Page 12 of My Irish Mafia King

“If you hurt Clover…”

“Don’t threaten me,” he growls.

I trail off, fear seizing me, hating the power this asshole has over me. But just like every time he shows up for collection, what choice do I have? I don’t take a shower this morning, which is gross, but I hate the idea of being naked in the same house as him.

“I’m already opening late,” I murmur, before walking into the bedroom. “If I say I’m sick now, nobody will question it.”

“Will you earn more opening at midday or staying closed?” he snaps. “Don’t forget, this ismybusiness, too.”

No, it’s not,I say silently in my head.

But again – no choice. I get changed and head downstairs, opening up just in time for Toby to show up for his shift. To avoid thinking about Shane and the woman upstairs, I keep busy, but anxiety is overwhelming me. I feel like screaming every time I’m forced to speak or interact with anybody.

It’s late afternoon when I see Killian approaching the bakery. My heart leaps as I gesture to Toby. “I’ll take this one. Could you check on the pastries, please?”

“Sure thing.”

Killian approaches the counter, the only person in the line, though there are three people at the window bar. “I couldn’t keep away,” he says with a smirk… Am I imagining it, or does it seem forced? It’s difficult to be sure with so much anxiety coursing through me.

“The… usual?” I say.

He tilts his head, looking closely. “Yeah, please. Are you okay, Lucy?”

“I’m fine,” I blurt.

“Get yourself something too,” he says as I turn away. “If you’ve got the time, we’ll drink them together.”

Nowhe makes this request. Now when I’m about a million miles away from being able to enjoy it, from being able to savor the excitement that would’ve captivated me if there wasn’t a mob goon with a freaking hostage upstairs.

Toby raises his eyebrows at me. Since Toby usually starts after lunchtime, he’s missed the whole Killian saga, but he can tell something’s happening here. My hands tremble as I prepare the coffees, my legs shaking as I carry them over to the table in the corner. Killian watches me with his blue eyes, more intently than yesterday.

When we sit, our legs brush. Despite the circumstances, a tingle dances up my leg, shivering over my body. I clasp both hands around my coffee mug.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks. He leans forward when I don’t answer. “If this is about yesterday…”

“It’s not,” I tell him. “Well—not in the way you might think.”

“What way is that?”

“About the, you know, the dress and stuff.”

The ‘and stuff’ in that statement holds a lot. It contains all the closeness, our hands touching, how he leaned in and his breath shimmered over me before he pulled away and ended what might have been.

“Temptation overcame me,” he says, his voice fierce and husky even as he lowers it. “I think you know…”

“Go on,” I murmur.

“I shouldn’t.”

“But you’ve already started now.”

He takes a breath, then speaks in Gaelic.

“I caught the word ‘desire’, I think,” I murmur. “Or the equivalent, anyway.”

He smirks. “It’s not fair of me to speak when you don’t understand, but even if I use English, I’m afraid you won’t understand.”

“Are you saying I’m stupid?” I challenge.

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