Page 24 of Sweet Deception (Irish Kings #4)

Chapter Twenty-One

I wake up several hours later with no sense of where I am.

All I know is that I smell bacon, and I need it. Badly.

As I blink, the bedroom comes into focus, midday light brightening the space. For the first time, I notice how the room is bowed out and built like a semicircle. It’s charming, unique.

Yawning, I stretch my arms and legs and roll over until my face is buried in the sheets. I inhale deeply, and Darren’s scent crawls up my nose. Images rush through my mind.

Last night. The sex we had.

The computer. The decryption.

Drag racing until dawn.

Are these really snapshots of my life from the past twelve hours? It doesn’t seem possible.

I sit up to go over everything in detail. The decryption…

Of course, the first thing I did once I’d stolen Darren’s phone data and finally decrypted it was study everything.

In the end, though, I found nothing.

Literally nothing.

No trafficking trails from the two women who worked at their clubs that linked directly back to the Irish Kings.

No suspicious transactions. Nothing to suggest the Kings were in cahoots with the cops to kill Lucy’s case.

In fact, nothing about Lucy at all. The stolen files contained only mundane business records and personal messages.

Which means, not only did I go to Vegas, infiltrate a high-profile mafia wedding, and sleep with a dangerous enforcer, but I did it all for nothing.

Relief swept through me when I didn’t uncover anything to suggest Darren was involved in Lucy’s kidnapping.

Craving the touch of a man who harmed someone close to me would’ve killed me.

Instead, I’m falling for a run-of-the-mill mob enforcer who has probably kidnapped plenty of other people.

Somehow, that seems to be the upside in all this.

Along with the relief, a sour creep of guilt has snaked its way into the pit of my stomach. Was I a crusader doing her job to find out everything she could? Yes. Was I also a backstabbing traitor violating Darren’s privacy and trust? Yes, absolutely.

Not that he trusts me.

But after last night…I’d be lying if I said things didn’t seem different between us.

The sex wasn’t the same as that first night…and then he took me to his usual haunt.

I bite my lip at the memory of him in his natural habitat, behaving like a normal man. Just another rebellious racer.

I can admit—at least to myself—that witnessing that carefree side of him was attractive.

Who am I kidding? Seeing him in his element was hot as hell.

Watching that car fly down the road, knowing Darren was behind the wheel, reminding myself that those hands aren’t just good at handling hairpin turns…

And if I’m being honest, I was a little bit honored that he let me see him that way. What am I saying?

I jump out of bed too fast and get a little dizzy as I pad to the bathroom.

Climbing into the shower, I try to wash the crazy off.

It doesn’t work. Even once I’ve toweled dry, roped my hair into a ponytail, and braided it up, all I do is climb into more clothes that smell like him… thrusting my mind right back to him.

His hands all over me. His mouth on mine. His eyes?—

My face burns. I slap both my cheeks a few times. This is ridiculous.

What? One crazy night with my kidnapper, and now I’ve got a crush?

After I’ve fidgeted with my appearance for a few more useless minutes, my stomach grumbles loud enough to make me self-conscious again, so I head for my bedroom door.

I pause with my hand on the knob.

When we got back from the Hub, I was so tired I came straight up here and fell into bed. I don’t even know if Darren locked me in.

But the knob turns easily, opening right up.

In the back of my mind, a little voice wonders if he trusts me more than I think.

Doesn’t matter. The bottom line is that I still don’t trust him. I can’t.

Even if we weren’t in this clusterfuck of a scenario, trusting him would be the wrong answer. Trusting someone is the first step toward letting them hurt you, Nika.

And I won’t go down that path. I won’t.

That’s what I promise myself as I march down the stairs, that glorious smell of bacon leading me straight to the kitchen.

I find a freshly showered Darren standing at the stove.

His appearance has been immaculate since I met him. Aside from last night, when he came across as so disheveled. Like a boy who’d been out to play all day. Grease stains marking his arms like tattoos, his hands dark with oil…

I notice a small speck of motor fluid splattered under his jaw.

I smile. Missed a spot.

Swallowing my grin, I breeze into the kitchen without so much as a “good morning.” A clock hanging over the refrigerator reads six past eleven.

A steady energy radiates from Darren while he cooks, his focus on the bacon he’s frying and the eggs he’s scrambling.

At the sight of his wired eyes, I wonder if he slept at all.

“Did you…get any rest?”

He shakes his head without glancing up. “Sometimes, I just can’t sleep.”

“Would you have stayed at the Hub if not for me?” I don’t mean to ask the question aloud, but I’m so off my game right now, my usual filter hasn’t come online just yet.

Darren responds with a grin. And I smile back a little even though it feels so entirely strange.

My baby doesn’t even cross my mind until I see him weaving between Darren’s legs, purring loudly.

Darren steals a hunk of scrambled egg out of the skillet and blows on it before ripping the piece into bite-sized morsels. He drops them on the ground for Piro, who pounces on the food like it’s the most delicious treat.

I’m wowed by the sight of them together.

Even though I’ve witnessed this behavior multiple times since arriving at the cottage or safe house—or whatever this place is—the casual tenderness of his gesture catches me off guard.

He just…doesn’t make any sense to me.

This dangerous man who spends his nights street racing and his mornings feeding my tiny kitty. Is this the same guy who pulled a gun on me, who’s holding us both captive here?

When Darren notices me watching, he shrugs. “What? Napalm earned it.”

I can’t stop myself. “Piro.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Hungry?”

That’s exactly why I came down here… I can see he’s made enough for two… I’m starving… And yet, I don’t know what to say.

He was ready to kill me yesterday.

And he still might today.

And this is the second home-cooked meal he’s prepared.

The scent of the bacon reminds me of Sunday brunch with my grandmother. Now that I think about it, other than meals with my grandmother and then with Maya and Lucy as we settled into adulthood, I’ve never really…eaten with anyone. Except for the last time I shared a meal with Darren, that is.

In foster homes, I refused to eat at the table with the other kids. I always took my meals alone or skipped them altogether.

No wonder Darren’s simple question has me paralyzed.

Eating breakfast with him would be… I stop that train in its tracks.

I don’t want to admit, even to myself, what eating breakfast with this man would mean.

Instead, I nod and watch as he returns his attention to cooking.

The silence stretches between us, filled only by the crackle of frying bacon.

Darren shuts off the stove and methodically arranges every little thing on our plates.There’s something almost soothing about how he handles each task with such attention.

I settle in at the island, resting my arms on the bright granite countertop.

“Your friend on the phone.” Darren doesn’t turn from the stove. “She called you Nika .”

I hope to God he didn’t catch the way my cheeks flushed out of his peripheral vision when he said my nickname. Those two little syllables have never sounded so…sensual. But maybe that’s only because I’ve never heard a man like Darren say them.

Horrible. This is horrible. And I want to fan my damn face, but he’ll for sure notice that.

“Yes.” The word rushes from my mouth. I’m hoping we can drop this subject ASAP. My fingers fly up to my grandmother’s cross fastened around my neck, as they always do whenever I’m especially flustered or nervous. “My grandmother gave me the nickname. She passed away when I was thirteen.”

Why the hell did I just tell him that?

“And you prefer that?”

My eyes snap to him. “What do you care what I prefer?”

He shrugs as if he’s not sending me into some kind of existential crisis. “Curious, I guess.”

I clear my throat and drop my eyes to the plate of food he sets down. Eggs, bacon, and toast with Irish butter. Yum.

Finally, I manage, “Precious few people use my nickname.”

Darren passes me some silverware. As our fingertips brush, he hums. “ Nika . That suits you better than Veronika.”

“Thank you.” I mean for the food, but it definitely sounds like I’m appreciating his…compliment? Comment. Yes, his comment. Geesh.

He sits across from me at the island, and I’m thankful for the distance. Just being in the same room is obviously a challenge for me.

We both dig into our meal, which is positively divine despite its simplicity. These are the fluffiest, most flavorful eggs I’ve ever eaten. The bacon has that perfect crispy texture, not too chewy, not burned or greasy. The Irish butter accents the toast like classical music does ballet.

And everything tastes so good that my walls come down, and Darren and I fall into an easy rhythm over breakfast.

He describes the finer points of street racing while feeding more bits of egg to Piro, who, I’m beginning to think, won’t want to come home even if Darren does let me go.

I find myself laughing—actually laughing—at his story about a racer who thought NOS was short for No Other Speed .

I have no clue about the acronym, which he goes on to explain means nitrous oxide systems, which is some kind of performance-enhancing modification that boosts the engine power.

Though I would at least expect street racers to understand the acronym.

When he goes to pour orange juice into our glasses, I glimpse it again…that spot he missed. A dark smudge of motor oil on his jawbone.

Then, as though my hand has a mind of its own, it abandons my fork and floats up to his face to wipe the mark away.

Darren’s skin is warm under my fingertips, and he goes completely still at my touch.

And then, so do I.

Our eyes lock as an intimate moment stretches between us, a wide-open road full of possibilities…

Until his buzzing phone breaks the spell.