Men terrify me. They make me nervous and my heart race.
…but that doesn’t mean my body doesn’t naturally react when around one that’s attractive. Even one as rough around the edges as Killian Rourke.
“Bathroom’s free,” he grunts, rubbing a towel over his damp hair.
“I noticed,” I answer, arms folded. “I also noticed you were in there during my time.”
“Your time?”
“Evenings. We agreed.”
He tosses the towel onto his bed—Killian’s not exactly the kind of guy who properly folds things—and shrugs in answer.
“Consider tonight an exception. Had a messy job today.”
I make the mistake of glancing over at him. The damp sheen on his chest only highlights his hard-packed muscles and elaborate tattoos and the roadmap of scars he’s acquired over the years. I never thought I’d be the kind of woman to find scars attractive…
More heat floods my face, and I whip my head back toward the opposite brick wall.
“I wouldn’t call getting covered in blood ajob,” I mutter.
“No?” he asks, a vague tinge of amusement to his tone. He reaches into a dresser drawer and pulls out a T-shirt. “That’s myidealkind of job.”
“That’s unsurprising... and not exactly legal.”
“One man’s law is another man’s suggestion.”
I shake my head in disbelief, unsure how to even respond to that. Instead I remain silent, my reaction to most things in life.
Besides, I’m not sure I can rationalize with a man who shatters kneecaps for a paycheck.
I’m not sure I can even rationalize with myself how so far he’s the safest option I have. Says a lot about how fucked up my life has become.
Killian tosses the T-shirt over his shoulder and says, “If you’re not showering anytime soon, then I’m gonna shave. It’s time to trim this beard some.”
“Actually,” I say suddenly, turning around, “I was thinking we could talk about Eva.”
His jaw tightens, his shoulders going rigid. “What about her?”
“What about her?” I repeat, incredulous. “You said you were going to help me get her back. That was the deal. In the alley, remember? ‘We do this together?’”
“I remember.”
“Then what’s the plan? It’s been days, Killian. Every time I try to bring it up, you give me the runaround.”
He scrubs a hand over his jaw, the thick scruff rasping against his palm. His expression has turned weary, as if he’s trying to figure out how best to let me down.
“There’s a lot that needs to be sorted out first,” he says. “Clan business. Tensions with the Bratva. I can’t just snap my fingers and make shit happen.”
“Clan business? Right. Because your mob politics are more important than my sister.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what it sounds like.”
His eyes flash dangerously, the dark blue reminiscent of a thunderstorm. “I’m working on it. These things take time. There’s planning involved at every level. You seem to think it’s as easy as storming into Bratva territory and demanding they hand her over.”
“How long does planning take? A week? A month? Eva doesn’t have that kind of time. Every day she’s still with him is another day he could?—”
