I have sunglasses on, so I allow myself the indulgence of staring. My brain starts cataloging the beauty and power in his form. I’ve always considered the human body a work of art, but this man takes the human body to museum quality.
Bulging front delts and well-defined triceps stretch his T-shirt sleeves even at rest. A leather bracelet wraps around his wrist, the veins in his hands prominent beneath colorful tattoos, his knuckles raw. By the time I move my eyes back to his broad chest, he’s standing in front of me. All six-three of him, smelling like leather and sun-warmed wood. Earthy. Masculine. Intoxicating.
I raise my chin and even with my dark tinted sunglasses, his eyes are stunning. Green sea-glass lit by the harsh mid-day sun behind me. A silver bar piercing in his eyebrow also winks in the sunlight, and his short, cropped hair is bleached white, dark roots showing. His square jaw is covered in a shadow of the same dark scruff. He’s the kind of shadows and light my self-destructive side wants to play with, get lost in… be destroyed by.
It's been a long time since I’ve paid attention to a man, and I’d gladly drown in the oblivion that everything about him promises. If circumstances were different. If I was sticking around. If he actually liked me.
He doesn’t trust me, and he doesn’t like that I’m the one in charge of his father’s healing. I’m not sure what I did to offend him, but I also have this urge to poke the tiger. Maybe it’s the residual emotion floating around my brain, the rage, the helplessness.
I pop a hand on my hip. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Donnelly?”
His jaw ticks and I swear I hear a low grumble climb up his throat. “Mr. Donnelly is me Da. It’s Killian.”
Holy hell.
His deep voice, that gritty Dublin lilt. I fight the urge to drop to my knees as a shiver runs through my body. What the hell is wrong with me? Instead, I shift my weight and fold my arms. It doesn’t escape me that his gaze falls to my breasts, now resting on my forearms. But just as quickly it flits back up, a touch of irritation tightening his jaw.
Oh, he didn’t want to be caught staring. Or maybe he’s irritated with himself that he noticed me at all. Interesting.
Something about that feels like a surge of power. I pull my shoulders back so my chest pushes forward and let my lips twitch with a smile.
When his eyes drop to my mouth, my smile stretches. He may hate me, but he’s attracted to me. Yeah, I like the way this feels. It feels better than being helpless. Better than being prey, waiting in my hole for the cat to find me and rip me to shreds.
I don’t want to analyze why every other man I’ve been around makes me feel like I have to fold in on myself, be on guard, but he makes me feel bold. And reckless.
Stop it, Sam.
Maybe I have a death wish, because I know this man is dangerous.
He takes a single step back, hesitant and out of character. Rubbing the silver St. Michael’s medallion between his tatted fingers, he cocks his head. “Da seems to be sleepin’ a lot. You sure you’re not overdosin’ him on the pain meds?”
I freeze.What did he just say?
A flare of shock and anger has me yanking off my sunglasses so I can look him in the eyes. He can hate me all he wants, but questioning my integrity is crossing the line. “I’m following his surgeon’s instructions. If you have a problem, you should take it up withhim.”
Is that it? Does he have a problem with me being a female doctor?I mean, the mob isn’t exactly a feminist organization, so I wouldn’t be shocked. But his distrust seems more personal.
I reach into the golf cart and snatch up the take-out bag. My heart is thumping, my lungs constricted and I have no idea why his words felt like a kick to the gut. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going to bring Mr. Donnelly his lunch.”
His nostrils flare and his eyes narrow. “Get on with it then.”
He’s mad? What the hell?
That is not a normal reaction. I can’t stop a scoff from climbing up my throat as I throw him a mock salute and leave. My jaw is beginning to ache from clenching it by the time I exitthe elevator and reach Mac’s door. I pause to take a breath and calm down.
Don’t let the prick get to you. He doesn’t know anything about you so whatever his problem is, it’s his. It has nothing to do with you.
Mac is resting, but his eyes flutter open as I walk in. “Goin’ a bit stir crazy here, love.”
Shoving aside murderous thoughts about his son, I grab the wheelchair and push it to his bed. “Let’s get some fresh air then. You want to have your lunch on the roof terrace today?”
“Any whiskey up there?” He chuckles, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the bed while wrapping a protective arm around his ribs.
My lips twitch in amusement. “Depends on how good your imagination is.”
He holds the lunch bag in his lap as I push him into the elevator, and we rise to the top level.
The roof terrace is one of my favorite parts of this property. The elevator door opens. My breath hitches and my shoulders relax as I take in the view.
