He’s still mentally preparing for me to come unhinged.
“You better build a fallout shelter.”
I get up and walk towards him, and he backs away. Until I grab the loops of his jeans and yank.
“So, I guess that means I’m going to live with you, huh?”
“I suppose. I need ye close so I can keep an eye on you.”
He gives me a kiss that’s entirely too short and tries to leave again.
“Stay and make out with me.”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” he says. “I have work to do, and so do you. Time to unpack, Satan. And then ye better be ready because I’m taking ye out tonight.”
“You should really see what I’m doing to you in my head right now,” I say, but he’s already gone and around the corner.
So, much to my disappointment, I spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking instead of fulfilling my hot carpenter fantasy.
Rory’splanned night out consists of a gathering at Niall MacKenna’s house.
The now retired and former boss of the syndicate.
It’s a big deal for him to bring me here, and I know it the minute we walk through the door.
Even though I’ve played it off like it doesn’t bother me he wouldn’t commit, this one little act cements everything I need to know about where we stand.
I’m in this world for good now.
You don’t go to Niall MacKenna’s house unless you’re a longtime girlfriend or wife of one of these men.
Rory knows very well that I know it too, because he’s staring at me right now, gauging my response.
I squeeze his hand to convey the words I don’t want to say aloud.
I’m not going anywhere.
Mack is here, and Sasha too, and I’m in their sights within moments of entering the room. They try to pull me away from Rory, which apparently is the thing to do, so the guys can talk shop and smoke cigars or whatever.
Rory swats me on the ass before I go and leans down to whisper in my ear.
“Be a good girl, Satan.”
I kiss him on the cheek. “I’d rather be bad for you.”
He’s all dimples, and Mack is making a hushed gagging noise behind me when she finally pries us apart and drags me away.
“What happened to you?” she asks. “You’ve gone soft.”
“Speak for yourself,” I tell her.
She glances across the room at Crow, all the while Sasha is seeking out Reaper with her eyes, and both of them are still just as love drunk as the day they got married.
Case in point.
We’re just about to sit down when there’s a commotion from the other side of the room. A feminine cry, followed swiftly by laughter and clapping.
“What’s going on over there?” Sasha asks.
