He grins. “You think I’m some kind of brute?”
I laugh. Actually laugh. It feels strange in this hallway, outside my father's ICU room, in the middle of a crisis. But it happens anyway.
“All I know is I keep getting surprised by you.” I nod toward the elevator. “Come on,” I say. “I need to make that call to Jenny, and I can't do it here. Too many people.”
We take the elevator to the lobby and walk out into the June sunshine together. The heat hits me like a wall after the aggressive air conditioning inside.
I make the call in the car. Jenny Whitmore is excited to hear from me, even more thrilled when I pitch the Castellano opportunity. By the time we pull into the parking garage at Lochlan's building, I have a verbal commitment for a meeting next week.
“Done,” I say, clicking to end the call. “Harrington-Cole is interested. The meeting's set.”
Lochlan turns off the ignition. Neither of us makes a move to get out of the car, though.
“You just saved a man's business and outmaneuvered a Russian crime syndicate,” he says. “In about forty-five minutes. From a hospital hallway.”
I chuckle. “I had good cell reception.”
He laughs. “Yeah, and a serious pair of brass balls.”
The space between us shrinks, closing in on all the things I’m afraid to name. It’s suddenly hard to breathe, like all the air is being sucked out of my lungs. Or maybe his mere presence is just that all-consuming. I can’t stop looking at him — his sharp, chiseled jaw, the calming pools of blue that pull me deep. And somehow, I can’t seem to resist.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, his gaze laser-focused on me.
“You're staring.”
“I'm admiring.” He still doesn't look away. “There's a difference.”
My heart leaps up in my chest. I ignore it. Because I have to. Because this… whatever it is… is too ridiculous to acknowledge.
“We should go inside,” I say.
“Probably.”
Neither of us moves.
The air between us is charged. Electric. Like the moment before a storm breaks. I could take a bite of the tension, it’s so thick. Goosebumps shoot up my arms under the weight of his heated stare.
It would be so easy to lean forward, to close the distance between us and?—
His phone buzzes, jarring the silence.
We both jolt, and the moment shatters.
He glances at the screen, his jaw tightening. “It’s Cillian. I should take this.”
I smooth the back of my hair and grab the door handle. “Of course.” I push open the door and launch myself out, gulping down air that doesn't smell like him. Blood rushes between my ears as I press a hand against my pounding heart.
What the hell was that?
His voice floats over to my ears, low and controlled. I catch little snippets of the conversation. Something about Venom, about a delivery, about nothing that concerns me. I dart toward the elevator, not looking back.
By the time he catches up, I’m protected again. Walls up. Emotions shut down.
“Everything okay?” I ask, struggling to keep my tone casual after that car scene knocked me for a complete loop.
“Fine. Just bar stuff.” He watches me with an expression I can't read. Or maybe I just don’t want to. “Adriana?—"
