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“Yes, the family’s always lived together in the house. It’s big enough. But Hawk will be changing that.”
“What do you mean?”
He watches me, drinks a sip of his whiskey, doesn’t answer my question. “You’ll need warmer clothes than that,” he says. He gestures to my sweater. It’s too light for here.
I look down at it. “Oh, I didn’t have much time to pack and the climate is so different.”
“You live in Las Vegas?”
I nod.
“Constant sunshine?”
“Yes. And constant noise.”
“I don’t think I could stomach either.”
“I guess it’d be hard coming from all this.”
“Hawk seems to have managed.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “I’ll take you into town tomorrow if you like. It’s not far. We’ll get you proper clothes.”
“Oh, I…Hawk—”
“Hawk’s going to have his hands full with the house. Try the whiskey.”
I pick up my glass, look at the clear bottle without the label as I sip. It’s the same bottle Hawk has in the penthouse.
“It’s quite good. Not so…”
“Pretentious,” he says, refilling his glass.
I smile. “Yeah, not so pretentious. It’s your own, you said? You make it?”
“Family distillery. But I imagine it’ll be closing down soon if my brother has his way.”
“There’s a family distillery?”
“Hasn’t Hawk told you anything about us?”
“He doesn’t say much about his past,” I say, then think I shouldn’t have said that.
“I gather he wouldn’t.”
“What do you mean it’ll be closing if Hawk has his way?”
He studies me, eyes keen. They’re dark, blue-black. The color is very different than Hawk’s but the intensity with which he looks at me is the same.
It’s almost intrusive, the way the MacLeod men look at you.
“That’s a very long story my brother should tell. He’s been the mastermind of the dismantling of all things MacLeod for more than a decade now. I’m sure I’ll miss details.”
Dismantling?
“Oh.” I suddenly think of it. “I haven’t even told you I’m sorry for the loss of your father.”
“And mother,” he says, his expression changing a little, making him look ten years younger for a moment. Like a boy. A lost one.
“Your mother too?” Hawk had left that out.
He nods. “Car accident took them both. She was killed instantly. I think it was a blessing. My father took a few days to die.”
“God. I feel like an idiot. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You’re not an idiot. I don’t imagine Hawk likes to talk about her. And I don’t blame him, honestly.”
I’m surprised by this last admission. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“What’s the tension between you two?”
He leans back in his chair and studies me. “Now that’s a truly long story. And not a pretty one.”
“I don’t mean to pry.”
“Hawk doesn’t like me very much, Melissa.”
There’s a sound I don’t recognize but I notice him momentarily shift his gaze over my shoulder.
“He’s filled with hate and holds a lot of anger inside him,” he continues.
“I’ve seen that,” I admit, remembering his temper.
“You be careful with him,” he says.
“She should be careful with me?”
I gasp at the deep timbre of Hawk’s voice and turn to find him lurking in the shadows, having come out of some dark corridor like a ghost.
“Melissa seems like a nice girl,” Declan says, and a glance at him shows me he’s neither surprised nor unsettled by Hawk’s sudden appearance. Maybe he even likes this. He likes goading his brother. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt her like you do everything you touch.” He casually swallows his whiskey.
Hawk’s angry gaze turns to me and when he steps into the room, I see his clothes are wet, muddy even. He’s not wearing a coat, and in his hand, he’s got a half bottle of whiskey.
Declan stands, turns his gaze to me. “Glad to meet you, Melissa,” he says. “Let me know if you want me to take you into town tomorrow. It’d be my pleasure.”
I can tell from the way he says it that it’s for Hawk’s benefit. To irritate him. Taunt him.
And it works because Hawk stalks forward, sets the bottle on the table and lunges for his brother.
But he’s drunk and Declan isn’t, and he sidesteps him. I let out a scream, jump to my feet.
“Not used to our whiskey anymore, brother?” Declan asks.
“I’m going to kill you.”
I grab Hawk’s arm when he lunges again but I don’t even think he can feel it. Feel me holding him back.
Declan’s face hardens and he steps toward Hawk. The two are like giants, nose-to-nose and raging.
“I’d like to see you try,” Declan says.
“Stop it. Both of you,” I yell.
Hawk takes a deep breath. I can feel how tense his muscles are beneath my hand, but he’s not out of control. Not yet.
“This is going to come to fists,” he tells Declan in a remarkably calm tone. “But it’s not going to be now.”
Declan doesn’t blink. A moment later, one side of his mouth quirks upward into a smirk. He turns, picks up the bottle of whiskey.
