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Her husband, Ronan Murphy, was less so, but even so, Kira had the distinct feeling he’d been selectively scrubbed from the internet. There were a handful of mentions of his former company, Murphy Intelligence and Security, some articles from bigger publications on an investigation done by the Massachusetts Attorney General’s office — an investigation that had led nowhere — but that was it.
She heard Lyon’s footsteps in the hall upstairs and listened as he descended the staircase to the living room.
He came into view before he hit the bottom, and she wondered whether her pulse quickened from fear or desire.
Both, probably.
A toxic combination. And an irresistible one, she was finding.
He made the turn toward the kitchen, and she saw the surprise on his face in the moment before he tucked it behind his typically stony expression.
“Good morning,” he said coldly.
“Good morning.” She rose to her feet. “Coffee?”
She had little hope of throwing him off balance, but it was worth a try.
He hesitated. “Please.”
She walked into the kitchen and chose one of the insulated travel mugs from the cupboard, then started the machine. She made it the way he liked it, strong and black, and turned to give it to him.
“Thank you.” He studied her across the kitchen island. “You’re up early.”
“I wanted to speak to you,” she said. “To tell you to clear your calendar for Saturday.”s
He lifted his eyebrows. “Totellme?”
She swallowed her pride. “To ask you, then.”
But no. It wasn’t an ask. She’d gone to great lengths to secure the invitation for Saturday.
He had to be there.
“And why would I do that?” He took a drink of his coffee.
“Because we’ve been invited to a party.” She hesitated. “At Ronan Murphy’s house.”
He coughed and lowered the mug to the island’s marble counter. “Explain.”
She forced her voice steady. “I met with Julia Murphy, Ronan’s wife, yesterday. She invited us. Their baby is being christened tomorrow. They have family in town and are having a party on Saturday.”
“That doesn’t explain why we would be invited.” His eyes had grown hard. “And more importantly, it doesn’t explain what you were doing talking to the wife of the Syndicate’s Chicago boss.”
She walked to the table, affecting an air of indifference. She forced herself to take a drink, stuffing down the turn of her stomach as the bitter brew hit it. “I thought it might be a good idea to line up allies outside of the organization.”
“You thought…” He was almost breathless with disbelief. Or was that rage? It was hard to tell. “You don’tthinkwhen it comes to the bratva, Kira. That’s my department.”
“I think whenever and however I like,” Kira said. “You might own my name, but you don’t own my mind.”
You don’t own my body. My heart. You don’t.
Were the silent words meant to convince herself?
He stalked across the room and loomed over her. His scent invaded her body, not just his cologne, but musk and soap and the faintest tang of sweat. He was so close, close enough to touch, to wrap her arms around his neck and press her body to his.
Would he deny her? Or would he take her, coldly and brutally as he’d done in Prague?
She hated that she cared. Hated that she would prefer the latter.
