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‘That’s my favourite.’
‘I know,’ I say quietly, spinning back towards the cooker. I might have freaked out about the way my body wants his, but the urge to impress him hasn’t diminished. ‘It’ll be ready in ten minutes.’
‘Good. I’m starving.’ The way he emphasises the word starving leaves no doubt about what he’s starving for. ‘I’m going for a quick shower.’
He saunters out of the kitchen while I try—and fail—to not look at his ass.
My mind replays the conversation we had the first day, the one where he said he only hurt women who begged him to. Does he have a woman tied up in some sort of sex dungeon somewhere? And why does the thought set a fresh wave of jealousy stabbing through my sternum?
I concentrate on preparing dinner, on my breathing, on doing everything in my power to stop imagining my fiancée naked upstairs right now.
It’s going to be a long year.
By the time he comes down, in a fresh white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal that mouthwatering forearm porn, I’ve once again reminded myself exactly why I’m here—protection—not to explore my newly awakened sexual perversions.
I carry the plates through to the dining table and slide into the seat opposite him, determined to keep things strictly business.
‘This looks amazing.’ He spears the chicken with his fork, and I watch entranced as he brings it to his mouth. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. How was your day?’ I ask, determinedto distract myself from his lips, specifically from the memory of what they felt like on mine.
‘I told you before, sweetheart, if you have any hope of walking away from me when the time comes, you’re better off not knowing.’
I pick up my fork. I should leave it. Keep my mouth shut. But naturally, I can’t. I need to continuously remind myselfwhyI can’t give in to the attraction between us. ‘I’ve heard rumours. You control the city. Weapons. Drugs. What else?’
He finishes chewing, then arches a single eyebrow. ‘Careful, Aoife, or I might start to think youwantto stay here with me.’
I shrug. ‘Or maybe I’m just trying to remind myself who you really are.’ A swift, sharp reality check should stop my stupid crush.
‘I’m the man who holds your arm until you fall asleep each night.’ His eyes gleam. ‘The man who wants you to the point it pains me. The man who promised to never hurt you.’
‘But you hurt others.’ I glare at him pointedly.
‘Don’t go there, sweetheart.’ He eyes me levelly. ‘It would be a shame to terrify you when you’ve settled in so well.’
‘In case you didn’t notice, I don’t scare easily.’
‘I don’t know, you looked kind of scared on the kitchen counter the other night—after you came on my hand that is.’ He reaches for the wine in front of him.
My face flames. ‘Let’s not go there, Dom.’
‘Where do you want to go then?’ He swirls the wine in his glass.
‘Tell me about The Syndicate. How did you become who you are? What you are?’ I demand, because honestly, I can’t figure out how the man who has shown me such kindness, such generosity, such sexual pleasure, can be thesame violent man who controls every contraband in the country.
He might not be the same monster Rory is, but he’s every bit as deadly. More so, in fact. Reminding myself of that has to help me get over my stupid infatuation. If it doesn’t, then I’m more fucked up than I realised.
He relaxes back into his chair and stares at me thoughtfully. Finally, he speaks. ‘You’re not the only one who refused to spend their life looking over their shoulder,’ he says quietly. ‘But instead of getting an education, I took out everyone who threatened me, and my brothers, then we built a legacy to protect what we took.’
I shift in my seat, drinking in the dark, dangerous, devastating man across from me.
‘The previous organisation killed my mother. Put my father in prison. So, I had two choices. Take control of The Syndicate. Or be controlled by it.’
My fingers tighten around my glass. ‘Go on.’
‘The rumours you’ve heard about me…’ He rests an elbow on the table and his biceps flex beneath his shirt. ‘They’re probably true.’
When I don’t answer, he continues. ‘But the men who ran this country before us sold kids instead of protecting them.’ He shakes his head in disgust. ‘Women were butchered, or exchanged like currency. We suspected Rory was venturing down the same horrific path. A source confirmed it. Kavanagh’s days were already numbered, but now that number is considerably less. Which is where you came in.’
