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I don’t even hate how I need him, how I crave more of his lips and the touch of his rough hands tangled into my hair.
When he pulls away, I’m dizzy, high off the sudden dopamine hit.
He lets me stagger backward, and I rub my finger over the burning trail his lips left on mine. I catch my breath, looking up at my captor from under my lashes.
His chest rises and falls, and his blistering gaze scorches every inch of my skin. It’s a more intense version of the way he looked at me the other night, right before he decided not to claim my innocence. A tangle of confusion and anger and sadness.
The tension rises, hot and heavy and suffocating between us.
If I don’t break it, I’ll drown. “I—”
“I have more meetings,” he says, dragging his eyes from me and wiping the taste of me from the corner of his mouth. “My driver will take you back to the estate with a full security detail.”
His shoulder brushes mine as he stalks to the door. “Lorcan—”
“Miss Murphy,” he interrupts, stopping under the threshold. He regards me with dark eyes. The fury in them reminds me that he truly is the devil. “Don’t.”
“Don’t?” I choke out, searching his face for any semblance of the man who just kissed me like I was the only woman on the planet.
He nods, curt and assertive. “Don’t,” he says again through gritted teeth.
Only one word, loaded with the heaviest threat of all.
Don’t fall in love with me.
Lorcan
Between the sun setting and the sun rising, Poppy hasn’t left my mind, not for even a second.
Not when I signed the contract with the Peruvians and toasted to the streets of Boston no longer being dry.
Not even when I sent Donnacha off with the emerald four-leaf clover to give to Igor Bratnov.
The Quinn family symbol of war.
I should be in the trenches preparing for the imminent battle. Instead, I’m acting like the king of the castle in my study, looking out to my princess’s ivory tower.
I’m surprised when she comes into view, walking in step with Orna. I scowl and crack my knuckles, wondering what she’s doing.
Orna disappears out of view and comes back with a bagful of laundry. I turn my attention back to Poppy. Because that’s all I can see. Not her father. Not a token of revenge or a rare keepsake. Just Poppy.
The other thing that hasn’t left my mind all night is the kiss.
Not just the feeling of her soft lips against mine and her soft, silky hair wrapped around my fist. But the feeling of my cold, dead heart cracking.
My mind is a goddamn mess and not just because of the two bottles ofThe Smugglers ClubI’ve knocked back to numb the feeling.
She looks like an angel in that billowing white dress. Gesturing wildly as she talks to Orna, who’s laughing at whatever she’s saying. Then she dips into the laundry basket herself and pulls out a towel, folding it and placing it in the bag at her feet.
I should be out making calls and working with Antoin to secure the city in preparation for Igor Bratnov’s attack, but I can’t take my goddamn eyes off her.
A movement in the corner of the garden catches my attention. One of my men, Martin. He twitches again and it takes me a couple of seconds to realize he’s tugging at the fabric around his dick. Then I follow his eye line and realize he’s staring at the dress riding up Poppy’s ass as she bends over to pick up a sheet from the laundry basket.
The rage is all-consuming. I don’t think twice about storming out of my study, picking up the Glock from my desk as I go, and stalking out into the grounds.
A shot rings out, the bullet narrowly missing Martin’s head. Instinctively, he reaches for his rifle as he ducks, before realizing that the bullet came from me. Even under his helmet, I can see the surprise on his face. I close the gap between us, a growl brewing deep in my chest. “If I ever see those fucking eyes evenglancingat my girl again, then I’ll gouge them out with a spoon.”
His mouth opens and closes in a weird sort of quiver. But he knows better than to protest. “Now get out of my sight.”
