When I return to the living room, Kieran takes one look at my face and snorts.
“She got to ye, too, eh?”
And how.
I know he means that she got to me in the way she has that makes a man want to throw himself into a pool of sharks to escape because a quick, violent death is preferable to the slow, agonizing one caused by spending time in her company.
But she got to me in another way. It’s far worse. And far more dangerous than a pool of sharks.
She’s kind.
She worries about other people. She notices their pain. She empathizes—even with her fucking kidnapper.
She’s also funny. Funny, quick-witted, and smart. She knows Epictetus, for fuck’s sake, and nobody knows him.
Worst of all, she’s completely unflappable. It’s like her superpower. She wakes up in bed with me beside her, and her reaction is a yawn.
A fucking yawn. Who is this woman?
Angry with myself for being intrigued, I make a list:
This is the woman who got four of my men killed.
This is the woman who started a war between all the families.
This is the woman who fucks members of the Russian mafia and is lifelong best friends with the girlfriend of the head of the Russian mafia.
The woman who can’t shut her mouth for more than ten seconds at a time.
The woman who doesn’t “keep” boyfriends.
The woman with gorgeous green eyes and legs that go on for days and a pair of full, lush tits that just beg to be squeezed, licked, and—
“Get me a whiskey,” I snap at Kieran, sounding like I’m ordering him to get me a gun instead.
He ambles away, shaking his head.
Bloody hell. I’m unraveling.
When he returns with the drink, I gulp it down in one swallow. “Is Tommy back from the store?”
“Aye.”
“Good. Make up another tray and bring it to her.”
Kieran pulls a face. “Why me?”
“She likes you.”
He couldn’t be more shocked if I’d squared off and punched him in the gut. “Me? Ach! She banjaxed my nose!”
“She feels bad about it.”
“Aye?” He pauses. “She told me that, too. I thought she was pullin’ my leg. Havin’ a wee laugh at me.”
“No.”
“Huh.”
He rearranges a few things in his head, then shrugs. “Well, I am quite likeable.”
Dear god, not him, too.
My scowl sends him hurrying away into the kitchen.
I try to turn my attention to all the things that need to be done, the phone calls and meetings and strategy planning. But all I can think about is the green-eyed demon in my bed, wearing my clothes, lying underneath my body, smiling at me.
Rubbing away the tension in my shoulders with surprisingly strong hands.
Saying softly, “Good?”
I have to get her out of this house before my dick makes me do something stupid.
In a life full of unforgiveable sins, sleeping with the enemy would be the absolute worst.
