"I'm never careful." His thumb brushes my lower lip. "Makes life more interesting."
The front door chimes, shattering the moment. Eamon steps back as an older man enters—silver hair, expensive coat, presence that commands instant respect.
Tiernan Kavanagh. The patriarch himself.
"Eamon." Authority resonates in his voice. "Introduce me."
"Sorcha Quinn," Eamon replies, tension radiating from his frame. "Temporary help."
Tiernan approaches with predatory grace. His assessment makes my skin crawl—not sexual, but calculating. Like examining merchandise.
"Ms. Quinn. Finding our establishment... educational?"
"The work suits me." I force steadiness into my voice.
"Work serves many purposes." He tastes each word. "We all pursue different objectives."
Both men watch my reactions with hunter's focus. The conversation carries currents I struggle to navigate.
"Which brings me here," Tiernan continues. "The Moran family has issued threats against our people. Particularly attractive employees who might overhear sensitive discussions."
Dread pools in my stomach. Direct targeting by rivals.
"What kind of threats?"
"The fatal kind." His smile never reaches cold eyes. "Eamon will provide protection."
"That's unnecessary?—"
"It's decided." Steel enters his tone. "You belong to us now. We guard what's ours."
The possessive phrasing makes my flesh crawl, but I nod acceptance. Refusal would escalate suspicion.
"Excellent." He checks an expensive watch. "Eamon, escort Ms. Quinn home. Review her security situation thoroughly."
He exits as abruptly as he arrived, leaving expensive cologne and implied menace in his wake.
Eamon and I face each other across charged silence.
"This is unnecessary," I tell him.
"Tell the Morans that." He moves toward the exit. "Car's outside."
"I handle my own security."
"Not anymore."
His Mercedes purrs through Boston traffic while tension builds between us. Eamon drives with controlled aggression, taking corners too fast while his jaw stays locked.
Every instinct screams danger, but not from external threats. The real risk sits eighteen inches away, radiating lethal appeal that my body refuses to ignore.
"This doesn't change anything," I say finally.
"Doesn't it?" His eyes flick to mine before returning to the road.
"You still suspect me."
"Suspicion and protection aren't mutually exclusive." His voice carries dark promise. "I can guard you while deciding whether to trust you."
