“For what? World’s worst bartender?” He turned and glared at her, one brow higher than the other. Clare grabbed her bag off the shelf and swung it over her shoulder.

“Hey, wait.” Cian motioned to her and then her bag. “You got anything in there for pain?”

“Sorry.” She shook her head, almost too vigorously.

“Nothing? Really? I thought women’s purses always had shit in them. I just need some ibuprofen or whatever.”

“I don’t like drugs, any kind. Would rather deal with a headache than take something for it,” she explained as he stared at her like she had a third eye. She just stared back, undaunted. After her history with Travis, there was no way she was letting drugs near her ever again. Plus, she kind of liked that Cian was in pain.

“Fucking women,” he muttered.

“I’m headed home. See you tomorrow,” she called on her way toward the back door of O’Leary’s Pub, secretly glad that the bandage on Cian’s face looked ridiculous.

She had wanted to ask him if he wouldn’t mind driving her home, but right now she would rather walk in the dark with potential muggers than ride with him. Everything that came out of that man’s mouth was offensive. She pulled her purse around her, peering inside to check on the small wad of cash from her tips that night.

It’s not like she could hail a cab; taxis stuck to the touristy areas, not the local residential neighborhoods. She muttered angrily to herself as she slammed her hands into the metal back door, opening it with a bang, and storming out into the alley.

She peered around nervously as the door creaked closed behind her, leaving her to blink rapidly in an attempt to adjust her eyes to the night. She hated the dark, hated not knowing what was around the corner. Moments like this made her think of Travis again, and a shiver of dread found its way down her spine.

It didn’t matter that she was sure he wouldn’t be able to track her all the way to New York; she still felt like she saw him in every shadow she passed. Pulling her purse tighter against her body, she hurried around the building until the alley dumped her out onto the sidewalk.

“Someone told me earlier that walking home this late at night isn’t the best idea for a woman.” A deep voice behind her split through the silence, causing her to jump.

Clare whirled around, her hand clutching at her chest.

“Holy hell!” she squeaked in surprise as her heart slowly dislodged from her throat to find its way back to her chest. Her skin broke out into goosebumps and her breath was nowhere to be found under Rory’s impenetrable, silver-gray stare. He had a hint of a smile on the edge of his lips above a strong, stubbled jaw, which gave him a powerful appearance, hard and unrelenting.

“ ‘Holy hell’? Kind of a contradictory phrase.” He raised one eyebrow as he stepped toward her on the sidewalk, holding a leash with Ace wagging his tail on the other end.

“What are you doing here?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, clutching her purse a little tighter. She liked this man, but everyone seemed a bit threatening when they snuck up on you at one in the morning.

“Just walking Ace.” He held up the leash, but the smirk on his face gave him away, telling her that he had been waiting for her.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she retorted sarcastically.

“You don’t own Woodlawn, Clare. If anyone owns these streets, it’s my family.”

“So I hear: the infamous Kavanaghs,” Clare added an exaggerated lilt to her voice as she mentioned his family, before continuing her walk, strutting away from him.

Rory and Ace kept pace beside her, walking to her left to stay between her and the street. She sensed Rory’s protectiveness and wondered why he even cared enough to do something so small as to position himself between her and any oncoming cars. Her mind flashed back to a memory of when her ex-boyfriend had stepped behind her, using her as a shield.

She pushed the thought away quickly, unsure of why she would ever be comparing Rory to an ex in the first place. She had no plans to date him, or anyone, for that matter. However, the thought of hiking home alone in the Bronx at night was very unappealing, so she reluctantly accepted the company.

“You’re kind of obnoxious, you know that?” she teased him.

“You like it.”

“How would you know?” she challenged.

“Because you like me,” he said, sounding a little less confident than he had in his previous statement.

“You wish!” Clare snickered playfully.

In one quick motion, he grabbed her upper arm, holding her in place as he pressed her against the building they were passing. She found herself staring into his once bright silver eyes, now stormy and dark gray. His heart beat rapidly against her one free hand, which rested on his chest.

His sudden movement and fierce stare frightened her, yet did something else to her at the same time.

She felt a fire pulse through her core, a torrent of waves and confusion. His gaze was so intense. Instinctively, nervously, she bit her bottom lip. He staggered an exhale at the sight, a sensation she felt thundering against her body as it passed through him. He released her and took a step back, leaving her feeling both relieved and suddenly empty.

She was entirely unsure of what she wanted.

Or of what had just happened.

“Be careful, Clare. I’m not sure how safe you are in the dark when you push me like that.”

“I’m not scared of you.” She stepped away from him, farther up the sidewalk. Her mind was reeling—What the hell is happening? Her body was on fire and she wanted to still be pressed against him, which confused her even more. She barely knew this man, and she had reminded herself (again) that she had no desire to be in a relationship with anyone.

“Who said I want you to be scared of me?” His intensity from a moment ago lightened as he followed her, staying half a step behind her even though Ace was pulling on his leash to catch up to her.

“Isn’t that what all world-class, famous MMA fighters want? To intimidate people and show everyone that they’re big and bad?” Maybe that’s all it is, she thought. Maybe his effect on her, his intensity, all of it was just a side effect of being a fighter. It was just who he was; he didn’t really want her, and she definitely didn’t want him.

Keep telling yourself that.

“Someone’s been doing research on me.” She could hear the smugness in his voice as he spoke and it irked the hell out of her, but then she realized she had pretty much just admitted to Googling him. Thankfully, he didn’t know that her newfound friendship with Casey was actually her initial source of information, having only prompted her to do a little more digging on her own.

The man was a mystery, compelling and seemingly callous by turn, a mystery she was first introduced to when he had knocked her arrogant boss on his ass. But then he had that way of looking at her, invading her personal space without even taking a step toward her. Just his perfectly musky scent and hard body, as he stared back at her through silver eyes, was enough to overwhelm her senses, and it was all she could do to play it cool.

She attempted to sound indifferent. “Hard to move into this neighborhood and not find out who the Kavanaghs are, as you said earlier.”

“Care to share what your research told you?” he asked as the two crossed a side street, continuing toward her home.

“Why?” She found herself wondering again why he was even escorting her home in the first place. She knew it was implausible that he had just happened to be walking his dog past her place of work just as she was getting off.

“Humor me, Clare.” His tone had the ability to voice the lightness of humor at the same time as the intensity of a command, inciting a shiver to run down her back.

She didn’t hate it.