Fuck. Too damn close. How would she react if I told her TORC is the evil stepbrother to Homeland Security? That her sister is a hired mercenary? A spy. A killer just like me?
“No more questions.”
She sits up and faces me with eyes flashing. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
God, she’s beautiful. Far too naive to understand the clusterfuck of a situation she’s in. Damn it but I feel the urge to prepare her, in some way, for what’s to come. “What’s worse, a lie or a broken promise?”
“Both.”
“Pick one,” I insist, now curious what she’ll say.
“You go first.”
“Easy. I’ll take a lie any day.”
She stares at me, a frown marring her forehead as she tries to read through the lack of expression on my face. Like she’s deciphering braille or some shit chiseled into marble. Good luck with that, baby.
“You’d rather be lied to than have a promise be broken?”
“Yeah,” I say simply.
“Sounds like someone’s left you hanging. A parent?”
Parents—plural. Pairs of parents. Repeatedly. Let’s just say I wasn’t exactly a warm and fuzzy foster child.
“I’m sorry whoever it was hurt you.”
I don’t respond. No goddamn way am I discussing my fucked-up childhood with a woman far too perceptive for her own good.
“Kylie always keeps her promises. It’s a matter of pride.”
But fuck, can Kylie lie, I think.
“So how do I know, in what little you’ve said, you’ve been telling me the truth?”
“You don’t,” I answer gruffly.
“And if you aren’t lying to me,” she continues on as if I haven’t answered her question, “you could be headed toward breaking a promise to me.”
I feel my lips curl upward. “I haven’t promised you anything. What promise?”
“The unspoken kind.” She reaches over and places her hand on my thigh.
Goddamn it. She means us.
I blink. Us. As if there’s goddamn hope that this attraction will change into something more. Something real. Something I never imagined I wanted until now. Broken man, broken promises.
“I like you. You like me.”
“I never told you . . . “
“Shhh,” she hushes me. “You can run but you can’t hide.”
I could spare Madelyn the grief of what’s headed her way. Let her go. Simple. After all, I never shared with Hayden my plan for luring Kylie to me. If I let her go, no one will be the wiser.
But I’m a selfish prick with a bigger agenda. Kylie needs to be held accountable for my friend’s murder. And orders are orders, after all.
“Listen, baby. I’m going to be straight up with you.”
She turns. Hope, doubt, misplaced like . . . it’s written all over her face. Innocent. Pure. But nobody’s chump.
She’s a survivor.
Like me.
Against my better nature and being the wuss-ass I am, I try once more to protect her.
“No promises. Or lies,” I tell her honestly, “The truth is, I’m all you’ve got.”
14
Declan
I draw the worn brown curtains in the room I rented at Longview motel closed with a sharp pull. Casting the room in darkness, well aware of Madelyn standing nervously over by the one chair in the tight space.
“Relax,” I ground out. She jumps at the bite in my tone. Yeah, I’m doing a stand-up job of soothing away the tension between us.
God fucking knows why, I don’t like her being afraid of me.
When all I ever offer anyone is fear. It’s who I am. What I know.
I never wanted it to be otherwise.
Until now.
“You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Through the faint light from the nightstand lamp, I see her shoulders relax.
Earning her trust is key. A shame I’ll eventually crush it like balled-up paper within my fist.
She doesn’t deserve this. The good ones never do. And that’s Madelyn, good down to the bone. Honest. Compassionate. Naive in a way that brings out something foreign inside me, something that gets my blood racing, driving every protective instinct inside me out, front and center. She’s the kind of person always putting others before herself, inviting strangers in from storms and—nervous or not—making them feel at home. Strong of heart and mind, yet far too trusting.
Loyal to a fault, too. Someone who’ll stick by you through thick or thin. Warm you with a smile. Or cupcake. Bring out the best in you. Make you want to be a better person. Someone you want to be around, constantly.
The exact opposite of me.
No, I’m her worst fucking nightmare.
Something she’ll soon find out.
“I’m not tired.”
“And I’m not a nice guy. I’ll take the floor.”
She’s silent for a moment. “You just don’t see yourself the way I see you.”
There she goes again. Trying to twist me into someone I’m not.
Use it. Earn her trust. Use . . . her.
“Right.” I move across to the bed, pull back the covers, then take the second pillow off the bed and toss it onto the floor.
I hear her sigh. She unzips her bag, takes out a red nightgown, and holds it up to shake out the wrinkles. It’s short, with a lace hem, a slight V neckline, and a tiny red flower that, when she puts it on, is going to fall snug between her breasts.
Blood rushes straight through my cock.
I clench my fist, resisting the urge to snatch the sheer material from her and rip the goddamn flower right off of it. I don’t have time for this nonsense. Either I fuck her and get it over with or jerk off in the shower, leaving her alone and more likely to trust me.
“You’re scowling. Did you want to use the bathroom first?”
Yeah, wanking off in the shower shouldn’t take too long. Not with the vivid idea of what she’ll look like in that poor excuse of a nightgown rolling around in my head. Unexpected, that. I’d have thought someone like her would favor comfortable cotton pajamas or some such shit. But lingerie? Sheer enough it won’t hide a thing. The memory of her hot body in that bikini was a sneak preview. Nothing like the naughty promise of a bit of peekaboo material to make a man’s cock rock hard.
“That for your boyfriend?” I ask before thinking.
Fucking rock-star move. This isn’t a conversation I want right now. Or . . . ever.
She glances at the nightgown and her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
I keep my trap shut about the punk on the beach.
“And you?” she asks.
“Me what?”
“I never considered . . . do you have a girlfriend?”
I laugh. It’s not a pretty sound.
“What’s so funny?”
Jesus. “Do I look like a guy who does the dating bullshit?”
She cocks her head and gives me a once-over. Bold as freaking brass. Weak like putty in her naïveté.
“Drop it. Go get changed.”
She doesn’t budge. “You’ve never had a girlfriend?”