he knows it.
I’d like to take off my shoe and chuck it at his conceited head to take him down a notch.
But I don’t. I’ve already ruined the man’s guest room. Demolishing décor will have to be enough for one evening.
My feet dragging with fatigue, I hop back onto the counter stool where I sat before, prop my chin in my hands, and watch as the head of the Irish mafia makes me a tuna fish sandwich.
I swear that hipster bartender put something into my drink.
When the sandwich is ready, Killian puts it on a plate and takes a knife from a drawer. From over his shoulder, he says, “Crusts or no crusts?”
Yeah, that’s it. I’m definitely hallucinating. “Crusts are fine, thanks.”
He slices the sandwich in half and turns and presents it to me. Then he folds his big arms over his big, stupid chest and gazes at me from under lowered lids with a smug half smile playing over his lips.
“Don’t smirk,” I say, picking up the sandwich. “It’s unbecoming.”
“It’s not a smirk. That’s just my face.”
Holding his gaze, I bite into the sandwich, pretending it’s the tender space between his forefinger and thumb.
I refuse to like him. He’s a gangster, a killer, a bad guy to the bone. Just because he saved my life and made me a tuna fish sandwich doesn’t change anything. Plus, the jury’s still out on whether or not he’s going to let me go like he said he would.
“I’m really not so bad, once you get to know me.”
I chew for a moment, irritated that he can so easily read my face.
Then he completely flusters me by growling, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”
“It’s not flattery. It’s honesty.”
I swallow and clear my throat, feeling blood pulse in my cheeks. “Well. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He stares at me in unblinking intensity, studying every nuance of my face, radiating pure masculine sexuality, until I can’t stand it anymore.
“Are you always like this?”
He cocks his head. “Like what?”
I wave my hand at him. “This. You know. Alpha.”
He shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “Of course.”
Jeez, what was I expecting? Humility?
He watches me chomp in aggravation for a few moments, then smiles. “I feel sorry for that sandwich.”
I don’t have a smart comeback, so I simply chew and swallow until the sandwich is gone.
His cell phone rings. He whips it from his shirt pocket and answers with a curt, “Aye.”
He listens intently. I try to listen, too, but can’t hear whatever the person on the other end is saying. Then he poses a series of rapid-fire questions, his jaw getting harder and harder between each one.
“Just the one? Conscious? Where? Who’s with him? How long have we got?”
He listens, his expression growing darker, until finally he glances up at me.
His dark eyes have turned black.
“I’m on it,” he says, and ends the call.
I push the plate away, a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Let me guess. You have to go out for a while.”
“Aye. I won’t be long. Make yourself comfortable while I’m gone.”
I smile sweetly at him. “Oh, sure, I’ll just be here rifling through your drawers for evidence I can provide to the authorities.”
If I thought that would make him think twice about leaving me alone—and possibly taking me with him, giving me a chance at escape—I was wrong.
“Have at it, lass. My office door’s open. You won’t be able to get into anything without a matching biometric fingerprint, so you’ll be wasting your time, but you’re certainly welcome to try.”
He turns and strides toward the direction of the elevator banks, but stops and turns back around to look at me. His voice comes low and rough. His dark eyes glitter with secrets.
“And the authorities already know exactly what I am.”
The man talks in riddles. There always seems to be layers under layers hidden beneath his words, a sly wink in his tone like he’s the only one in on the joke. It’s intriguing as much as it is irritating.
“I know who you are, too, gangster. Everyone in this town knows who you are.”
“I didn’t say who, lass. I said what.”
I’m getting exasperated with his word games. “What’s the difference?”
He murmurs, “Only everything that matters, little thief.”
Eyes burning, he holds my gaze for a moment longer before turning and heading out.
When the elevator doors slide shut and he’s gone, I shout after him, “What you are is annoying, devil man!”
It doesn’t make me feel better.
Because I was raised to have good manners, I