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MELLIE
Checking the inventory list, I stretch on my toes, my fingers brushing the side of the vodka box. I sweep it closer to the edge, reaching again to close a hand around it.
Cinnamon and oak swirls around me, large hands landing on my waist, holding me still as Niall’s breath brushes over my ear. There is a low growl, and he nuzzles his face in my hair. This is different.
“Niall?”
“I need a second, lass.”
For what? I hold still, my hands dropping to rest on top of his at my waist. Is this like when he randomly needed to look in my eyes?
“Do you need to see my eyes?”
“Aye, lass,” he grunts. His grip loosens to allow me to spin, my hands landing on his chest as he stares into my eyes. So intimate. I love it.
I’m distracted by the silky button-down shirt he’s wearing. Niall doesn’t wear shirts like this. A frown crosses my face, and I smooth my hands over the strange fabric.
“Your shirt doesn’t fit,” I murmur. Niall shrugs, placing a crooked finger under my chin to lift my head so he can see my eyes again.
“It’s a borrowed shirt.”
“Why did you need a borrowed shirt?”
“My other one was covered in blood.”
My frown deepens. Niall gets covered in blood a lot. He’s never had to borrow a shirt before. Unless….
“Are you hurt?” I attempt to tug the shirt up to peek under it. Niall’s fingers close around my wrists, stopping me.
“No, lass. It was Tiggy’s blood.”
I inhale sharply. “Tiggy’s blood? Is she okay?”
“Aye, lass. Shot in the shoulder.”
“Bywho?” Seamus Fitzpatrick would end them.
“Her pa.”
Oh. My.God. “How? I can’t see you lot letting that happen!”
“There was a little shootout,” Niall winces as outrage flows through me.
“You were in a shootout?” I hiss, spitting angrily.
“Now, lass. I was fine.” The asshole is smirking at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. How would he like it ifIwas in a shootout?
“You -.”
We’ll never know what I was going to say because Niall cups my jaw, lowering his mouth and tracing his tongue along the seam of my lips. Moaning, I sag into him, my fingers gripping the stupid silky fabric of the borrowed shirt.
I kiss him back, wondering if he will finally screw me. I’d be down for a quickie in the storeroom. Unfortunately, the Reaper doesn’t crack so easily. Sighing, he lifts his head, eyes boring into mine like twin suns as he steps away from me.
“I might not be around fer a while, lass,” he sighs as he steps further away, his hands falling away from my face. “I’ve some errands to run fer the Fitzpatricks.”
“Okay.” My reply is breathy, Niall’s pupils dilating at the sound. He leaves quickly, and I scowl after him.
Turning, I grab the vodka box, stomping out into the VIP room and shoving it onto the bar, making my way through to the stripper’s dressing room, dropping onto the bench near the lockers, my brain half-fried.
