and avoids looking at me. It's then I realize so many things.

Unless Gemma is the biggest con artist in the world, there's no way she's lying about this. Orla has destroyed her life. She's living in a constant state of fear, but I see something else.

It's shame. The realization cuts me to the core. I finish going through her sisters' and mother's phone. I demonstrate how to turn off their microphones and do a search twice a day for trackers. Liam and I discuss security measures. I'm careful to keep my tone calm. The entire time, Gemma stands at the window, staring out at the Chicago skyline.

She packs a bag before we go. I say goodbye to her mother, but she says nothing to me and walks away. It shouldn't bug me her mother hates me. They are still Baileys, and my loathing for Baileys hasn't diminished. But Gemma no longer seems to fit the box I've thrown all Baileys in.

And I'm not sure what to do with it or her.