She heard the raw, blunt sincerity in his words and blushed. “Thank you for saying that,” she said softly.

He kissed her hands in answer, and couldn’t stop kissing them. Those long, tapered fingers, those pink oval nails. Funny. He’d never noticed a woman’s hands before.

“But I still have to go to work,” she persisted. “Maybe if you could spot me the cab fare this morning, I’ll pay you back from my tips.”

He bit down on his frustration. “I will drive you,” he ground out. “On one condition. You do not leave the restaurant until I come to pick you up and take you to my office. No errands, no breaks, no shopping, no bank machines, no Starbucks coffee, nothing. Is that clear?”

She sighed heavily. He cut her off before she could object again.

“Let me put it this way,” he said. “Do it as a favor to me. Because I care. I’m scared for you. I’ve earned that much.”

“Duncan—”

“Whoops! Sorry. Let me take that back, about earning anything. It’s not about earning. No way. No economic metaphors here. No, sir.”

She tried not to smile. “Don’t make fun of me. This is serious.”

“Christ, yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!”

“But I have to go to that seisìun at Malloy’s, too. I have a date to meet my sisters later this evening,” she informed him. “I have to go.”

“I’ll take you to that, too. And then I’ll take you home.” He stared keenly into her eyes, and added, deliberately, “My home.”

She cocked her head at him. “Surely you have better things to do than chauffeur me around the city and listen to Irish tunes in a pub.”

“No. Just, you know, making money. But I’ve got enough of that to piss you off already, so I might as well slow down, right?”

Her eyes flashed. “Do not make fun of me.”

“Sorry,” he said meekly. “I would really like to meet your sisters.”

That mollified her. “All right. But that’s a dirty trick, you know.”

He blinked up at her, all innocence. “Trick? What trick?”

“You get me softened up, and go into supercontrol mode.”

He grunted. “Whatever works.”

They stared at each other, and, like always, the oxygen in the air between them began to combust. But she darted back when he reached for her. “Uh-uh! We’re late, remember?”

He headed for the shower, trying to breathe his spring-loaded, rock-hard boner down and concentrate on the task at hand. First, haul out his old SIG Sauer 229 and a full clip of ammo. Root around in his utilities drawers for the shoulder holster. Identify the suits in his closet that were tailored to accommodate it. Then bathe, dress. Pull it together. His heart pounded. His palms were damp.

Only the thought of her in his bed again tonight consoled him.

Chapter

7

Nell listened, guiltily, to the sound of the shower through the bathroom door. Thinking of his amazing, powerful naked body in there under the pounding stream, water and soapsuds cascading over his contoured muscles. So tempted to just peel off her clothes, and—

No. He was never quick. It would be long and wet and steaming and soapy and marvelous, and they would both forget all practical issues such as making money, safeguarding her self-respect, meeting her professional obligations. She was already missing the lunch prep. He’d completely disarmed her. Wrapped her around his little finger.

Or maybe she was wrapped around something more substantial.

She stared at the suit he’d slung upon the bed. She didn’t know much about fashion, having remained deliberately ignorant, but she recognized the cut and fine finishing of costly men’s clothing when she saw it. Thousands of dollars lay there on that rumpled bed, in those smooth, graceful silver gray garments. He looked so good in his clothes.

She went back out into the front room. The roses still lay where she’d forgotten them on the telephone table. They hadn’t been put into water, what with one thing and another, and they were looking shabby.

Which was a shame. She grabbed the flowers, with the half-formed intention of looking for a vase in the kitchen. What a sweet thought, last night, for him to stop and get her roses. Some of the roses disintegrated, bruised petals scattering over the gleaming wood floor. She gathered them up, hesitated for a moment, and pulled a handful of silky petals off the wilting bouquet.

She carried them into his bedroom and slipped some into the pockets of his suit jacket with them.

He was all brusque practicality when he came out of the bedroom, clean-shaven and fragrant. Their cautious truce lasted all the way down to the Sunset Grill, but as she was getting out, he pulled her toward him and gave her a hard, possessive kiss. “One more thing, Nell.”

“It’s always one more thing,” she grumbled. “Enough things.”

“That’s for me to decide,” he said, with his usual breathtaking arrogance. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. An extravagant, eight-hundred-dollar one. “Take this. Keep it. No arguments.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was going to buy one today anyhow.”

“You can’t,” he said. “You swore a blood oath that you would not leave the restaurant until I came to get you. Remember?”

A shivery burst of laughter shook her. “A blood oath?”

“Fuck, yes. Take it. Don’t fight me on this. Keep it until I have a chance to take you phone shopping. My number’s programmed in.”

He looked straight into her eyes, his fingers clamped around her wrist, and she realized that she could not win. He simply would not let her go unless she gave in, and for God’s sake, why didn’t she? She was fighting just on principle, just to be contrary. She couldn’t afford this silliness.

She slipped the phone into her purse. “Thank you,” she said.

“Keep it in your apron pocket at the restaurant, while you’re working,” he said. “I’ll be calling, to check on you. And I’m going to give you holy hell if you’re not reachable. Believe it.”

She snorted at him. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

The guy worked fast. Fucking her, already.

John chewed the inside of his own cheek until he tasted blood.

Antonella disappeared into the Sunset Grill, still smiling. Her face rosy red. Probably saddlesore from being fucked all night long. Slut.

Burke’s silver Mercedes pulled out into Eighth Avenue traffic.

It made him angry, and he was already chronically angry, dealing with Haupt night and day. He was starting to consider recreational murder, just to unload, or he was going to start having panic attacks.

Amazing, that the guy was fucking her already. She’d been so celibate all those weeks that John had been watching her. Such a good little girl. Sleeping alone, with her piles of books, like a sexy, succulent little nun. Not anymore. Dirty whore, spoiling it. She would pay for that.

Not that John wasn’t still going to enjoy his own turn when it came, as it inevitably would. But he would have to punish her severely for spreading her legs. Soiling herself with that rich prick. Just like her sister, cheating on him with that randy carpenter. Who was slated to die a slow and ugly death. Just as soon as it was convenient for John.

Maybe Burke would join the carpenter on John’s special short list. He wondered idly if the youngest girl was as much of a slut as her sisters were. Probably more so, with that tattoo, her nose ring, her painted van. What the hell. He’d fuck them all. Punish them all. And punish them, and punish them. Thinking about it made him hard.

But speed dialing Haupt’s number on his cell wilted him fast. He gritted his teeth, resigned to the scolding he was about to receive.