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Am I being a little too hard on him?
Maybe.
Natasha has just tried to kill him, too. But again, it all could have been avoided if he wasn’t so, well…himself.
“What’s wrong?” he mouths over Isla’s head as we start walking back to the SUV.
A million irritated answers shove their way to the tip of my tongue, but I just turn away and force all the things I want to say right back down again. My jaw aches with the effort.
What good will it do to complain? To berate him and tell him how I feel when I already know he won’t listen?
Probably as much good as it did when I warned him about his crazy assistant.
“Nothing,” I lie. “Besides almost being murdered by your insane assistant, I guess.”
I slide into the backseat of the waiting vehicle. Isla climbs inside next, followed right behind by her dad, who is still giving me a quizzical look. This time, though, the look is tinged with a familiar streak of irritation.
Of course he’d somehow find a way to be irritated withmeright now. So typical. Why did I even bother talking to him at all? Let alone staying with him?
Because you care about his daughter.
Because he is capable of being sweet and sincere and gentlemanly sometimes.
Because the sexcanbesoamazing.
Okay.
Those thoughts are seriously less-than-helpful right now. I can’t stay angry if I’m picturing him naked in front of me. And on top of me. And…
Nope.
Still not going there.
I reach for my seatbelt and gasp as a sharp pain shoots through my shoulder.
“Oh my God.”
Tears spring to the corners of my eyes. All I can do is clutch my shoulder and try not to move as the car picks up speed and starts winding through the ancient Roman roads.
“What’s wrong?” Keiran asks. It’s the same question he tried to ask a few moments ago, but this time with a clearly concerned look on his face. “What did I miss? Are you okay?”
Isla seems to be on the verge of tears as she looks up at me.
“Ella? What happened?” She looks around the inside of the vehicle with panic coloring her voice. “Is Natasha after us again?”
I try to force a smile to reassure her but can only wince as we hit a pothole and another spasm of pain rocks my shoulder.
“No, we’re safe,” I exhale, barely breathing after another bump in the road. “I think I might have dislocated my shoulder when we were hanging off that ledge.”
Keir is starting to look almost as worried as his daughter.
“You didn’t feel it before?” He shoots a dirty look in the driver’s direction before I can answer. “Dammit, man, are you trying to hit these fucking bumps?”
The driver arches a brow. He’s not someone I recognize, so he’s probably a local. If he understands Keir’s complaint, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
Smart man.
“I guess the adrenaline blocked out the pain,” I answer Keir when he turns his attention back to me. I toss my head and try not to look as pissed off or as pained as I feel. “I couldn’t feel anything except fear for a while.”
