“If you’re a victim as you claim, then where are the people who did this?”
The man who both saved my life and ended dozens of others is currently downstairs, plowing through his dinner.
How could I possibly explain that the man who chased me in a wolf mask, howling like one, is the same man who killed one of his own to protect me? That I found him to be wildly, terrifyingly beautiful even when I thought he was one ofthem?
Then there’s the uncomfortable fact that as I was showering tonight, I couldn't stop imagining him naked, soap suds sliding down his broad, tattooed back to his taut ass. A vision so infuriatingly hot that I used my fingers to get off, slapping my hand over my mouth to keep my moans from escaping.
I’m stubbornly clinging to my belief that the orgasm was just very necessary stress relief after everything I’ve been through and that six-foot-five slab of Mafia gorgeousness was just a helpful visual aid.
“Still awake, lass?”
Like an incubus summoned from Hell by my rebellious lower half, Kai appears at my bedside looking all kinds of concerned. Also, he’s wearing nothing but a thin pair of sleeping pants that outlines his cock, which is inappropriately large and now I can’t remember what he just said.
“Uh.” I rub my face, trying to force my scattered brain cells to re-form into a working collection of gray matter. “Everything, I guess. It’s a lot. A phrase that is the understatement of the century for what’s happened in the last forty-eight hours, but…”
“Aye, I can see that.” He’s towering over me, blocking the street light glowing through the window and reinforcing his image as an incubus. After a moment, he notices that I’m edging away, and he pulls over a chair and makes himself comfortable while giving me some space. “It was not exactly just another day at the office for me, either. But I was born in this life. And I was not the one in dire peril. I’m thinking it’s all swirling your head like avocados in a blender?”
“That is such an oddly accurate analogy,” I say.
“I make a smoothie with them most mornings,” he smiles devilishly. “Along with spinach and protein paste.”
“It’s like you just don’t love yourself,” I say. “There must be other breakfast items that would keep your monstrously huge muscles in good shape that don’t taste like pureed rattlesnake.”
Kai’s eyes narrow, and he smiles slightly. “You’ve noticed my muscles, then?”
The air feels different between us then, charged, like just before a thunderstorm.
“Well, of course. You’re built like a grizzly bear but not quite as hairy,” I huff.
Do not look at his crotch. Do not do it.
I look, and I swear he’s getting hard.
With a sigh, he crosses his legs and the moment is gone. “It can hit ya in all kinds o’ ways. Nightmares. Sudden, loud noisesspookin’ the hell out of ya. A smell or a certain place can bring ya back to the memories ya try to forget.”
“Are you a psychologist or a gangster?”
“It’s possible to be both. My sister Kenna just got her degree. She spends Sunday dinners psychoanalyzing the hell out of the rest of us.” He gives his half-smile; it’s obvious how proud he is of her.
“It must be nice to have such a big family,” I say, drawing my knees up and wrapping my arms around my legs.
“It’s a feckin’ nightmare,” he says bluntly. “Always shouting and screaming, people in your business and someone always wantin’ something from ya. The noise, it never stops.” His expression softens slightly. “Someone always there to catch ya when ya fall. Even though they’ll give ya shite about it for the rest of your life.”
“Hmm… The first part sounds a little overwhelming. The second part, though, always having someone there? That seems like it would make it worth all the annoying bits.” Resting my chin on my knees, I smile at the thought.
He doesn’t ask if I have any family, and I realize that the instant and uncomfortably comprehensive background check he did on his phone in the gardener’s cottage probably included that I have no one but a chain-smoking aunt who can’t stand the sight of me.
I feel exposed. Defensive and maybe angry.
“When can I leave?”
If he’s offended by my abruptness, he doesn’t show it.
“When do ya want to leave?” Kai asks, “Where do ya want to go?”
“London, and as soon as possible,” I say sharply, “I have to get my life back in order. Get a new passport. I was going to Italynext. Some of the guys at the hostel told me it’s possible to get a job that pays under the table there. Just… keep traveling until my visa runs out.”
I’m being snappish and ungracious, I know. Why does it matter? We’ll never see each other again.
