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“Yeah, you are.” He cuts me off. “You’re strong and stubborn and smart. But you’re still fucking scared, and that’s okay. You’d be stupid if you weren’t.”
I stare at him, drowning in the solemn sincerity in his expression. I want to believe his kindness. I’m dying to. “Cole is never scared.”
“Cole is a psychopath. You’re comparing apples to oranges.”
I laugh despite the seriousness in his voice. “He’s not psychotic. He’s just…”
“Fucking crazy?” He approaches a step. “A narcissist?” The nearness increases. “Stop me if you want. I could go on for hours.”
My smile lessens, the relief he’s given me dying under the heavy thoughts of my brother. “You shouldn’t joke about him like that. If he heard…”
“It isn’t anything I wouldn’t say to his face.” He shrugs. “I work for him, and he has my loyalty. But that doesn’t mean he gets my respect.”
The brutal honesty surprises me. It also fills me with concern. “You disapprove of the way he does business?”
“It has nothing to do with business.”
“Then what is it?”
He holds my gaze, his expression growing tight.
“Tell me.” I inch closer, the sides of our feet brushing.
“That’s a conversation for another day. You need to get some rest.”
No. I’m finally getting somewhere. I can’t stop now. “Please.”
His jaw ticks. His eyes harden. “He laid hands on you. I could never respect a man who does that.”
I stare blankly, entirely overwhelmed by his vehement response.
There’s not merely a lack of respect between my brother and this man. There’s more. So much more. And if I can believe his fierce conviction, it has nothing to do with my family’s criminal activities and everything to do with his concern for me.
Guilt mixes with my turbulent emotions.
I’m the reason Cole doesn’t trust him.
I’m the one who has put a target on Decker’s back.
He walks by me, severing the conversation as he stalks into the kitchen, the flick of the light stealing away the shadowed intimacy. “Do you want me to get you a drink? I found the liquor cupboard earlier.”
I sigh and follow after him. “I don’t want alcohol. Coffee, on the other hand…”
“That’s not going to happen.” He pulls open a cupboard above the counter and retrieves a scotch glass. “Caffeine is a bad idea when the aim is sleep.”
“Well, what I need and what I’m capable of are two different things.”
He moves to another cupboard, this one lined with bottles of all shapes and sizes—rum, tequila, gin.
He pulls out a vodka bottle, cracks the lid, and pours a shocking amount into the glass.
“I hope that’s not for me.” I remain on the other side of the counter.
“For relaxation purposes.” He shuts the cupboard then turns to me, the bottle in one hand, the glass in the other.
“Are you going to have one with me?”
He gives a subtle shake of his head. “I can’t.”
“Because you’re babysitting?”
“No, because I don’t want you to take advantage of me.”
I roll my eyes. “But you’ve poured enough to take down a wild beast.”
He smirks, the expression hitting me hard as the glass is pushed toward me. “Well, sometimes you act like one.”
I scowl, even though it’s hard to fight a smile when he’s looking at me like that, all self-assured with mussed hair and sleepy eyes.
“When have you ever seen me in beast mode?” I mutter.
“Have you already forgotten the first night we met?” He quirks a brow. “You were as wild as it gets. I didn’t know if you were going to get out of your sister’s house alive.”
The memory steals the tweak from my lips. My actions haunt me. “I never thanked you for standing up for me.”
“I didn’t expect you to. Any self-respecting man would’ve done the same thing.”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
The truth is, no matter how many times my family’s employees have seen Cole and me fight, nobody has ever stepped in. Not once. Not even slightly. Not until Decker.
I raise the glass and throw back a dangerous amount of vodka. The liquid burns my throat and nose, making me cough. I expect him to laugh at me. I anticipate the superior smirk to have curved those gorgeous lips.
When I raise my gaze, his brows are pinched, his eyes filled with apology.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
“Don’t apologize.” I rub my nose to fight the lingering tingle. “It’s all in the past.”
He grabs the bottle and rounds the counter, turning off the light before he leads the way to the sofa. “You’ve forgiven him?”
I follow, this time sipping the alcohol instead of trying to drown myself in it. “He’s my brother,” I hedge.
He eyes me as he places the vodka on the coffee table and slumps onto the sofa. The analysis is u
He pats the space beside him, offering me a seat so close and personal my skin already tingles. I hesitate, my gaze drifting to the recliner a few feet away, then returning to the tempting position fraught with danger.
“I won’t bite.” He winks. “I prefer to lick.”
“There you go again with the wisecracks.” I take a seat at the far end of the sofa and turn to him, curling my legs beneath my bottom. “You’re uncomfortable being serious, aren’t you?”
He ponders the question, his expression exaggerated. “Maybe.”
“I guess you already know it’s endearing in a really unsettling kind of way.”
He chuckles. “I can’t help being irresistible. It’s been a problem since birth.”
We sit for a while, the silence comfortable as the glow from the television flickers over his face like a kaleidoscope.
“Have you and Cole ever been close?” He stretches his arm over the head rest, his strong hand within reach.
“Define close.” I don’t like this subject. It’s too personal. Entirely intrusive. “You’ve already seen us at our worst.”
“He was worried you were going to do something stupid. I don’t think he knew any other way to make you listen.” He speaks without emotion, as if we’re discussing the weather instead of a physical assault.
“You’re defending him now?”
“Fuck no. What he did was unforgivable. I’m just really shitty when it comes to consoling women.”
Warmth enters my chest, the happy tingle taking its time to reach my face and pull at my lips. “Thank you.”
He frowns. “For what? The shitty attempt at comfort?”
“No. I’m not talking about the conversation. I mean everything—for shielding me in the restaurant, for handling my meltdown, for literally taking the shirt off your back.”
He shrugs. “The shirt looks better on you anyway.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
His eyes narrow on mine the slightest bit. Then slowly his gaze lowers, trekking my body, over the material of his shirt right to the edge of my exposed thighs curled at my side.
He has the strangest way of manipulating me. Of making me relaxed and ready to verbally spar, then stealing away the fun to replace it with palpable anticipation.
I don’t just watch him taking me in, I feel it. The attraction shivers down my spine. The lust coils in my belly.
“Are you ready to go to bed yet?” he murmurs.
I stiffen, unsure of the meaning behind his question.
“Alone, Keira. I think we need to cut and run before this conversation takes us somewhere we’ll regret.”
I agree, but the thought of the dark bedroom on the other side of the house strips me of any warm and fuzzies.
“I don’t want to go back down there.” I turn to the television, hoping my diverted gaze will lessen the vulnerability of my admission. “I’d like to stay here with you. If that’s okay.”