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“Or?”
He tilted his head, studying the truly beautiful lines of her face. “You can do better than this life, Sally.”
Her arms fell away, and her face went hard. She even retreated a step. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, O’Reilly.”
“I never do. If you want out, I’ll arrange it.”
Her nostrils flared, but he couldn’t tell what emotion fueled the physical response. She spun to the kitchen, the small porcelain sink, and turned on the tap. Wet a washcloth and proceeded to wipe down the table that had not a speck on it to begin with. “You think it’s that easy? That I can just walk away with no consequences? I got debts to Al, and if I don’t pay up on ’em, I get dead.”
Roman held out his hands, palms up. “Hey. I’m just making an offer. I’ve got enough connections that I could make it happen, but if you’re too scared or too stuck, fine. I can find another way to pay you, either with something you can put toward those debts or something you can keep Al from knowing about. It’s up to you, doll. I’m just offering.”
The ice left her eyes and the rigidity left her posture, though whether by force or honest relaxation was anyone’s guess. In any case, she tossed the cloth back into the sink, dried her hands on a pristine white towel, and moved closer again. “I’m sure we’ll think of something. Are you gonna tell me what you want me to do now, or would you rather wait until later?”
He drew her flush against him with hands on her hips. “Later sounds good.”
Even her laugh was sensual. “I thought it might.”
