Page 13 of Destroy Me
“I think you’re after getting that backward, Bat Girl.”
Her eyes flashed. “You say I don’ deserve forgiveness? Then why did you kiss me? You never kiss your women, ever, but you kissed me.”
Her words registered in his brain a second before a roar left his mouth. He charged, forcing Lyse against the wall and slamming his fists on either side of her head. “You were watching me?”
Lyse went white, but she didn’t answer. Smart woman. What little control he had left might not survive more of her lies. Leaning all his weight into the wall, he brought his mouth to her ear. “I didn’t kiss ya, Lyse. You. Kissed. Me.”
Her breath was coming in little pants that warmed the side of his neck. “But—”
“Don’t.” He clamped down on the anger fecking him up inside. “Just don’t.” A deep breath should’ve calmed him; instead it stretched his lungs, pushing his chest against Lyse’s full tits. He’d never realized how full they were, not with those shapeless plaid jumpers she wore and how tiny she—
He shouldn’t be noticin’, not with this wan. Not her build and definitely not her tits. Or that her nipples were hard, and his cock was wanting to join them.
He shoved himself away.
“We’re heading on,” he growled.
Lyse didn’t answer right away. He could feel her gathering herself, refocusing on the task at hand. He was doing the same, and it pissed him the hell off. Why did he keep reacting to this woman? Was it the danger of being close to someone he knew would stab him in the back at the first opportunity? He’d never been drawn to a woman like that, so why now? Why her?
Lyse cleared her throat cautiously. “Where are we going?”
“The cottage.” He had to get his mam away before Ferrina showed up. “How long have they been watching her?”
“Tonight would be three nights altogether. They have someone nearby during the day as well.”
He kept his back to her, willing the tight fit of his fatigues to ease. “You’re having the surveillance live, yeah? Pull it up.” He waved a hand at the computer.
Lyse eased into her chair like she was the one with something to be afraid of. Like she was the one who’d been betrayed. He didn’t comment; instead he watched as Lyse pulled up tonight’s video. Sure enough, their new friend was there in the shadows. “Damn.”
Lyse stared at the screen a moment, then turned to him. “Do you have a hat?”
“Have a what?”
“A hat.”
What the feck did that have to do with anythin’? “Why?”
Lyse sighed like he wasn’t very bright. That look on anyone else and he would be laughing. He gritted his teeth. “You’re trying to figure out how to get past the watchdog, right? If we can conceal your identity somehow, all we have to do is walk up to the door. Your mother’s a popular woman; she has visitors all the time. Two more wouldn’t be suspicious, but we don’t want Ferrina getting wind of who her visitor is.”
True. He hadn’t brought a hat with his gear, but rummaging in the apartment closets, Lyse found a newsboy cap and a pair of reading glasses. Fionn put them on, knowing that covering the distinct color of his hair was half the battle to concealing his identity. He hefted his backpack and turned to see Lyse collecting her keys from the kitchen table.
“You won’t be needin’ those,” he warned her. “We’re not returning here.” He’d be getting her and his mam on a plane to the States as soon as possible.
Lyse frowned. “Like hell.”
“Hell is what you’ll experience when we get back to Global First.”
She stared him down, defiance glaring back at him as she slipped the keys into the pocket of her jumper before buttoning it up. He didn’t argue further. She could try to defy him, but it wouldn’t stop him.
He led the way out of the unit, careful to check for company before stepping onto the small patio. Lyse closed the door behind her, and he grasped her wrist, wanting her close to his side. She muttered a curse as he dragged her down the steps.
“You know, hauling me around isn’t going to help if you want cover.”
“Oh? And what would help? Holding your hand like a lover?”
“Yes,” she said, her tone telling him she’d rather kick him in the balls. She had a point, though he didn’t want to be admitting it. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be holdin’ her hand; it was too intimate, too vulnerable. Cuffing her to him gave him distance. His prisoner, nothing more.
Was he really that afraid of a traitor, a wee one at that?
