I’m so fucked.
Enya made a sound, something between a gasp and a sigh, that vibrated against his lips and sent a shudder down his spine, before her hands cupped the back of his head, her fingers tightening in his hair as she dragged him closer. Her lips parted under his, and Rowan groaned low in his throat becausefuck, she tasted like sugar and lemon and something uniquely her, something that made his head spin and his knees weak. The sweetness of the pie mingled with the salt of her skin was intoxicating and addictive. He wanted to drown in it.
He pressed her against the truck, his body shielding hers from the street, from the prying eyes of the town, from everything but what was happening between them. She didn’t seem to notice or care that they were in full view of the whole town, and he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about it, either. Especially not as her hands slid down his chest, her nails scraping through the fabric of his shirt, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
When her teeth grazed his lower lip, Rowan nearly lost it. His grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging in just shy of bruising, as he deepened the kiss. His tongue swept against hers in a rhythm that had nothing to do with gentleness and everything to do with raw need and desire. Enya arched into him, her breath coming fast, her heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape her chest and merge with his.
For a second, the world narrowed to this: the heat of her, the taste of her, the way her fingers clenched his shirt like she was afraid he’d stop. Like she needed this as much as he did. As if she was just as terrified as he was of what that meant. He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her thighs pressed against his, the way her body fit against his like she’d been made for him. The thought was dangerous, reckless, and everything in between. But it was there, burning through him, and Rowan refused to push it away.
Somewhere, a shrill, obnoxious trill of noise cut through his haze of need like a blade. Rowan ignored it at first, his mouth still on hers, his hands still gripping her waist like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. He barely registered it was a phone until it rang again, and then again.
Shit.
If ever there was a reminder that the real world didn’t give a damn about whatever fragile, perfect thing was happening between them, this was it. But still, he didn’t pull back. Did the universe not understand how hot and epic this kiss was?
Enya pulled back, her chest rising and falling fast, her lips swollen and red. She looked dazed, stunned, as if she couldn’t quite believe what they’d just done on the street for all to see. He wanted to kiss her again just to wipe that look off her face,to replace it with something raw and real and his. He wanted to tell her it was okay, that she didn’t have to overthink this, that he wasn’t going to let her regret it. But the phone rang again, the sound grating against his nerves, and the spell that had wrapped them up in the moment shattered.
“Fucking hell.” He cursed under his breath, pressing his forehead to hers for just a second, breathing her in, memorizing the way she felt against him. Then he forced himself to step back. The loss of her heat was immediate, a physical ache, like someone had ripped a layer of skin away.
He dug the phone out of his pocket, already knowing who it was before he saw the screen. The wordsUNKNOWN CALLERglared up at him, mocking him for daring to want or take something for himself. He blew out a frustrated breath, swiped his finger across the phone, and answered. He winced at the roughness in his voice but refused to force his eyes to leave Enya’s. “Salieri.”
“Jesus Christ, you sound like you’ve been running a marathon.” Gallus Mercier’s voice was dry, amused, tinged with that familiar drawl that always made Rowan want to punch him. “Or getting laid. Please tell me it’s the latter. You’re insufferable when you’re celibate.”
Enya’s eyebrows shot up, her lips parting in surprise. Rowan flipped the phone away from his mouth long enough to mouthfuck offat it, even though Mercier couldn’t see. Enya bit her lip, but the corner of her mouth twitched, as if she was fighting a smile. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of heat through him, which was the last thing he needed right now.
“What do you want, Mercier?” Rowan growled, turning slightly to put his back to the street, to shield Enya from any prying eyes. Not that it mattered after that kiss.
“Can’t a man check in on his favorite mercenary?” Mercier’s tone was light, but Rowan knew better. The fixer didn’t call just to chat.
“No.”
Mercier chuckled, “Fine. Business, then. Got a fresh contract across my desk this morning. High-priority extraction in a country ending with Stan, which I know you’ll love. Pay’s double your usual rate, and the client’s very motivated.”
Rowan’s grip tightened on the phone, his knuckles going white. He could feel Enya’s eyes on him, and could practically taste the question on her lips. But he couldn’t look at her, because if he did, he’d be tempted to take her back to The Stronghold, chain the gates shut, and stay there.
Mercier’s next words had something cold and familiar coiling in his gut. “It’s cartel-adjacent. Same players as the ones who fucked over Gael.”
The air left Rowan’s lungs in a slow, controlled breath.
Shit.
Those same players had also been the bastards he’d stolen Enya back from. Those fuckershad changed everything, not only for his brother but for Enya, and ultimately him. He finally looked at her. She was watching him with something like understanding dawning in her eyes. As the reality of what Mercier was saying crashed over them both, he fucking hated to see the shutters come down as she retreated inside the shell she’d spent weekscrawling out of. She belonged in a different world, one where men like Mercier didn’t exist, where contracts and cartels and bloodshed were just stories on the news, not things that could reach out and drag her back into hell.
Mercier kept talking, oblivious to the way Rowan’s pulse was hammering in his throat. “You in, or do I take this to Nemesis?”
Rowan couldn’t answer because the truth was, he didn’t know. With Enya standing right there, close enough that he could still smell the vanilla on her skin, still feel the ghost of her touch on his waist, all he wanted to do was tell Gallus to fuck off and take him off the roster. But he knew he couldn’t do that. His men, never mind his twin, would lose their shit so fast his head would spin.
Shove the contract up your ass.
He wanted to stay at home, in this town, in The Stronghold. He wanted to stay in this moment, damn it, where the most dangerous thing was the way Enya was looking at him like she was trying to memorize his face. But as the silence dragged, and Mercier’s next breath was heavy with expectation, and Rowan knew—knew—that if he walked away from this, if he turned his back on the life he’d built, the skills he’d honed, the man he’d become, he wouldn’t recognize himself anymore.
Fuck. Why now? Why?
Enya’s fingers twitched at her side, like she was fighting the urge to either reach for him or run away screaming. But she took a breath and nodded once, and mouthed. “Do it.”
Rowan closed his eyes. “Send the details,” he said, his voice rough. “I’ll look it over.”
Mercier’s chuckle was dark, satisfied. “Knew you’d see reason. Details in your inbox in five. And Rowan?”
