“Yeah?”
“If you’re gonna be distracted, tell me now. Because the last thing I want to do is send you or one of your men home in a flag-covered box.” Gallus didn’t give him time to answer, and the line went dead.
Rowan lowered the phone slowly, his thumb hovering over the screen. He’d consider shooting someone very fucking important if he could somehow undo the last two minutes. The late afternoon air felt as if the world had tilted just enough to throw him off balance. He glanced at Enya, immediately pissed off at how her shoulders had tensed, the way her jaw was set, the way her eyes, those beautiful, endless eyes, were searching his face for something he wasn’t sure he could give her.
Not yet.
Not when he didn’t even know what the hell he was doing.
“That was—” he started, but the words died in his throat. What was it? A mistake? A test? A fucking lifeline?
Enya crossed her arms, hugging herself like she was trying to hold in the heat they’d just generated. “Work?”
Rowan exhaled through his nose. “Yeah.”
“Dangerous work.”
It wasn’t a question. She knew. Of course, she knew. She’d been right there in the thick of it. She was one of the few he went after to bring back. She knew, and he knew it. He rubbed the back ofhis neck, the muscles there tight as a piano wire about to snap. “Probably.”
She nodded, her gaze dropping to the ground between them. A beat passed, and then another, filled with everything they weren’t saying. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her back into his arms and pretend the fucking call had never rang. But maybe it was better that she figured out now that taking these jobs was part of who he was. It wasn’t in his genetic makeup to send his brother and his men out without him there to ensure they all came home alive.
Enya picked up the box of pies, slid into the seat of the truck, and placed them on her lap. “We should get going,” she said, her voice steady. “You’ll need to talk to the guys.”
Rowan swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”
The truck rumbled beneath them, the engine’s low growl the only sound between them as Rowan shifted gears and steered onto the winding backroad that led to Stronghold. He slammed on the brakes to avoid a rabbit that bolted across the road at the last second. “Stupid dick, watch where you’re fucking running, asshole.”
Christ, even the damn rabbits are conspiring against me today.
He glanced at Enya out of the corner of his eye.
What’s she thinking?
He almost swerved off the road when her hand slid across the seat, her fingers lacing through his where it rested on the gearshift. The touch burned through him, searing as a brand, and his thumb moved over her knuckles before his brain could catch up.
The miles blurred past, the familiar landmarks of home doing jack shit to settle the storm inside him. Enya’s thumb moved in slow, absent circles over the back of his hand. His brain needed to quit stalling on how she was starting to mean more than she should. Her touch grounded him even as he forced his mind to the contract waiting in his inbox, and to the men who’d rely on him to lead them into another hellscape.
I fucking love this.
I love that it’s almost as if she’s mine, I’m hers, and nothing else matters.
I should pull away. Should tell her this—whatever the hell this was—couldn’t happen. But then why did the thought of letting go feel like a blade between the ribs? He held on, because some truths were better left unspoken. At least for now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The truck rolledto a stop in front of the main house, gravel crunching under the tires like the grinding of Rowan’s own thoughts. He killed the engine but didn’t move, his fingers still tangled with Enya’s, her skin warm against his calloused palm. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was charged, kind of like the air before a storm. He should let go. He knew he should step back. But hell, he should do a hell of a lot of things… did he want to? Absolutely not. The last thing he wanted to do was break the hold she had on him with just her thumb tracing slow, absent circles over his knuckles, which made his chest tighten.
Gael appeared in the front doorway. He didn’t call out or wave. The asshole just stood on the stoop with his arms crossed, making Rowan exhale through his nose.
If fucking Mercier called him, I’m going to kick his fucking ass.
Rowan finally pulled his hand free, the loss of Enya’s touch like a physical ache, and pushed open the truck door.
“Stay here,” he said, voice rougher than he intended. “I’ll be back.” Enya didn’t argue, and Rowan forced himself to turn away before he jumped back into the truck and took off for parts unknown. Hell, he was damn good at the covert shit, and he’d much prefer to use it to hide away with Enya until they figured out what the connection between them meant.
Gael raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twisting into a teasing smirk. “So, Momma called…”
Shit.
