He shoots me a lopsided grin that makes my heart melt. “Aye,” he says. “Thought you knew that.” His jovial look evaporates. “Fiona.”
“What?”
“You’ve been crying.” He looks at once sorrowful and stern, as if he wants to know the purpose of my sadness. “Tell me. Who did this to you?” His tone holds the promise of punishment, harsh and threatening.
How can I tell him that he’s the one that made me cry?
I don’t reply. He doesn’t speak again, but steps even closer to me. I don’t bother to hide my gawking at him, my eyes roving over his muscled, tattooed body, McCarthy family ink that marks him as inducted mafia. The wide, broad breadth of his shoulders, the smattering of dark hair on his chest, and the flat hardness of his belly. Those powerful, corded forearms, and the swimming trunks that are low—way too low—on his hips. My mouth is dry, and I swallow hard, the heat of arousal pulsing through me at his nearness.
My mind is a jumble of thoughts and squeals.
So. Much. Naked. Skin.
I’ve never seen so much of him up close like this. It’s almost too much, overwhelming, like looking straight at the sun.
He’s so tall, I crane my neck when he steps right in front of me, right into my personal space.
“Answer me,” he demands, dark brows drawing tightly over his eyes.
“Did what?” I whisper.
He reaches for my face, his large, rough hand easily twice the size of my own, but freezes midway, as if touching me will turn him to stone. We do not touch.
“Who made you cry?” he asks, barely masking his fury, his need to seek vengeance for the wrongs committed against me.
If ever I loved him, it’s hopeless now.
Chapter 4
I want to know who did this to her, who made those pretty eyes brim with tears. I’ll make them pay. I’ll make them rue the day they made my girl anything but happy.
My girl.
As soon as I give space to my uncensored thoughts, I regret them. I can’t do that to her. A connection to me means being roped into mob life. And though I’d worship the ground she walks on and take care of her every need, there’s no escaping the sometimes vicious, violent lives we lead.
“It’s no one,” she says, but it’s a lie. I can tell by the way her gaze swings from mine, unwilling to make eye contact with me. But I’ve known her for years, and I know when she’s being evasive. She’s strong-willed and feisty, but I know how to handle her.
“Fiona.” My voice is laced with warning, stern and corrective. I want answers, and I want them now.
I step closer to her, so close now I can see the glimmer of tears on her cheek, reflecting moonlight. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. She didn’t just get choked up or shed a lone tear. She’s been weeping.
I can’t help myself. I reach for her before I know what I’m doing. Before tonight, I’ve never let myself touch her before, though I’ve imagined just this so many times it’s like a fantasy come true. I cup her jaw, so small in my hand. So fragile and soft. I brush my thumb along her cheekbone, wiping away tears.
She leans into my touch, her eyes closing with a soft sigh of relief.
My heart thunders, my skin alive and prickling with awareness and heat. She’s so close I could brush my lips against hers, and I know, I fucking know, that her face would tip up to mine and she’d welcome that kiss.
And I know we’d never be the same again.
We both want this. We both crave this.
I’m a man of the Clan who’s risked life and limb for my brothers. I’ve taken lives and issued threats, and defended my brothers in battle. I’ve put myself on the front line and welcomed danger. I face my fears with conviction and strength, never allowing myself to quake in the face of duty. But this… bloody hell. My hand begins to tremble and my heart races. Keeping myself apart from her’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I want to kiss her so badly I can’t breathe. I can already taste her, so sweet and seductive, she’d pull me under, never to resurface again.
They’d kill me. Nolan first, but Cormac and Keenan would help him finish me off. That is, if Sheena didn’t murder me with her own bare hands before they got to me.
“You’re lying to me, lass,” I whisper in her ear. Her hair tickles my nose and brushes my hand, warm and intimate. I’m washed in the scent of warm vanilla. “You know I expect you to tell me the truth.”
And I do. I’ve told myself I’m like her older brother, stepping in to take care of her when necessary. I’ve made her report to me, insisted on her safety, and I won’t allow her to lie.
But Jesus, I’m no brother to her.
She doesn’t respond, but places her hand on my wrist. Maybe she meant to stop me, but she doesn’t push me away.
“What if I am?” she whispers.
I close my eyes against the rush of heat in my chest, at her flirty suggestion.
“Lying?”
“Aye.”
“You know better than to lie to me.”
A girl who lies ought to be taught a lesson.
The thought of punishing her makes a low hum of need coil in my belly, and I’ve barely even touched her. I’ve subdued my own desires, to master, dominate, and control. But I know what I want from Fiona. I know that she’d fight submitting to me, but I’d show her how good it could be.
She shivers, but this time I don’t think it’s from cold.
She tips her face up. I stare at the fullness of her lips. I bend down, and time stills. Her eyes close. Her lips part.
And like a coward, I brush my lips across her cheeks.
For long seconds she doesn’t breathe, before she pulls away. Moonlight glints on gold at her neck. The locket. She’s wearing the locket I got her, that I agonized over buying for her, afraid she’d read something into an intimate gift like jewelry. In the end, I felt it the right thing to do, though.
“Take me home, Lachlan.”
There’s a sadness in her voice that breaks my heart, a plaintive plea to take her away from what we can’t have. To bring her home to safety.
I give myself one last second of closeness. My forehead on hers. Our breaths mingled with salty air. A hum of unrequited longing between us.
“Let’s get you home,” I agree, unable to mask the resignation in my tone.
I pull away from her, and she shivers. Swallowing hard, I swear she looks as if she’s going to cry again.
“Don’t cry, lass,” I try to encourage. “Please don’t.”
I take my hoodie from the pile of clothes and drape it over her. She swims in it, like a child playing dress-up. I’m torn between thinking she’s adorable and feeling like a prick for even wanting someone so young. She looks down bashfully and sticks her arms through the sleeves.
“Thank you,” she says with a laugh. Thank God she can laugh still.
“You’re freezing your arse off. Can hardly bring you home to Sheena and Nolan all frozen.”
“Suppose not. Aren’t you going to freeze?”
Not going to happen. My lust-filled blood pounds through my veins, boiling with need and longing.
“Hardly,” is my only response.
Tonight, I told Keenan I wasn’t going to Boston. I made the decision to stay right here where she is, though I don’t fucking know why if I can’t have her. I should trust my brothers to give her the protection she truly needs.