"Don't you?" My hand braces against the door beside her head. "Because I seem to remember you stepping between me and a gun without hesitation."
Her breathing quickens. "That was instinct."
"This is instinct too." My thumb traces her jawline. "The need to protect what's mine."
"I'm not yours."
"Aren't you?" I lean closer, my mouth inches from hers. "Then why does the thought of Moran touching you make me want to burn his organization to the ground?"
She stares up at me, pupils dilated. The air between us crackles with electricity.
"Pack your bag, Sorcha. We leave in ten minutes."
My apartment sits above the pub in a converted loft space. One bedroom, one bathroom, sparse furniture that serves function over comfort. Military precision meets bachelor living.
Sorcha sets her overnight bag by the door, taking in the space. "Where am I sleeping?"
"My bed." I toss my keys on the kitchen counter. "I'll take the couch."
"You don't have to?—"
"I'm not negotiating this." I pour two glasses of whiskey, offering her one. "Moran wants to hurt me by hurting you. The best way to protect you is to keep you close."
She accepts the drink, our fingers brushing. The contact sends heat up my arm.
"This is just until the threat passes," I add.
"Right. Just temporary."
But the way she looks at me suggests she's thinking the same thing I am—nothing about this feels temporary.
I call my security team while she explores the apartment. Through the bedroom doorway, I watch her run her fingers over my dresser, my bookshelf. Seeing her in my private space does things to me that have nothing to do with protection.
"Full sweep and upgrade," I tell Martinez. "Motion sensors, cameras, reinforced entry points. This location is now classified as high-priority."
After hanging up, I find Sorcha on my balcony overlooking the pub. Boston spreads out below us, city lights reflecting off harbor water.
"Nice view," she says.
"It serves its purpose." I join her at the railing, close enough to smell her shampoo. "Tomorrow I'll take you to meet my family. Sunday dinner is mandatory when you're under Kavanagh protection."
"Your family?"
"My parents. My brother Cillian and his woman Orla." I sip my whiskey. "They'll want to assess you."
"Assess me for what?"
"Whether you're worth the trouble of protecting."
She turns to face me. "And if they decide I'm not?"
"They won't." I meet her eyes. "But if they did, it wouldn't matter. You're under my protection, not theirs."
The intensity in my voice surprises us both. Sorcha's lips part, and I find myself staring at her mouth.
"Eamon..."
"Yeah?"
