Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
It didn’t matter if she hadn’t seen much of this O’Malley in the meantime or if he’d had new shadows in his dark brown eyes. She had other priorities right now, and jumping from the frying pan into the fire wasn’t her idea of a good time.
“What are you still doing here, Olivia?”
She turned to face Benji, trying to keep the guilty look off her face. He’d told her to head home ten minutes ago, and she’d stopped to poke at Cillian O’Malley. Good job staying away from that guy. She held up her hands. “I’m leaving, I’m leaving.”
“Don’t forget your tip.”
So he’d seen that and known the reason she hadn’t immediately left was because she’d let her curiosity get the best of her. Awesome. Olivia worked to keep a smile on her face. It wasn’t Benji’s fault that she had a nasty attraction to trouble, even though she knew better. She snatched the cash off the bar and froze when she realized how much Cillian had left her. The bills weren’t ones.
They were twenties.
Goddamn it. She stared at the money in her hand and, for a long second, actually considered keeping it. But then reality reared up and kicked her in the teeth. She couldn’t keep it. But…
No. She wasn’t the type of woman who could be bought, and she wasn’t going to give him the wrong idea that she was. He might not have asked for anything in return, but being in his debt was bad no matter which way she looked at it.
And maybe you’re just looking for trouble in all the wrong places…just like you always do.
Shut up.
“See you later, Benji.” She was moving before she decided on a course of action, grabbing her jacket from behind the bar and heading out the front door. A quick look down the street showed a familiar figure striding away. “Hey!”
What are you doing?
She ignored her inner voice and started after him. “Hey! Cillian, wait!”
He didn’t turn around, and she cursed him in both Russian and English. Growing up the way she had, she knew plenty of creative phrases in both languages.
“Hey, stop!”
She ran after him, thankful she’d put on her badass studded boots instead of the pair of heels she’d been jonesing after. An eight-hour shift on her feet would have her hating herself if she’d gone with the pretty shoes—and they would have made it impossible to catch up with the O’Malley.
She grabbed his arm and froze at the feel of his muscles flexing in her grip. Holy wow.
He finally turned to face her and it struck her that, without the bar between them, he was so much larger than she was. Not large like her ex, Sergei—this man was built lean instead of for brute strength—but he still dwarfed her. And he smelled good, like some kind of spicy men’s cologne that instantly had her thinking thoughts she had no business entertaining.
Like what it would be like to bury her nose in his neck and inhale deeply. The desire to do so almost overwhelmed her.
Everything about him was overwhelming, from his beautiful face, to his impeccably styled dark hair, to the tattoos peeking out of his clothes at the neck and wrists. The ink creeping up the side of his neck was like a wild thing trying to escape from his expensive suit, a strange combination of brute strength and poised polish that she should have known better than to be attracted to.
Except, apparently, her body hadn’t gotten the memo.
She realized she was still clutching his arm and made herself let go so she could offer back the cash. Right, because that’s why you chased him down a dark street. “I don’t want your money.”
“It’s called a tip, sweetheart. It’s just good manners.”
“I don’t want it.” Even as she said it, she wondered why she was being so damn stubborn about this. He hadn’t asked anything of her. All he’d done was throw too much money at a bartender, which was something plenty of drunks did from time to time. Except he wasn’t drunk. She should be elated at having the extra cash—God knew she needed it. Instead, there was a growing recklessness in her chest, one she’d thought she’d outgrown a long time ago. “Just take it, okay?”
“No.” His gaze narrowed on her face, giving her the sudden thought that he saw too much. Before she could decide what to do with that, he moved closer, giving her another whiff of that cologne that made her whole body break out in goose bumps. Or maybe it was the man himself, the streetlights creating a skeleton’s mask of his face, turning his eyes into dark pits of shadows. “Why do you care so much?”
“Oh my God, just take it back.” She should drop the cash and head for home. Or, hell, at least take a few steps away so that she wasn’t in danger of brushing against him if she took a deep breath.