It happens fast.
One moment, she’s on her feet. The next, she crumples to the floor, her legs giving out like they’ve become boneless. Her expression changes in a flash from one of irritation to one of surprise.
Not fear. Not shock. Just simple surprise, as if she’s thinking This is new right before she loses consciousness.
Instincts have me reacting without needing to think. I catch her and ease her onto the carpet. She’s completely limp in my arms. Her mouth is slack. Her face is pale.
I noticed the color draining from her face a few minutes ago, but I attributed it to anger at me. It appears to be something much more sinister.
I should’ve known. This isn’t a woman who gets upset from an argument. Or from anything else. Godzilla could come crashing through the door, and she’d probably tell him calmly to piss off, then go right back to whatever she was doing.
Making a deal with the devil for the souls of all who’ve displeased her or such.
“Lass. Lass, can you hear me?”
I hear how rough and anxious my voice is, but am too busy focusing on her to care. Leaning over her on my hands and knees, I brush a strand of dark hair off her face. She’s unresponsive. I lightly slap her pale cheek.
Her eyes move restlessly under her lids. She exhales the faintest moan. Her lids flutter, then her lashes lift and she looks up at me. Her gaze is hazy and unfocused.
“Oh, wow,” she whispers, sounding impressed. “So blue.”
Something in her dazed expression sets off an alarm bell in the back of my mind. “Are you all right? Can you sit up?”
She blinks slowly. Then she smiles and reaches up to touch my face. She strokes her fingers gently down my cheek to my jaw, then sighs in pleasure. She closes her eyes again, smiling.
Something is very wrong.
“I’m going to move you, lass.”
I pick her up, carry her across the room, and ease her onto the bed, adjusting her head on the pillow. When my fingers brush the back of her skull, she makes a small noise of discomfort.
Bloody hell. That’s a big bump. Frowning, I run my fingertips gently over the swollen area.
She winces, then opens her eyes and pins me with a cold stare. “I know I’m irresistible, gangster, but quit fondling me.” She pauses. “Why do you look worried?”
“You fainted.”
That makes her laugh. “Please. I’d never do such a thing.”
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
She pauses again to think. “Telling you to suck my dick. Figuratively speaking.”
“Anything after that? Like touching my face?”
She wrinkles her nose. It’s almost adorable. “You drugged me again to get me to be quiet, didn’t you?”
“Against my better judgement, no.”
“There’s no way I touched your face unless I was attempting to claw out your eyeballs.”
When I stay silent, her eyes widen in alarm.
“No.”
“Aye. Stroked your fingers down my cheek like it was made of mink.” To see how she’ll handle it, I slip in, “You also told me how handsome I am.”
Her smile returns. “Now I know you’re lying.”
She doesn’t think I’m handsome? That stings. I don’t care about her opinion, of course, it’s just that women are always telling me how good-looking I am.
Wait. I forgot. She’s not a woman. She’s a raging banshee who eats men’s sanity for supper.
“Tell me how you came to be lying on the bed, then.”
She looks around as if trying to remember. When her eyes meet mine again, I see her frustration.
“Fucking asphalt.”
“Come again?”
“I hit my head on the ground in the parking garage when you pulled me out of the car and dropped me. Hit it really hard, in fact. I think I might’ve passed out before you even gave me the Ketamine.”
I don’t like the sound of that, but she’s wrong on one count. It seems oddly important to correct her. “I wasn’t the one who pulled you out of the car.”
“Yes, you did, I saw… Oh. Now that you mention it, I didn’t see the face of the person who did it.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Who was it, then?”
“Why does it matter?”
“So I know who to be mad at.”
Kieran was the one who pulled her out of Kazimir’s Bentley and dropped her before throwing her into our SUV, but I’m not about to tell her that.
On the other hand, maybe she’ll fire him from being her new best friend and things will go back to normal around here. He actually had the nerve to suggest I should let her into the kitchen to cook for us.
As if it wouldn’t cause a mutiny if I tried to serve my men the rabbit food she eats.
But I decide the last thing anyone needs at the moment is this mouthy Tinker Bell banshee carrying a vendetta against him. We’ve got enough problems as it is.
“Forget it. But I’m going to bring the doctor in to have a look at you.”
I help her sit up. The color is coming back to her cheeks, which is good, but she still looks a little shaky. I squash the ridiculous urge to give her a reassuring hug and step back instead.
She looks up at me, squinting. “Did you say doctor?”
“Don’t tell me your ears aren’t working, either.”
“They’re working. I’m just surprised.”
“By what?”
“That you’d do that for me.”
The way she’s looking at me is odd. She almost looks as if she’s grateful. As if…
She likes me.
Which is pure fantasy on my part. The woman despises me. Perhaps I’ve hit my head on asphalt, too.
My voice comes out gruff. “You’re no good to me dead.”
“What difference does it make if I’m dead? You said you were working on getting me home. You don’t need me anymore. Right?”
She sounds curious. Or is that suspicious? I can’t tell. “I didn’t say I didn’t need you.”
As soon as it’s out, I’m fucking horrified. I know exactly how bad it sounded.
If I didn’t, the look on Sloane’s face would clue me in.
Green eyes as sharp as the edge of a blade, she says, “So you do need me? For what, exactly?”
I growl, “Target practice.”
Her gaze is steady. Unblinking. Unnerving.
She says softly, “Gangster…do you have a crush on me?”
“No.”
“Because no one would blame you if you did.”
“Jesus. You’re off in the head.”
“And I did tell you this would happen.”
I thunder, “It didn’t happen! Nothing has happened!”
“No?”
She rises and approaches me. I take a step back, then curse myself silently and stand my ground as she nears.
When she stops, she’s standing so close, I can smell the shampoo she used to wash her hair. My shampoo. That’s my soap, too, scenting her skin. And my shirt she’s wearing.
And my briefs, unless she took those off.
Fuck, did she take them off? Is she naked under my shirt?
Looking up into my face, she says, “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Then she stands on her toes and kisses me.
