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The thought of those thugs brings a rush of anxiety washing over me. Tag might be a mafia boss—and I’m sure he’s violent and ruthless when behind closed doors—but those brothers didn’t even think twice about shooting up a pub full of people.
How many died in that pub tonight?
I could’ve been one of them.
With three quick steps, I sit on the cover of the toilet and curl over my knees. The adrenaline of the night has worn off and I’ve started to shake.
It’s either terror, shock, or maybe being wet to the bone. Any way I slice it, nothing is more appealing than the thought of standing under a stream of hot water as I wash this entire night away.
CHAPTER TEN
Tag
Ileave my American beauty to shower and force myself not to think about her getting naked on the other side of the door. There’s no point. Now that she knows who I am and has seen the ugliness of my world, the moment she can run, she will.
She’s likely in there wondering how to squeeze herself out the tiny bathroom window.
I stride down the hallway to the spare bedroom on the left. There’s a duffle in the closet that I keep here just in case. Pulling it out, I drop it on the bed and open the zipper.
I take the three guns and set them on the bed with the box of ammo that goes with them. The bundles of cash can stay too. It’s the clothes I’m after tonight.
Laine has no use for dress clothes, so my workout casuals will have to do.
I’m a solid foot taller than her, so she’ll have to roll up the pantlegs, but the drawstring on my workout pants will keep them on her hips. I tug them out and grab a clean black t-shirt and a pair of dry socks.
With her sorted, I pull out a knit Henley and undo the buttons of my shirt. It’s soaked…first because she had me running through the streets in the rain and then with her tears over forgetting her mother’s remains in my office.
Her heartache pulled at something inside me.
There’s a strength in her that draws me in.
I toss my wet shirt in the clothes hamper in Rose’s room and then lay the dry workout clothes outside the bathroom door for Laine to find.
With that taken care of, I return the guns and money into the duffle, zip it up, and set it back into the closet of the spare room.
On my way back downstairs, I pause at the bathroom door and listen to make sure she’s all right.
There’s a steady shuffle of motion and images of her peeling off the last of her wet clothes fill my mind. I’d offer to help if I thought I was welcome.
Ugh…just the thought has things stiffening again.
I cut the daydreaming off and curse myself.
Having tea with Rose while sporting a solid mickey in my pants is bad form. Not that I have much hope of calming the poor boy down.
As pissed as I am about the McGuires shooting up Jimmy’s pub, I think I’m even more pissed that they interrupted me before I got inside Miss Laine O’Neill.
That woman’s got pluck. And her body was so responsive.
I groan and look down at my crotch. “Sorry, sham. Luck was not on our side tonight.”
The shower comes on and I hear the hiss of the spray shift as she steps under the water. She obviously hasn’t melted into a puddle of emotional turmoil—which is good—so I take that as my cue to leave and go back downstairs.
The pot is set in the middle of the table, and I settle in my usual seat.
“What’s the smile, lad? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the long-haired lass with the tortured eyes, would it?”
I reach back to snag the tea towel off the handle of the stove and pat my face and neck dry. “She’s an American I met over dinner at Jimmy’s. Don’t send out the invitations just yet.”
