“No you don’t,” I scoff, letting my snark out for real now. “You ever been kidnapped for being a nosy idiot then put your daughter’s life in the hands of the mob too?”
“Well, no,” he admits, and sounds freaking sad as he looks down at his feet. “But also kind of, yeah.”
“What do you mean,yeah?” I demand.
“Okay, so I don’t have a daughter, but—no, that’s a story for another day. I was in a coma for three weeks and woke up the night the boss, Blake, and Rory saved you.”
“The boss?” I ask, hating myself for it. Fuck me and my stupid need to know everything.
“That would be me.”
My body reacts with an absurdly violent shiver.
That voice.
Some seriously sick part of my subconscious reacts like a little hussy, and I better nip that in the bud because... I remember that voice. I remember how safe I felt when he was holding me—rescuing me. His arms under my back and legs felt unbreakable, and I rememberknowinghe’d never drop me. But if I’d known then that it was Eian Dempsey holding me, I probably would’ve fought harder to get away.
Who am I kidding? I could barely speak when they got me out of that damned place. There’s no way I could’ve run. And if I’d been able to stare into those blue eyes, I would’ve been as struck as I am now.
A little over six feet tall, wearing a perfectly tailored, deep-navy, three-piece suit, every muscle he has is on display. His slacks hug his thick, strong thighs in an almost obscene way, and I have to force my eyes upward.
Yeah, Eian Dempsey’s a snack, trying to deny that would be a step too far into delusion, even for me, but he’s also very, very dangerous.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Maybe it wasn’t a concussion. Maybe I have permanent brain damage, because that thought can’t have just crossed my mind.
Seriously.
Eian walks slowly into the room and sends a glare down to Duffy that I hope is never aimed at me.
“You should be in bed.” The very serious and well, deadly tone doesn’t disturb Duffy at all though. He just smiles up at Eian and—fuck, is he batting his eyelashes at him? So maybe Eian just has this effect on everyone, but... that doesn’t explain why I suddenly want to snap at Duffy tostop that.
“I’m doing my job and making sure he doesn’t escape.” He points at me without looking away from Eian, and I have to actually bite my tongue—painfully hard—to keep silent. This isn’t the time for snark, or to be a smartass and demand they don’t talk about me as if I’m not here.
“He can barely walk,” Eian says, that dangerous glint never leaving his eyes, I can see when he spares me a glance. “You’re just being an annoying little shit.”
“I’m never annoying.”
The scoff and sputter that leaves me barely sounds human, and that’s humiliating enough, but then I feel a wave of weakness pass through me.
“Shit,” Eian snaps, and then he’s holding me up by the arms.
“He’s so annoying,” I tell him for some strange reason, but I bet it’s because of his eyes. Those deep, sea-blue orbs are kind of hypnotizing, like truth serum.
“I know he is,” Eian tells me in a quiet murmur. I see his throat bob with a swallow, and then he’s pulling me toward the bed.
That . . . does not compute.
He’s the head of the Irish Mob, one of—if not the most—feared men in this city, and he’s tucking me into bed like that’s normal. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world, or at least a hundred skeletons—the literal kind—in his closet.
“You need to rest,” he says, a bit of that hard edge back in his tone, but I’m keeping my eyes on the sheet he covered my legs with. “Sleep. I need to fucking work. I’ll deal with you later.”
I try to protest, because the last thing I want is to have another conversation where my lack of common sense is harshly pointed out to me, but he just spins around and leaves, Duffy right on his heels.
So I guess I should sleep?
When I openmy eyes again, I turn on autopilot, looking for Maggie. I find the crib empty and that familiar panic comes back to life with a vengeance.
