“Killian?”
“Aye, lass?”
“Did you follow me to this hotel?”
“No.”
“Are there any other trackers on my clothing?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know I was here?”
“The card I gave you with my telephone number on it has a microscopic geo-locator device embedded in the stock.”
Of course it does. Because that’s completely normal. There are also probably tiny robot cameras swimming around in my veins. “I see. That’s very cool.”
“It is. I agree.” He pauses for a moment. “You’re freaking out again.”
“I think so, yes.”
“Open the door.”
Startled, I look at the closed hotel door. “Why? Is there another stuffed animal waiting for me?”
“Something like that.”
His voice is warm and amused, as if he’s enjoying a private joke. It makes me nervous.
“Did you get me a bunny rabbit or something? A potbellied pig? One of those fainting goats? Oh god, don’t tell me it’s an aardvark.”
“Open the door and see.”
He disconnects, leaving me hyperventilating.
I set the receiver back in the cradle and head to the door, feeling as if my arteries are about to explode from the extreme pressure they’re under. I peek through the peephole…but no one is there.
I glance up and down the hallway. There is no evidence of a person, a potbellied pig, or anything else. All is still and silent.
I crack open the door and look through.
A big hand reaches out from beside the door and flattens over it. Then I’m pushed back into the room by the large and imposing presence of none other than Boston’s mob king himself.
Before I can make even a peep of surprise, he kicks the door shut with his foot, grabs me by the upper arms, spins me around, and pins me against it.
“Ask me to kiss you, lass,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs back and forth over my rigid biceps. My hands are flattened over the hard expanse of his chest. I’m pushing against it, to no avail. The man is built like a mountain.
I manage to eke out a No. Even he doesn’t think it sounds too convincing, because his smile turns smug and his eyes start to smolder.
In an attempt to gather my wits, I drag in a deep breath through my nose. Unfortunately, along with it comes the heady smell of his skin, some intoxicating combination of musk and spice and virile male in his prime.
It’s quite possible I have just become pregnant through osmosis.
Get it together! Kick him out! More firmly, I say, “No. Why are you here?”
“Because I want a kiss.”
I pretend his look of intense longing directed at my mouth doesn’t affect me one bit. “Don’t you have an evil empire you should be out running?”
“Aye.” He adds softly, “This is more important.”
Oh no. He’s decided to be charming. Where’s a chastity belt when you need one? “I want you to leave.”
He shakes his head and tsks. “One more lie, sweet little thief, and I’ll take you over my knee.”
He’s threatening to spank me? Heat floods my face. My heart starts to bang around inside my chest. I stare at him in outrage. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
He looks like there’s nothing he wants more in the world.
Then he leans down and inhales deeply against my throat. As I stiffen, he says hotly, “Fuck. You smell like heaven.”
He nuzzles his nose into my hair and inhales again. His hands tighten around my arms. His voice drops to a growl. “I bet you taste like heaven, too.”
My mind, easily distracted under the best of circumstances, wipes blank. I forget all about hating him, asking him to leave, or anything else for that matter, and simply cling to his suit jacket and try to remain standing upright.
He presses the full length of his hard body against mine, fists one big hand into my hair at the nape of my neck, curls the other around my throat, and pulls away to stare into my eyes.
In his own is a raging inferno.
“Go ahead. Lie to me. Tell me you don’t want me to bury my face between your legs. Because it’s all I can think about.”
He strokes his thumb slowly back and forth over the pulse in the side of my neck, no doubt feeling how wildly it’s throbbing.
I whisper, “Aardvark.”
His eyes flash. He moistens his lips, and holy fuck, that’s the single sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Against my hip, his erection throbs.
Though I try to project strength and cool self-confidence, my voice comes out shaky when I speak. “I have something I want to ask you.”
He stills, coiled to spring. His unblinking gaze focuses on mine. His breathing goes ragged.
“I want to ask that you take a step back. This is too overwhelming for me. You’re too overwhelming. I can’t think.”
He examines my expression in silence. Heat bristles like an electrical current between us. His stare is so hot and intense I feel burned by it. Then, once again, his gaze drops to my mouth.
“Killian. Please.”
His eyes drift shut. A muscle in his jaw jumps. He exhales slowly through his nose, then releases me.
When he steps back, my knees are so rubbery that I nearly slide to the floor.
Adjusting his tie, he clears his throat. “I’m sorry. You make me…I get a little…” He stops and draws a breath. His laugh is low and faintly bewildered. “I’m afraid you make me go slightly crazy.”
“I’m familiar with the feeling.”
Our gazes lock and hold. He’s standing only about a foot or so away, and the air between our bodies feels supercharged. Magnetized. Like there’s a powerful, invisible pull drawing us together, no matter how hard we’re both trying to stay apart.
Our breathing falls in sync. My ears turn hot. Hanging by his sides, his hands flex and unflex, as if he’s deliberately forcing himself not to reach for me.
I say, “This is very strange.”
“Aye.”
“Like, beyond strange. Like UFOs and haunted houses strange. Like supernatural.”
“Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t happen.”
“But it shouldn’t happen. It can’t happen. I’m me, and you’re you.”
“Aye, there’s some baggage there. We don’t have to unpack it all tonight.”
His eyes are blistering with desire, but his voice is velvet soft, husky with emotion. The combination of animalistic lust and raw vulnerability is intoxicating. Especially coming from a man like him.
Still. I can’t for the life of me figure this out.
“Not to be rude, but maybe you only like me because I’m always saying no. Maybe you’re the kind of guy who loves a challenge. Maybe my appeal for you is only that I’m—”
“Your appeal is that you’re you,” he interrupts, his voice still that same velvet glove stroking over my skin. “You’re brave, and smart, and tough, but also kind. And funny. And beautiful. God, you’re just a pleasure to look at. And you don’t even try.
“I like that you seem as if you have more important things to do than dress a certain way or act a certain way or pretend to be anything other than what you are to impress a man. You just go around being unapologetically you. Living by your own rules. Trusting your own instincts. You let yourself take up space. You refuse to shrink to fit in. So many women don’t do that. You’re just…free. It’s refreshing. You make me feel…”