Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
He holds the phone out to show me. “You get into trouble, you call this number. See?”
Why is he protecting me? Why does he care?
I nod. “Okay,” I whisper.
He flashes a grin—bright and devastating. My belly melts.
“Good girl,” he says softly. “That’s a good girl.”
Then he leans in, hooks a finger under my chin. “Now go back inside. Find whoever you came with. Go home where it’s safe, eh?”
I nod again and swallow hard.
Safe. Funny word, coming from him.
Because somehow, I know…
I’ve never been in more danger in my life.
Chapter 2
SEAMUS
She’s sweet. Innocent.
And I don’t do sweet and innocent. Never have.
I don’t know what the hell it is about her, why she’s gotten under my skin like this, but she has. I can’t get the sweet, pretty lass out of my feckin’ head.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her face, those wide, dark-blue eyes, the little smattering of freckles across her nose that makes her look like something out of a fairy tale. Like something pure. Untouched. Precious.
The way she looked at me… It wasn’t just curiosity but something else. Like… hero worship? The way her gaze clung to mine after I saved her from that asshole who thought he could corner her. Who thought he could own her.
Feck my life.
No.
Feck my life all the fecking way. Because I don’t have time for girls like her. Especially not in the form of a sweet, naive little Russian.
Girls like her need to be protected. Kept safe. Cared for.
Cherished.
And that’s not my job.
I don’t have the space for that. The time. The fucking energy.
Not now. Not ever.
So I leave.
I make sure she’s safe, tucked away like something breakable behind glass. I tell myself I’ll never see her again.
But then I saw the little tat on her shoulder I should’ve heeded. It should’ve sent me running, told me to stay away.
Instead, it felt like a brand.
Like she was already mine.
And I knew exactly where we’d met. I clocked the time, made note of it without even meaning to.
Thursday, eight p.m., Wolf and Moon.
Late enough for privacy. Quiet enough that no one would suspect anything. Just enough time between then and the weekend that it wouldn’t draw attention. No reason for anyone to be watching too closely.
I should go back to Ireland.
But I tell myself there’s still work to do here in Russia. Still unfinished business. The Kopolov family fucked us over, and I’m here to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
So I show up. Next Thursday. Eight o’clock sharp. Back at the same place.
A quiet challenge to the universe.
Keep her away from me. Keep her safe.
And a stupid, reckless part of me hopes she comes back.
God, I hope she doesn’t. I hope she knows better. That she listens and stays far the fuck away from me and everything I bring with me.
But that image… her sweet, luscious body, the way her cheek dimples when she smiles, those soft pink lips that look like they were made to whisper secrets into the dark.
Is she a virgin?
Has she ever been with a man?
Not a boy. A man.
Does she even know the difference?
I could show her.
I clench my jaw, close my eyes, and mutter a curse under my breath.
Fucking hell.
I can’t. I won’t.
And then she’s there.
Like I conjured her with my thoughts.
My sweet little angel, wide-eyed and curious. She meets my gaze across the room, and my breath fucking stalls.
She shouldn’t be here.
I told her not to come back.
I narrow my eyes at her in warning.
She should’ve listened. She ought to know better.
But she doesn’t look ashamed. Doesn’t look nervous.
She looks… defiant.
That stubborn little chin of hers tilts up like a challenge, and something sharp and electric slices through me.
So I crook a finger at her. A command, plain and simple.
Is she going to obey me? My god, if she does.
Sure enough, she whispers something to her useless feckin’ friend, gets to her feet, and walks that short, dangerous distance across the room to where I sit.
“I told you not to come back here,” I say. It’s barely a whisper, but it hits like a threat.
Everything I say to her feels like foreplay. Like teasing. Like temptation.
And I shouldn’t be doing it.
I know that.
“I told you,” I repeat.
“And I’m telling you,” she says with a smile, “that you’re not in charge of me.”
Oh. Brave little lass, eh?
But her eyes betray her. There’s a flicker in them. Uncertainty, maybe?
Need, definitely.
A silent, unspoken thought: I want you to be.
Aye, sweet lass. You and me both.
“Have you stayed out of trouble?” I ask her, gentler now.
I pull the chair beside me out for her. She slides into it without a word, her body tense but eager.
“Yes,” she says. But it sounds more like a question than an answer. There's hesitation in her voice that makes my brows draw together.