Page 40

I rested my forehead against hers, our breaths slowing into something close to normal.

Then my phone buzzed on the side table, and reality came back hard.

I pulled out of her and stood. “We’re done waiting. Get dressed.”

Her face changed. “Lach—”

“Now,” I said, stripping off the condom and tossing it on the sofa next to her. I jerked my briefs and pants on, tucked myself back in, and fastened them. “My men are already wondering what the hell is taking so long.”

“I know.” She climbed off the sofa, legs unsteady enough that I reached for her before I could stop myself.

She caught my hand for balance, then let go. “I understand you’re in a hurry. Just give me a second.”

“We don’t have a second.”

“Don’t be in such a rush.” She adjusted herself back into her bra, grabbed her sweater from the floor, and pulled it on. “I’m not walking into a new life half-naked because your men have a schedule to meet.”

Despite everything, a rough laugh broke out of me.

“Come on, let’s go.”

She snatched her leggings and shimmied into them in a flash while I buckled my belt and straightened my shirt.

I watched her get dressed as if what had just happened between us was nothing out of the ordinary. The woman was a puzzle. Young, beautiful, and smart, yet stuck in a cartel world where any day could be her last for pissing off the wrong man.

Holding on to the back of the sofa, she slid her feet into a pair of short black boots that I hadn’t noticed sitting by the corner. Then she leaned forward, picked up a black leather jacket draped over the arm of the sofa, and glanced over her shoulder.

She smiled as if she were genuinely happy, and it tempered the regret already rising in me.

My conscience was battling it out between the greedy lust I’d given in to and the need to protect a woman in the clutches of violent gangsters.

Jacket in hand, she walked up to me, rose onto her toes, and kissed my cheek. Her eyes gleamed with mischief, and all I could do was stand there and wonder where the hell her future would take her.

“Thank you,” she said. “You have no idea how many times I thought about having you since you came storming into my office and threatened me.”

“I guess that’s what happens when you fuck around with an Irishman’s livelihood,” I teased, stamping a kiss on her forehead.

“Yeah, yeah. Like they say, fuck around and find out. Right?” she mocked, reaching into the pocket of her jacket.

Another buzz vibrated on the side table.

I stretched over and grabbed my phone, then remembered I’d dropped my wallet on the floor. Dropping to one knee, I braced a hand on the seat cushion and searched under the edge of the sofa. I was still reaching for the damn thing when a sharp sting hit the side of my neck.

At first, I thought a wasp had gotten me, but that didn’t make any sense.

Then heat poured under my skin.

My fingers brushed familiar leather and closed sluggishly around the wallet. I started to stand, but my muscles didn’t follow through, and I fell back onto the sofa. My phone and wallet slipped from fingers that no longer obeyed me.

My mind and body misfired as dread burned through every fiber of my being.

I dragged my head sideways just enough to find her only a couple of feet away, an injector in her hand and her head cocked to the side.

She stood there, sneering at me as if I were pathetic.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. The room swam, blurred and warped at the edges. That was the worst part. I could still see a clouded version of the room, the paint samples on the wall, my wallet open on the cushion beside me, but I couldn’t connect thought to movement.

I tried to ask her what the hell was going on, but my tongue had gone thick, and the words came out in a slur.