Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
The smell of bacon, eggs, sauteing onions, and strong coffee pulled me out of sleep.
I shifted back against the headboard and rolled my neck, the stiffness refusing to let go. The clock on the nightstand read nearly noon.
Fuck.
I hadn’t meant to sleep that long. I’d taken Scarlett to the guest bedroom for both our sakes. She’d been limp in my arms and didn’t stir even when I moved her or laid her down onto the bed.
Whether it was all the booze, the exhaustion from the night, or the emotional overload of the orgasm I’d given her, I couldn’t say.
Probably all of it.
I shouldn’t have touched her like that. Threatening her with a blade while I took a taste of her crossed a line, even for me. Adrenaline had still been tearing through my system after her little stunt, and the truth was, she was lucky to still be alive.
And yet I hadn’t been able to stop myself.
What unsettled me wasn’t my lack of restraint; I’d wanted to fuck her from the first moment I saw her. It was her response.
Not just fear.
But desire.
Her body had reacted without hesitation, soaking my cock as her hips chased friction, her breath breaking into those small, helpless sounds she couldn’t control. It was the kind of response that suggested she wasn’t accustomed to being properly touched.
Nothing about her sexuality made any sense. To the casual observer, her performance at The Ledger was professional and experienced, but beneath the surface, I saw hesitation and even irritation simmering.
She’d been confident at the club. Her sassy mouth full of curse words alone ruled out any idea of innocence. And yet, with me, her body had reacted as if it were experiencing something new.
There was more going on inside her pretty head than she was letting on. And I was determined to peel back those layers to figure out just what made Scarlett Hayes tick.
For reasons I didn’t yet understand, I was obsessed with my not-so-saintly nun.
The image of her on her knees, glowing in the warm chandelier light, had been pure temptation. A lure so intense it made me wonder if the ancient fates were playing their tricks in modern-day Manhattan.
Those books Mam had fed us as children—full of mythology and magic—had convinced me higher powers were always at work around us. That belief hadn’t survived long after Lach and I arrived here—not after a cruel, selfish woman sliced my heart clean in two.
We’d been so fucking naive back then. Fools, the both of us. But hard work and a few brutal lessons had made men out of us.
And now we were men of The Syndicate and learning about our Byrnes’ heritage. We became thick-skinned enough to take whatever life threw at us.
Well—except maybe for that forbidden piece of fruit I’d just tasted.
Whatever was going on with Scarlett, I was in for one hell of a ride. I’d promised myself I’d never fall again, never crack myself open for that kind of pain. And I’d done a damn good job of it—kept my focus on work, on building a successful business.
But she’d ignited something I’d buried a long time ago. And she didn’t even know it.
My stomach growled, cutting through my thoughts.
Why the hell was she making breakfast?
I swung my legs out of bed, scrubbed a hand through my hair, and pulled on a pair of joggers, not bothering with a shirt. Hunger drove me toward the kitchen.
Scarlett didn’t hear me come in.
She stood at the stove with her back to me, focused on the pan, her shoulders relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen since I’d taken her.
She wore the T-shirt I’d left for her, the one replacing the shredded mess from the night before.
It hung loose over her frame, only her bare legs visible beneath the hem.
She’d been so out when I’d put her to bed that she had no idea how long I’d stared at her beautiful body. So fucking perfect.
Her creamy skin was lightly dotted with freckles—freckles I’d take my time tracing with my tongue soon enough. Her full breasts and small waist begged for my hands to roam. And God help me, that pussy of hers made my mouth water.
It was only a matter of time before all of her would be mine.
Mine to play with. Mine to push her boundaries as we worked together to find every one of her favorite kinks. I’d always had a fantasy of finding a woman who would trust me enough—and who I’d trust—to explore every possible pleasure with.
Bacon crackled in the pan. Potatoes hissed as she turned them, cheese melting into the hash. The domestic normalcy of it all didn’t match the night we’d had.
I stepped closer.
She startled when I leaned in, the skillet with the fried eggs tipping dangerously. I caught the handle before it could fall and set it back on the burner.
“For fuck’s sake,” she snapped. “How does a giant man like you sneak up without a sound?”
“Keeping quiet keeps you alive.”
One brow quirked up. “All right, Mr. Shadowman. How about you plate the food while I pour the coffee? Do you take cream or sugar?”
“Neither. I don’t drink any of that girlie shit,” I said, taking the spatula from her hand. “Black and strong is how I like it.”
She rolled her eyes but turned to the coffeemaker.
I plated the food and carried it to the small glass table by the window. Outside the glass, the river lapped against its banks under a cold, gray sky. I sat, and Scarlett followed with the mugs and napkins, shoulders tight, pushing food around her plate instead of eating.
“This is quite the spread,” I said. “A good Irish breakfast.”
“It’s the perfect breakfast for someone who drank too much.” She joked, smiling. “And…thank you. For the T-shirt.”
“It was the least I could do.” I tilted my head and met her eyes. “I see what this is, you know. An apology wrapped in food.” I chewed another bite. “How about you just say thank you for me not ending you last night?”
Her mouth twitched. “Yes, thank you. I’m happy to still be here.”
I continued to eat, studying her while she avoided my gaze.
“Just so you know, I’m not normally a violent person,” she said, pushing a piece of potato around her plate.
“I’ve never hurt anyone. I—I don’t know what happens when you’re around, but you seem to bring out the worst in me.
Maybe it’s all the kidnapping. The sneaking up from behind. ” She frowned, glancing up at me.
Her voice dipped. “I’m sorry for trying to…uh…unalive you.”
I grunted. “By that, you mean you’re sorry you tried to stab me in the heart with a switchblade?”
She took a quick bite of potatoes and gave a nervous shrug. “Yes. That was definitely out of character for me.”
I loaded my fork with bacon, eggs, and potatoes—all of it in one bite—and chewed. Christ. The girl could cook.
I smirked. “You always cook this good, or am I just lucky?”
She gave me a nervous smile and took a sip of coffee instead of answering.
“Did you…your people…take my friends last night too?” Her brows pinched tight.
“No, they’re fine.”
“Sofia was not fine. The look on her face when you came at us like such a beast—”
“I said they’re fine. I know the guy who owns the place. They’re not your worry. But since you’re in such a talkative mood,” I joked, “how about you answer a few questions?”
She lowered her mug. “Sure. But only if you answer mine too.”
I took another bite. “You’re not in any position to be settin’ the rules.” I swallowed. “But since this is the best meal I’ve had in forever, I’ll answer three of your questions—if you agree to shoot straight with me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you always reference violence when you talk?”
“No.” I lifted a finger. “That’s one.”
She sat up. “Wait—no fair. That wasn’t a question. That was just conversation.”
I shrugged.
Her fork hit the plate with a sharp clatter as she leaned back in her chair.
“Don’t pout,” I said evenly. “Eat. You’re the one hungover.”
She scowled, sat up, and took a bite of eggs. “Why are you so bossy?”
“Two,” shrugged. “It’s just my nature.”
“No—stop it,” she snapped. “That wasn’t a question. It was an observation.”
“You’ve got one left,” I chuckled. “Make it count.”
She drew a slow breath, then met my eyes. “Can I please leave?”
I scraped the last of my eggs through the runny yolk, ate the sticky bite, set my fork on the edge of the plate, and leaned back.
“As I told you, no.”
She chewed, then waved her fork at me. “Why?”
“After your stunt last night at The Ledger, the press blew the story up,” I explained. “We’re already having to make new decisions about your future. Your father may not be mayor now that the new guy was sworn in this morning, but you were right—he’s turning over heaven and earth to get you back.”
Her shoulders tightened.
“You embarrassed him,” I continued. “You may have put his Senate run at risk. If he can’t spin this as you being taken hostage, drugged, and forced to perform, then you’ve got bigger problems than me. And don’t think your pretty socialite friends are going to take the fall for you.”
I held her gaze. “If The Syndicate can’t use you for leverage, you’re of no use to us either.”
The silence stretched.
“Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a lot of hot water,” I finished.
I noticed her lip quiver.
“Are you going to hurt me?” she asked.
I crossed my arms and huffed out a breath. “No.”
Her eyes snapped up.
“Like I said, I won’t hurt you,” I smirked. “If there’s any pain involved, it’ll be because you beg for it.”
She stiffened, brows pinching tight. “So, if you’re not letting me go, what are you going to do with me? Sell me off? Make me your sex slave? Or what?”
“No,” I said flatly. “None of that’s happening.”
She stared at me, confused—still scared and searching for answers.
She’s afraid of sex. Of being cornered. Of someone caging her.
I got that she was being held against her will. But there was more to it than that. Much more.
So, I changed tactics.
“Take a breath, Scarlett,” I said quietly. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. Especially not me.”
Her eyes dropped to her plate of mostly uneaten food, and she took a small bite.