Page 20 of Devilish Ink

I pointed toward the window. “He went home.”

Mason pointed his spoon at me. “He’ll be back.”

It was pitiful, the amount of hope his words raised inside my chest.

“Trust me.” Mason winked at me. “I’m the—I mean, Iwas, the King of Sleeping with Clients. And game respects game, ye know? He’ll be back.”

I scowled at his retreating back.

It was stupid of me to want Lee to return. It’s not like I gave him a reason to come back. Chances were I’d never see him again.

Besides, I was leaving Dublin as soon as I could.

LIAM

Ishouldnotgo back for her.

No. She was Rian’s girl. I had to stay away.

And she made it cleartwice—noto drinks,noto walking her home—that she was not a cheater. She wasn’t even someone who entertained other men.

Which made me want her more.

But even my tattoo—her tattoo—throbbed with every step I took away from her.

I had to stay away. But I just…couldn’t.

Which is why I found myself turning around at the end of the street, like an invisible band was tied from her to me and slipping into the shadows.

As I waited outside Dublin Ink, I felt like I’d gone dead, like a buried bulb waiting for the spring sun.

There she was. Ryleigh stepped out of Dublin Ink and my heart bloomed in my chest. I took my first real breath in minutes. Even her silhouette captivated me as she bent over the lock, then she slipped her key into her giant purse.

She walked down the sidewalk, and I followed, drawn to herlike a magnet. I made sure I stayed farther back this time so as not to scare her like I did earlier.

I told myself I was just making sure she got home safely.

Staying in the dark as her protector. Just a good man looking out for his brother’s girl.

I would just watch her long enough to make sure she entered Rian’s apartment and locked up behind her. So she was safe.

Yeah, right. So why did I end up crouching on the roof’s edge of the building opposite hers, staring down into her window?

Ry was doing nothing more than stirring a boiling pot of pasta in her kitchen, but she took my breath away. She had changed out of her grungy “uniform” of leather and plaid. She now wore an oversized sweater with a frayed hem that reached just past the swell of her ass and nothing else.

The allure of sitting at her feet on her linoleum floor and tracing the tattoos that covered her long, naked legs as she tested a strand of spaghetti nearly had me running to her door.

If I closed my eyes I got vertigo. If I kept them open I saw stars.

Ry perched one bare foot atop the other as she leaned over the stovetop, steam misting her makeup-free face.

She paused to pull the window up to let the steam out. For one long horrifying moment I thought she’d seen me, locked eyes with me.

But then she waved steam out toward the open window with a “that’s better,” and returned to the stove.

A tendril of dark hair fell from the messy bun atop her head and she tucked it back behind her ear. With all that war paint off her, she looked younger, more innocent. Just as stunning. She looked so at ease. Like she’d seen less. Hurt less.

A pang stabbed at my heart. I wanted to give her this world. One as simple and warm as that little kitchen. One where she felt safe and at peace. One where she could sing along to The Untouchables, as she was doing now.

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