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His muscular frame dwarfed my own, and tattoos peeked above the collar of his snug Henley. But it was more than that—his presence radiated a savage calm, as though the world was meant to lay at his feet because if it didn’t, he’d burn the whole damn thing to ash.
“Are you lost?” I asked in a steady voice.
“Not lost, just waiting,” he eventually answered. His voice was rugged yet soft, like the vibrating rumble of a hungry jungle cat.
As he neared, I could see the rich turquoise shade of his eyes. He was beautiful for a criminal—well-defined jawline, thick sand-colored hair, and a rare facial symmetry that Hollywood would envy.
“What’s your name?” My curiosity got the better of me. His lips twitched in the corners. “Keir.”
“Why aren’t you afraid?” he asked in an even, deliberate tone. Taking one step, then another, he started to round the island. “Do you want me to be? Is that what gets you off?”
His eyes, as bright as the Caribbean Sea, trailed over my face as though memorizing my features. His scrutiny made me uncomfortable.
And it wasn’t just his height. He was broad like a professional athlete, thick with mature muscle. Probably somewhere close to thirty years old. Confident. Calculating. Deadly. Pure predator.
Keir’s eyes seemed to brighten further. “Now, why would you go and do a thing like that?” He inched forward. “Protect myself?” Completely ignoring the knife, he eased forward until the blade touched his chest. “Take out a weapon when you don’t plan on using it.”
“What says I’m not?” I swiftly raised the knife to his throat, the tip pressing against his skin. He leaned forward just enough for the blade to draw a prick of blood. “Because I’m still breathing,” he murmured.
One second, I had the knife at him, and the next, he’d grabbed my hand, spun me around toward the counter, and forced my hand to hold the blade at my throat instead of his. I couldn’t move an inch.
His arms were steel beams wrapped around me while his solid body pressed against my back. I was at his mercy.
“You know that Rowan means redhead in Irish.” I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. “It’s also a kind of tree.” The tree that had been the inspiration for my name. “It’s a particularly strong and resilient species, if I recall. Fitting.”
Who the fuck was Rowan Alexander, and why was she so goddamn addicting?
My lips crashed down on hers. I didn’t just kiss her. I fucked her mouth with my tongue, hands branding her body, and lungs hoping to steal her soul from deep within.
Like the last time, she didn’t taste like strawberry lip gloss or mint gum. That would be too typical for her. Rowan Alexander tasted like summer rain and heartbreak. Mine or hers, I couldn’t be sure. Either way, I was addicted. It took every last shred of my control to finally pull away from her.
“You’d rather let your father live in some fairy tale while you’re miserable than make him face reality?” “Yes,” she hissed, emotion seeping past her walls. Fury and revulsion carved my voice into a steel blade. “That, Miss Alexander, is fucked up.”
And then I met Keir. He was an earthquake that split my surface wide open. He’d created a crevasse down to the deepest parts of me, allowing everything I’d buried to leak free.
Keir’s parting words were the distant rumbles of thunder, teasing devastation. I’d never hated my last name so damn much. That, Miss Alexander, is fucked up. “Fuck you, Mr. Byrne. You don’t even know the half of it.”
