Page 11

“I’m increasing security,” he said, stepping back. “No more going out alone. Donal will double the shadows. You don’t leave this building without my say-so.”

“You don’t own me.”

He rounded on her. “Want to bet? I protect what's mine, especially if you have a target on your back.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” he agreed, voice like gravel. “It’s not. But neither is having to watch your reaction to that bastard’s voice come through your phone like he’s whispering death in your ear.”

She blinked. Just once. That was her tell—when she was thrown but didn’t want to show it. No flinch, no gasp. Just that tiny pause, barely more than a muscle twitch. But to Finn, it was as loud as a scream. Her guard was up, but the crack had shown. And he felt the urge to tear down the world until it went away.

“You think I don’t know what this is?” he asked, stepping closer again. “You think I don’t know what he wants?”

“And what’s that, O’Neill? A second date?”

He didn’t laugh.

Her smile faltered.

“Men like Riordan don’t waste time on warnings,” he said, voice low.

“Then tell me why I’m still breathing.”

Finn’s eyes darkened. “That was him pulling the pin before tossing the grenade. You know it. I know it.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Maybe. But not alone.”

She rolled her eyes. “Because clearly, being locked in a brownstone in the Back Bay with a broody Irish control freak is the height of strategic planning.”

Finn stepped into her space again, watching the quick hitch of her breath. “You’d rather I be soft? Lie? Let you pretend everything's fine?”

“I’d rather you weren't involved at all.”

“You want to die? I'll treat you how you need to be treated,” he said, voice rougher now, “like a target."

The words tasted like ash even as he said them. It wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew it—but admitting more felt too dangerous. Not yet. "One I plan to protect," he continued. "Whether you like my methods or not.”

Keira exhaled sharply. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“The hell I don’t.”

Silence stretched between them like a tripwire—tight, waiting, ready to detonate with the slightest misstep. The kind of silence that crackled with everything they weren’t saying. With fury, with fear. With history that refused to stay buried.

Finally, she sighed, breaking eye contact. “Fine. Ramp up your security. Play your war games. Just don’t expect me to start curtsying.”

Finn gave her a ghost of a smile. “I won't. Besides, it wouldn’t suit you anyway.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Damn right it wouldn’t.”

He let it drop. For now.

“I think I heard Donal bring up your backpack. Go change,” he said, nodding toward the hallway. “You’re still in my shirt.”

She didn’t move. “I kind of like it.”

Finn’s nostrils flared, heat punching low in his gut. His shirt clung to her body like it had been made for her, the hem barelygrazing the curve of her ass. Bare legs. Damp hair curling at her shoulders. She looked like a siren, dropped right into his war zone. She had to know—had to see the way his hands flexed at his sides, the way he fought not to grab her and show her exactly what she was tempting. His pulse pounded in his ears, louder than the conversation they’d just had. She was fire in his territory, and he was seconds from burning.