Page 2 of Brutal Obsession

My father found out about my jailbreak and senthimafter me?

Cian Mahoney is hot as sin and damn well knows it. Sure, he’s dangerous, but he’s also a glib, pompous?—

My recitation of his negative character traits cuts off when his greeting sinks in. Wait. If he’s here to drag me back, why mention my bachelorette party?

That’s when I notice his outfit.

A crisp, black button-down hugs his muscled chest. The open buttons at the top reveal the base of his neck and a peek of the chiseled marble between his pecs. Whether he’s wearing the aftershave of the gods or the delicious, woodsy scent radiating off him is his natural musk, I’m uninterested.

I’m also uninterested in how his proximity sparks electricity along my nerve endings.

What I am interested in is why he’s dressed like some gigolo on the prowl when he’s here to drag me back to the mansion.

Unless…what if Cianisn’there for me?

The first glimmer of hope cuts through my fear.

To buy myself time, I sip the dregs of my wine and cast a glance around the crowded bar. A gaggle of women seated on a low, circular couch throw hungry, impatient looks our way, presumably calculating which one of them gets to ride in the passenger seat when Cian takes all of them home later for a nightcap.

I’d bet money that his idea of a nightcap involves an orgy.

As I watch, Cian winks at them. Based on their elated expressions, even that slight acknowledgement will trigger the need for more than one panty change.

My nose wrinkles at that oh-so-delightful visual, while some of the tension eases from my shoulders.

Cian’s not here for me. Nothing’s wrong. My father doesn’t know anything.

This is just a coincidence. A horrible, terrifying coincidence.

I’m still safe and in position to escape.

As long as I don’t slip up now, that is.

My cheeks pinch up into a forced smile. “No surprise that you’re the expert on sad bachelorette parties.”

I jerk my chin at the cheerleading squad impatiently awaiting his return, and his eyebrows rise at my unusual show of snark.

Blood rushes to my cheeks. This show of sass is unlike me, but I’m trying to grow a spine. Maybe I’ll finally succeed once I leave this place.

“Who says they’re with me?” Cian’s sly grin answers the question for him.

I roll my eyes and refuse to dignify him with a reply. When the bartender peers my way, I tap the rim of my empty glass and use the moment to cast another glance toward the street.

What the hell is taking Bex so long?

“Isn’t it a little late for you to be out before the big day?” At Cian’s next question, my eyes snap to a clock on the wall. My shoulders relax once I confirm I still have a few hours before my flight leaves. “Pre-wedding jitters?”

“No.” The speed of my denial rips the smug smile off his mouth. If I weren’t anxious enough to sweat right through my clothes, I might wonder about the unhappy expression that flits across the ridiculously handsome masterpiece he calls a face.

“Then, whatareyou doing here?” His voice drops an octave. The gravely baritone has me crossing my legs and squeezing my thighs together for no damn reason.

Okay, that’s a lie. I just don’t feel like admitting the reason to myself. Not a single part of me wants to contribute to Cian’s oversized ego, even if the ego-stroking only occurs inside my head.

By the time the bartender comes around with the wine, I’ve regained my composure. I grab the glass and gulp a quick mouthful. “Can’t a girl buy herself a drink without getting harassed?”

Cian stalks closer. “I don’t know, can she?”

He steps between my legs and braces his hands on my armrests, effectively trapping me on the stool. My skin heats up, and I lean back as far as I can in a futile attempt to tame my stuttering pulse.

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