But Maeve is the human variable.
And for the first time since I stepped onto that black jet in Ireland, I’m not just thinking about how to get out.
I’m thinking about how to stay alive long enough to make sure she’s okay.
I pick up a piece of the blue sky. It’s jagged. It’s difficult. It doesn't look like it fits anywhere.
"Just like me," I whisper.
10
Lorcan
I am sitting at my desk in the main study, staring at a set of offshore account ledgers that aren't balancing, when I hear noises down the hall.
It’s not a security breach. If it were, the silent alarms would be pulsing red against the wood panels. No, this is a loud, chaotic, high-pitched racket that can only be caused by one specific five-foot-two variable.
"Let go of me, you giant, brainless Neanderthal!" her voice screeches, echoing through the heavy double doors before they even open. "I will literally bite your fingers off! I told you to tell him to fuck off, not invite myself to his stupid morning meeting!"
The door bursts open.
Sean, who has been on my personal security detail for five years and is usually capable of throwing a two-hundred-pound man over a wall without breaking a sweat, looks entirely out of his depth. He’s holding Atara by the wrists, his face flushed red as she tries to kick his shins with her bare feet.
"Boss," Sean pants, looking at me with absolute desperation. "I’m sorry. You said you wanted her in the office, and when I told her, she told me to—"
"I told him to fuck right off," Atara snarls, wrenching her arm out of his grip. "That was my official statement. And then this gorilla put his hands on me!"
I don't hear a word. My brain has completely locked up.
I stare at her, and my hands grip the edge of my mahogany desk so hard the wood groans.
First, she’s fucking beautiful. Second, she is currently screaming profanities at a man who could slide a knife between her ribs without blinking. And third, I am fighting two of the most violent, opposing urges of my life.
The first urge is to pull my piece from my holster and put a bullet directly through Sean’s forehead. He’s standing there holding her, his hands on her bare wrists, and his eyes—even if he’s trying to keep them on me—have definitely seen what she’s wearing.
She’s in a tiny, thin white cotton nightdress. It’s barely a scrap of fabric. It sits just below the soft, round curve of her behind, exposing the entire length of her creamy, flawless legs. The white cotton is practically useless; the air conditioning in the hallway has turned her nipples into hard, prominent peaks that thrust arrogantly against the fabric. I can see the faint, dark shadow of her aureoles and the outline of her hips.
The second urge is to kick Sean out, lock the double doors, stalk over to her, and throw her onto the desk. I want to smash her mouth with mine. I want to cup those heavy, bouncing breasts through the useless cotton, pull her legs around my waist, kneel on the floor, and worship every inch of her skin until she’s screaming my name instead of insults.
Fuck, I am rock hard in a fraction of a second, my trousers straining so violently against my zipper it’s painful. My mind is instantly back in the resort room in Ireland, tasting her, smelling her, feeling the wet, hot slide of her body as she arched against my tongue.
"Sean," I say. My voice doesn't sound like mine. It’s a low, raspy growl that makes Sean freeze instantly.
"Boss?"
"Let her go. Step out. And if you ever look below her neck again, I’ll personally carve your eyes out of your skull."
Sean’s face goes pale. He drops her wrists like they’re made of white-hot coal, takes a step back, and bows his head. "Understood, sir."
He backs out of the room so fast he nearly trips over the threshold, slamming the door behind him.
The silence that follows is welcomed. Atara is standing in the center of the room, her chest heaving under the thin cotton. Her nipples are practically pointing at me, and I have to clench my fists under the desk to keep from reaching for them.
"You're a maniac," she snaps, pointing a finger at me. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Normal people are sleeping. Or eating cereal. They aren't having their arms dislocated by men named Sean."
"I asked him to bring you here," I say, keeping my voice level by sheer force of will. "I didn't tell him to drag you. If you had complied, you'd be in a bathrobe."
"I don't comply with kidnappers, Lorcan. That's not in my nature." She crosses her arms over her chest, which only serves to push her breasts up, making the hard peaks of her nipples even more obvious. "Why am I here? Are you going to give me my phone back? Or are we just doing another round of 'look how powerful I am'?"
