rattled, she snapped, “Well? Are you going to stand there staring at me all day or are you at least going to say something?”
“Sorry,” he rasped, the lilting sound of the brogue she knew he’d developed while growing up in Ireland even stronger than she remembered it, making her wonder where he’d been living. His tongue touched the corner of his mouth, and his thick lashes lowered over eyes she could have sworn had started to glow like melting metal, despite the tiredness she could see in them. “I just...you surprised me,” he added gruffly. “I didn’t expect you to be even more beautiful than you were before.”
Wearing cutoff denim shorts with a threadbare tank top and scuffed boots on her feet, her long hair in a crazy swarm of curls around her shoulders and dirt probably smeared on her cheek? Um, yeah, like she was really rocking an attractive look at the moment. Shaking her head, she snorted at his lame-ass attempt at flattery. “We’ve never lied to each other before, Cian. It would be pointless to start now.”
“I’m not lying, lass. You’re...” He trailed off as his breath left his lungs on a sharp exhalation, and he cursed as he slowly rubbed one of his hands over his wide mouth. “You were always pretty, but the only word I can think of that does you any justice now is stunning.”
The scowl on her face became a little fiercer, and she wanted to tell him to take his bullshit and shove it up his backside. She knew she looked different than the scrawny eighteen-year-old he’d left behind—she was curvier now, her hair was longer and wilder, and God only knew she had more freckles on her nose and shoulders thanks to all the hours she spent outdoors—but she didn’t look that different.
And he was...damn him, he was still just as gorgeous as ever. Other than the shorter cut of his hair, he didn’t look as if he’d changed at all, even though he had to be pushing close to forty by now. His features were still chiseled, but ruggedly male, the shadow of stubble on his lean cheeks and square chin giving his already dangerous good looks an even sharper, more aggressive edge. All broad shoulders and masculine lines, ripped and lean and deliciously cut. The kind of guy that women acted like idiots over, losing their self-esteem somewhere down around their ankles, right along with their underwear.
Then there was his bravery and intelligence and his wicked sense of humor. His undeniable loyalty to his friends and family.
Well, that last bit could no doubt be scratched from the list now, seeing as how he’d turned his back on them as completely as he had on her. But before that...God, before that, Cian Hennessey could have been exactly what she’d wanted.
If he’d only wanted her in return.
“Cian, please,” she said as carefully as she could manage, praying her voice wouldn’t tremble. “Say whatever you came to say and then leave. I honestly don’t want you here. It isn’t...it isn’t good for me.”
She watched his throat work as he swallowed, his voice low and rough in a way that had never failed to make her shiver from the inside out. “There’s a lot I need to explain. I know that, Sayre. But we don’t have the time. We need to leave this place.”
“Not a chance,” she said, wondering if he’d been hit over his gorgeous head with a crazy stick. “We don’t need to do anything. I live here; you don’t. Whatever you want from me is nothing but a waste of your time. I don’t give second chances.”
Frustration shot through his narrowed eyes, making them as dark as smoke. “You never even really gave me a first chance, much less a second one.”
Amazed by those quiet, almost bitter words, she slowly shook her head, then pulled her shoulders back and glared. “That’s total crap and you know it. And don’t make it sound like you even wanted one.”
“Then don’t act like you know what I wanted,” he argued roughly, “because you never had a goddamn clue.”
Her control shredded like a cheap pair of tights, and she heard herself snarl, “You made my life hell!”
He came another step closer. “Right back at you, Sayre.”
“Then why are you even here?” she shouted, watching his eyes widen as he slowly looked her over again. Oh...hell. Her power had just slipped free of her hold with the galvanic rise of her temper, skittering around her body in a fine spray of tiny, golden sparks.
Damn it, it was just her luck that she looked like a freaking sparkler every time she lost control of her emotions these days. With her hands fisted at her sides, she waited for him to comment on the bizarre display, knowing it was shocking even in their nothing-is-normal world.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he rubbed his hand over his mouth again, almost as if he were wiping away whatever words were waiting there. Then he cleared his throat, muttered a low curse and looked her right in the eye as he said, “There isn’t time to explain, but you can’t stay here, Sayre. I’m taking you back to the Alley, where you belong.”
She blinked back at him, unable to believe his arrogance. He acted as though he had every right to just stroll back into her life and take control. “Cian, even if I wanted to go back to the Alley, I couldn’t.” Her voice almost shook with a telling tremor as she added, “I can’t stand to be around other people.”
It occurred to her, as soon as the words left her lips, that she wasn’t experiencing any pain—at least physically—while standing there with him. If he didn’t mention it, then she sure as heck wasn’t going to. But he was staring at her so intently with those incredible metallic eyes, she felt as if he were trying to take an intimate stroll through her mind, to dig out all her secret thoughts and emotions and truths, and in a sudden change of heart, she almost wished that he could. It would serve him right, because while he wouldn’t have any trouble finding her desire for him, he’d also witness firsthand just how deeply her anger and disappointment ran. And it was deep. As deep as her freaking soul.
Finally, he pulled in a somewhat ragged breath, slowly exhaled and broke the tension-filled standoff. “I went to the Alley this morning,” he confessed in a low voice. “Brody and Mic told me why you had to leave.” His tongue flicked against the corner of his mouth again, and he shook his head a little. “I didn’t know, Sayre. All this time, I thought you were still with them. That you were protected.”
“Don’t,” she muttered, realizing that Michaela hadn’t even called to warn her that Cian was coming. She couldn’t believe her sister’s friend would do that to her. The traitor! “I don’t need your pity, Cian.”
His mouth twisted, and she couldn’t help but stare, thinking about what it would be like to feel those sensual lips against hers. She might not know many things about pleasure, but she knew how to kiss. She’d kissed her share of cute boys in her teens, and had enjoyed the hell out of it, though she’d never been willing to go further than that. Turns out it’d been a stupid choice. Back then, she’d had her girlish head filled with the idea of an everlasting, romantic love when she found her life mate, like Jillian and Jeremy had. Not that their road to happiness had been all sunshine and roses, but she wanted what they’d worked so hard for and had found in the end. Wanted it so badly that she’d been willing to fight for it, too. To earn it. Cherish it. Him. Her man.
Then fate had played the cruelest joke possible, and given her the Irishman. Yes, he was the most insanely sexy and gorgeous and powerful male she’d ever encountered. But he was the worst womanizer in existence. Sayre had heard all the rumors about the pack females he’d bedded until they could barely walk straight. Of his
