Page 46 of Stolen Rebel

“I-I can’t explain it.” She turns to me and briefly meets my gaze, then shifts her attention slightly off center. “Look, you have to let me go back to London.”

“Why?”

A one-note laugh bursts out of her. “Why? Let me see. Because kidnapping is illegal.”

“In my world, laws are only obstacles to climb.”

“Well in my world, breaking them can land you in a whole heap of trouble.”

“Good thing we’re in my world then, isn’t it?”

She covers her nose and mouth and blows into her hands. “This is insane.”

I heave a sigh. We’re getting nowhere, and for one of the rare times in my life, I don’t know what to fucking do. “How about that drink? It’s pretty cold out here.”

“You don’t say,” she mutters, giving me another brief flash of Rowan. My chest aches, and my heart is in constant pain. Somehow, I have to find a way past her story and get to the truth. It’s the only way I’ll have a chance of getting her back.

Yes. Fine. I admit it, if only silently and to myself. I still love her. I never fucking stopped. But I will be damned if I let my feelings get in the way of the truth. It doesn’t matter what it costs me; the truth is a price worth paying.

The warmth hits me the second I open the door. The pub is packed, but I’m a Mahoney and these are locals, which means the couple sitting in the two armchairs on either side of the roaring fire get up and move the second they clock me. Curious eyes scrutinize Rowan, but less than thirty seconds later, their interest wanes and they return to their companions.

I place my hand on her lower back, easing her farther inside. She doesn’t flinch, but she does shift to the side, a silent “your touch is not welcome” message that feels like a blade to the heart.

“Liam. Twice in less than a week. I’m honored. What can I get ye?”

“What do you want to drink?” I ask her.

“Do they do hot chocolate?”

Fuck knows. I arch a brow at Jack. There’s a petrol station down the road. If he doesn’t have hot chocolate, he can send one of the bar staff to get it.

“Aye, love. I can make that for ye. Whipped cream?”

“No. Thank you.”

I jerk my chin at the vacant chairs. “Go and sit by the fire. I’ll bring them over.”

She side-eyes me, waiting for the punch line that doesn’t come. Frowning, she walks to the fire and sits in the chair on the right, pulling on the fingers of her gloves to remove them.

“Whiskey for me,” I say. “Large.”

“Nice girl.”

“And if you want to keep your eyes, that’s the one and only time you’ll look at her.”

Jack chuckles, unperturbed by my threats.

I glare at him. “I fucking mean it. This one is not for staring at.” No, she’s for getting on my knees and fucking worshiping—which I will as soon as she admits who she really is.

He mutters an apology and fetches our drinks. I carry them over to the fire and set them on the table. “Here you are. Hope that’s okay.”

Her eyes narrow. “I’m sure it’s fine.” But she doesn’t touch it.

“I promise there’s no arsenic in it.”

I smile. She ignores me, staring into the fire.

“So, Erin, tell me about your life in England. Did you like working in a pub?”