Destroy Me - Ella Sheridan Page 0,36

wasn’t innocent, was she? It had all been an act.

The frustration of that, the anger sharpened his voice. “There’s nothing for you to be worrying about. I’ll not touch you again.”

Sad eyes rose to meet his. Did she realize how much those eyes revealed? How they could tear a man to shreds with a single look? “I know.”

God, he was a bastard.

A heavy growl escaped him, and he realized he was shaking too—with the need to take her, the need to run. Before he did something he knew he’d regret later, he forced himself away from the dresser. “Let’s go.”

Lyse flinched away, then paled as pain had her flinching again. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I can manage on my own, thanks.” She gave him a smile, the same one she’d always given him when they used to work together, but this one never reached her eyes. “I’ll be out in a few minutes. Would you tell Siobhan I need her for the new dressing, please?”

Please. So sweet, so innocent and polite. Would it sound the same if she was begging him to make her come? If she was begging him to spare her life? He nodded jerkily.

Grabbing a robe from the chair in the corner—probably something his mam had brought for her—Lyse slipped from the room. He watched her go, wishing everything in him didn’t cry out to follow her.

He didn’t. He forced himself down the hall, away from the knowledge that she was naked beyond that closed door. That no matter how much he should hate her, everything inside him wanted to force his way into that room and force Lyse beneath him until all the confusion and lust and anger inside him finally disappeared in the wet, welcoming heat of her body.

Chapter Fifteen

The whisper of skin against sheets woke her from a restless sleep. Lyse kept her eyes closed and prayed that Fionn would leave quickly. She had no desire to face him this morning—or ever. Last night had been humiliation enough.

But that was her life now, wasn’t it? She couldn’t escape it. That chance had disappeared the moment she’d let Fionn catch her scent. When this was over, he’d take her back to the States, probably to face prosecution for setting the bomb inside Global First. If she’d thought that maybe, just maybe, the physical attraction that had flared between them the past couple of days might make a difference, well, last night had cleared away that fantasy. Decimated it, really.

The snick of the door closing allowed her to take a breath. Pain throbbed deep in her side, keeping her from falling into the deep sleep she so desperately needed, but she managed to drift, escape reality. Only when the scent of coffee and cinnamon rolls filtered beneath the door did she force herself to gather the tape and scissors Fionn had used last night, fresh bandages, and clothes and take them into the downstairs bathroom to shower. Sparing herself more embarrassing moments—until she made it to the kitchen.

Deacon was there, standing directly across the room, dark hair falling forward into his face. He leaned his heavily muscled body casually against a counter, a cup of coffee wrapped in his big hands, at ease. Happy. Elliot, his fiancée, was good for him. After losing his wife to cancer, Deacon deserved all the good he could get.

King Moncrief mimicked his friend’s pose, holding a cinnamon roll the size of his fist instead of coffee. Siobhan’s homemade cinnamon rolls. Lyse’s mouth watered at the sight, though she didn’t move farther into the kitchen to take one herself. Instead she watched the big blond, assessing his strengths, determining exactly what she was up against. He wore a crisp white button-down despite traveling all night from the States, and slacks instead of fatigues. He came from money, she knew, from the background check she’d done earlier this year. She hadn’t needed it, though; one look at him and it was obvious. And when his eerily light blue eyes swept in her direction and stayed, she remembered something else—he was all predator beneath that refined appearance.

Goose bumps prickled along her skin, and her muscles tightened, pulling at her wound. If Fionn’s attitude was anything to go by, this meeting wouldn’t be friendly, and her battered emotions were barely hanging by a thread as it was.

“Lyse.”

Deacon abandoned his coffee cup on the island as he crossed the kitchen, heading straight for her. Unable to read his voice, she stiffened her