12. Malachi
Chapter 12
Malachi
I don’t even bother getting up when the door opens this time. I’m lying on the bed, tossing one of the pillows into the air and catching it, trying to stave off the creeping boredom. When I glance up, the sight that greets me stops me cold and the pillow falls back on my face.
Connor walks in carrying a massive box, followed by one of his men carrying two more. The guy deposits them on the floor with a thud and leaves without a word, but Connor stays, shutting the door with his boot.
“What the hell is this?” I sit up, staring at the boxes like they might explode.
“What does it look like?” Connor says, setting his box down on the desk. “Books. Told you I’d get you some.”
Some? This looks like half a bloody library. I get off the bed, stepping closer, my gaze flicking between the boxes and Connor. “You bought all of these?”
He shrugs, leaning against the desk like it’s no big deal. “You said you were goin’ insane. Figured this might help.”
I blink, utterly stunned. “Connor, this is… I don’t even know what to say.”
“ ‘Thank you, Connor,’ would be a good start.”
I scowl, trying to hide how floored I am. “Don’t push your luck.”
His smirk widens, and he nods toward the boxes. “Go on, then. Dig in. Just add them to the shelves and put the ones you don’t want back in the boxes.”
I kneel beside one of the boxes, lifting the lid like it might bite me. Inside are stacks of books—brand new fucking hardbacks. HARDBACKS! I run my fingers over the titles, scanning the selection. It’s… impressive, actually. Fiction, non-fiction, classics, thrillers, and even some sci-fi.
“You weren’t jokin’,” I mutter, glancing up at him. “You really bought all of these.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure what you liked,” he says, his tone casual. “So I guessed and bought the ones that looked interestin’.”
“You… You guessed ?” I say, still trying to wrap my head around it. “How the fuck did you even get these so fast?”
“Magic,” he deadpans, then he grins at my glare. “Fine. We’ve got connections. It’s not like I went to a bloody bookstore myself.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, pulling out another book. “You really went all out.”
Connor grins as he watches me rummage through the box. “Well, you were whinin’ like a kid who lost his favorite toy. Figured it was this or deal with you throwin’ a tantrum.”
I glare at him, clutching a book in my hand and pointing it at him as I speak. “I do not throw tantrums.”
He arches a brow, clearly amused as he walks over and crouches down opposite me with his elbow propped up on one knee. “You’re a fuckin’ brat, of course you throw tantrums.”
I feel my face flush and get a whiff of his cologne, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, I focus on the boxes and pulling out more books.
“Alright,” I say, sorting through a pile I’ve made. “You’ve clearly got opinions. What’s your favorite book?”
Connor tilts his head, pretending to think for a moment. “The Count of Monte Cristo,” he says finally. “Fuckin’ brilliant, that one.”
I freeze, the book in my hands forgotten. “You’re joking.”
His brows knit together. “Why the hell would I joke about that?”
“It’s my favorite,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Connor’s grin widens, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that immediately puts me on edge. “No shit? Malachi Dawson has taste. Didn’t see that coming.”
“Don’t make it weird,” I mutter, shoving a book back into the box.
“It’s already weird. We have somethin’ in common other than the fact we both come from Irish Syndicates,” he says, chuckling. “So, tell me, Babyface, what’s your favorite part?”
I glare at him while my face heats. “I’m not playing twenty bloody questions with you.”
“Aw, c’mon,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make it infuriatingly teasing. “Don’t be shy. I’m just tryin’ to get to know you better.”
I roll my eyes, hating the way my pulse jumps at the way he says it. “You already know more than you should.”
“Do I?” He leans forward with a sly look in his eyes. “What else are you hidin’, Malachi?”
“Nothin’,” I snap, my voice a little too quick. “Why would I be hiding anythin’?”
Connor’s smirk deepens, and I immediately know I’ve walked into a trap. “You’re blushin’,” he says, his tone laced with amusement. “What’s got you all flustered, eh? The book? Or me?”
The heat in his gaze makes my stomach twist in ways I don’t want to think about. I clear my throat, setting the book down and moving to the next box. “Y’know, you didn’t have to go this far. One box would’ve been enough.”
“Aye, but where’s the fun in that?” he says as he gestures with his hand. “Besides, I’ve got to keep you busy. Can’t have you plottin’ your escape.”
“I wouldn’t need to plot if you just let me out,” I mutter, pulling out another book.
“Nice try,” he says, his tone amused. “You’re cute when you’re desperate, though.”
I freeze, my face heating instantly. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he says, his smirk practically wicked now. “Blushin’ suits ya.”
I shake my head, refusing to look at him. “Do you ever shut up?”
“Not when I’m havin’ this much fun with my captives,” he says, his voice dripping with fake sweetness.
I groan. “You’re exhaustin’, Cunningham.”
Connor chuckles, crawling toward me. He’s so close now that I can feel the warmth radiating off him, and it’s completely unfair. He leans down, his voice low and teasing. “Admit it, Babyface. You like it.”
“Piss off,” I mutter, my cheeks burning and my fucking glasses start fogging up. Shite.
“Not a denial,” he sings, moving back with a satisfied smirk.
I huff and can practically feel how the tips of my ears are on fire. “Why do you always have to be like this?”
“Like what?” he asks, leaning back on his heels. “Charmin’? Funny? Devastatingly handsome?”
“Annoyin’,” I say flatly. “That’s the word you’re lookin’ for.”
He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. It throws me off, how much lighter he seems today compared to a couple of days ago. It’s like he’s a completely different person when he’s not dragging the weight of the world around with him.
“You’re lucky I need these books,” I mutter, shoving another hardcover into the growing stack beside me. “Otherwise, I’d throw you out.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re terrifyin’,” he says, that grin still pulling at his lips. “Keep talkin’ like that, Babyface.”
I bristle at the nickname, my glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Ugh, that fuckin’ nickname. Can you please be broody again so I don’t have to hear it?” I snap.
“Not a chance,” he says, his tone smug.
I let out an exasperated sigh, turning back to the books. “Please stop.”
“Nah, you’re fun to mess with,” he shoots back.
I roll my eyes, but the corners of my mouth twitch despite myself. He’s infuriating, yes, but there’s something disarming about him when he’s like this—lighthearted, almost playful.
It’s dangerous. Too dangerous.
“Ta for the books,” I mumble, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Don’t mention it,” he says as he gets to his feet and stretches, then he winces. “Seriously, don’t. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, grabbing another book and flipping it open.
Connor lingers by the door for a moment, and when I glance up, he’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. “Enjoy your readin’, Malachi.”
“Aye, I will,” I mutter, waving him off. “Get out of here.”
He chuckles, slipping out the door and leaving me alone with the books. I sit there, staring at the pile of books, my thoughts a chaotic mess.
Connor Cunningham is going to be the death of me.