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“We had to. You’re surprisingly strong for someone who dresses like the Tooth Fairy.”
“Oh god. Am I brain damaged?”
“You mean more than you were before?”
Men say they love a strong woman, right up until they meet one.
“One: I don’t tolerate disobedience. If I give you an order, you follow it.” Magic 8 Ball says: Outlook not so good.
“You’re about as charming as herpes. Now go take a piss.”
I’ve known her for all of two hours—half of that while she was unconscious—and I’m ready to shoot myself in the face.
“You got one look at the handcuffs Kieran was going to put on you and took a flying leap.”
I’m the one who puts the handcuffs on men, not vice versa.
He says, “Whoever gave you the idea you’re charming was an idiot.”
“That mouth is going to get you into trouble one day, Tinker Bell.”
Sweet baby Jesus, I wish I knew Morse code. I would blink this asshole such a terrorist threat with my eyelids that he wouldn’t be able to sleep for the rest of his life.
When he remains silent, brooding over whatever his call was about, I wiggle my fingers for permission to speak. He sends me a curt nod.
“How do you know I’m not going to shoot you?”
“Decide. We don’t have much time.”
He stops laughing abruptly, looking as disturbed by the unexpected outburst as I am.
“Got that out of your system?” Glowering, he says, “Aye.”
I stare at him with my lower lip pinched between my teeth. He says drily, “Thank you for showing restraint. It must be incredibly difficult.”
“You’re almost as brave as a man.” “What a coincidence, I was just thinking that about you.”
“I keep telling you, gangster. I’m charming. By the time this is all over, you’ll be head over heels in love with me.”
“I have questions.” “What a surprise.”
“Ha! You see? I’m charming you already.” He closes his eyes and sighs. “Dear god, make it stop.”
“I think you’re lying about not having boyfriends. I think you’ve had plenty, and they all committed suicide.”
“Oh, relax. I just wanted to ask if you think Reverse Stockholm syndrome is already a thing, or if you’re about to invent it?”
“How many times did your parents beg you to run away from home?”
“I can spot a fellow smartass a mile away. It’s one of my many talents.
“You’ll be running your mouth in your grave, won’t you, lass?”
“I’m serious. I’m going to be quiet from now on. But I’m warning you, you won’t like it.”
“I’m not going to hurt you. You have my word.”
It’s a miracle this mouthy, overconfident little demon can look so sweet and innocent, but she manages it.
Her hair spills over the pillow, a mess of silky dark tresses I’d like to comb my fingers through—no. Christ. What am I thinking? She’d bite them off.
There’s a voice between my legs screaming, Boy, would I! but with a valiant effort, I ignore it.
“You’ll buy me tampons?” His mouth does something strange. Is he trying not to smile? “No. I’ll send Kieran.”
“Hey. Gangster.”
“Aye, lass?”
“You were dropped on your head a lot as a baby. That’s it, isn’t it?”
I’m standing in a room full of thirty Irish mobsters who came to pay their respects, and my phone is blowing up like some teenager’s in the midst of an emotional meltdown.
He mutters, “What I wouldn’t give for a massive heart attack right now.”
When I return to the living room, Kieran takes one look at my face and snorts. “She got to ye, too, eh?”
But all I can think about is the green-eyed demon in my bed, wearing my clothes, lying underneath my body, smiling at me.
“It means we’re friends.” He couldn’t look more astonished if he tried. “We are?”
“What have you done to Kieran?”
“I mean he came into this room working for me, and he went out of it working for you. He suddenly thinks he’s your goddamn butler!”
“I think you just wanted an excuse to come back in here and see me.” “And I think calling you an idiot would be giving you far too much credit.”
“Your parents are brother and sister, aren’t they?” “Oh, look, we finally have something in common!”
“Your father had to teach you how to breathe? What a surprise. Pity he didn’t put a pillow over your face first.”
“Will you listen to me?” “I am. That’s the problem.”
“You’re welcome. Oh, by the way, I was thinking.” “Did it hurt?”
“Why are you so quiet?” “I don’t plan murder out loud.”
Somewhere in the room, a clock ticks. Or maybe that’s the bomb he set for me.
