Page 38 of Iron Blade

“No, but if you have something that makes you miserable, I want to handle it.”

I almost laughed. How long had I wanted someone to swoop in and make my problems go away? Wasn’t that every overworked woman’s dream? That a man comes in with a black Amex, then whisks her away on his private jet, and handles all her problems?

Here was a man richer than Mansa Musa, offering me the world.

God, where was he five fucking years ago?

“It’s.. poor people problems.” I tried to keep the bitterness from my voice. He didn’t deserve it. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“No.”

“Why?” His voice was angry, as if not telling him my deepest darkest secrets was some kind of insult to him. “What will it take, Kira?”

“For what, Eoghan?” I don’t know why, but his name felt spiteful on my lips.

Why couldn’t he have found me when I needed him - really needed him? When I was still full of hope, and capable of love and trust?

“For you to consider me, love. For you to believe me when I say I just want to make things better for you.” His voice was so soothing, that it wracked me with guilt. “What will it take? Truly?”

“Why do you care?”

“It would make me happy to help you.” He was so earnest, it was unnerving. Men simply didn’t do this. Not outside of a great Hallmark movie. “There is nothing in the world I’d rather do, than to make you smile, even for a moment.”

“Why?” I could feel my pulse in my ears.

Why would he care? Why would he want that? What was he going for? Was he doing all of this for a lay? Was the prospect of a woman not immediately getting on her back and spreading her legs for him so foreign that he was becoming obsessed?

He was a mark. I was an agent. There was no future for us. So why did I want one so badly? Why did his proposal of marriage seem more and more appealing with every passing moment in his magnetic presence?

“Because I feel for you, Kira Kekoa. There’s something real in the air between us.” He leaned into me, so close that I could almost smell the minty alcohol on his intoxicating breath. “I was destined for you. Destined in a way that transcends whatever doubts prevent you from crawling onto my lap, and placing yourself in my arms.”

I bristled.

How could he possibly have thought that I would do something as intimate as that?

His fingers pinched my chin, as he turned my face towards him.

“I mentioned my father, and you looked devastated.” He scooted along the leather couch, closer to me until I was plastered against him from hip to knee. “Tell me about yours.”

“My father is dead.” I let the words linger in the air between us, as if it wasn’t a huge bomb that devastated my life.

“How’d he die?” No remorse. No sympathy. No sorry for your loss. He just plowed right in there. Strangely enough, I found that refreshing.

“Cancer.” I opened my mouth, ready for the explanation that was always required - what kind, how long did it take for him to expire, what did we try to do to fix it.

But then he turned his face, so that his left eye was bathed in silver moonlight. To my utter horror, a blue and black bruise formed on his eye socket. His eye was partially shut, red and swollen.

“Oh my God, your eye!” I whispered, as I reached out to touch his face. “What happened?”

“It was more than just cancer, Kira.” He ignored my question, even as he tilted his head to lean into my hand. “What happened to your father?”

“What happened to your face, Eoghan?”

“Your father.” He was firm, telling me that he had no intention of answering my questions.

“Do you need to go to a hospital?”

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