See, he could be nice.
What—” Lyse tugged on her arm, exasperation in her eyes. “Fionn…”
“This way I know you’ll be staying where I put you.”
“Fionn, I’m not going anywhere tonight.”
“You’re definitely not. I’ll be back.”
Grabbing what he needed from his pack, he left to get ready for the night. When he returned, it was to Lyse lying on the bed, her back to him, fully clothed but shoes off, glasses on the side table. Her hair was pulled up and spread over the pillow, leaving her nape bare. The vulnerability that one spot was revealin’ hit him somewhere he didn’t want to think about.
Leaving his fatigues on, he stripped off his shirt and emptied his pockets. The Sig went on the nightstand within easy reach. After turning off the light, he laid down on his side of the too-small bed and tried to be ignoring the fact that he was in bed with the woman he fantasized about far too often.
Except he couldn’t ignore it, and he couldn’t go to sleep. Every time he was close to drifting off, Lyse would shift around restlessly, jostling the bed as if she couldn’t find a way to get comfortable. He was wanting to help, to fix whatever the problem was, and that pissed him off. He jerked up to sitting. “What’s the story, for feck’s sake?”
The bed went still, almost as if Lyse was holding her breath “I can’t—” She sighed and shifted again. “I can’t sleep in these clothes, and you didn’t give me a chance to change.”
“What do you want me to be doing, stripping you?”
“N-no,” she choked out. Then shifted again.
Fionn reached for the light and flipped it on. Lyse’s back was still to him, one hand extended in front of her by the zip ties, the other fidgeting around under the back of her shirt. “What are you doing?”
Lyse glanced hastily over her shoulder, a hard blush staining her cheeks. “I-I just—” She pulled her hand back to her front. “Never mind.”
He eyed her a moment, his brain fiddlin’ with the problem, and then a lightbulb went on. Grabbing his knife, he circled the bed.
Lyse stared at the blade with wide eyes, trying to retreat through the headboard even though it was impossible. “What are you doing?”
“Hold still.”
Setting the knife on the bedspread, he reached around to slide his hands under the backside of her shirt. Warm skin met his, but he ignored it. Or tried to. The tightening behind his zipper was making it difficult. He found the clasp and unhooked her bra with a quick jerk.
The sigh of relief that escaped Lyse brushed his shoulder, making him very aware that his skin was naked and so, so close to her mouth. Telling himself to hurry, he moved down the smooth groove of her spine and around her ribs. Damn, her skin was feeling soft on his palms, like heated silk. A hitch in Lyse’s breath drew his attention to the way her tits pressed into his chest, nothing between them but her jumper and a soon-to-be removed bra. Sweat popped out on his forehead.
Be hurrying it up, dumbass!
Putting a few inches of air between them, he glided one hand up to the strap on Lyse’s arm that was tied to the bed. “Be still,” he breathed. Her face was averted, and the words brushed her ear as he grasped the knife. Keeping the sharp side turned away from her, he slid the knife under her shirt and up to join his other hand. The blade sliced through the strap of her bra like butter.
He let go of the material, felt it drop along her body. A shiver shook through Lyse, and he was noticing her breathing was quick and light. Trying to ignore the proximity of her tits to his hand, he moved to the opposite shoulder, only then realizing he was pressing his hips into the mattress, putting pressure where he needed it most.
Holy fecking God, he was in trouble.
Grasping the strap, he repeated the cutting once more. As he dropped his hands, the backs of one set of knuckles brushed Lyse’s rigid nipple.
Lyse gasped, the sound shattering the silence like a rock through glass. Her back arched, pushing herself harder against his hands. No doubt it was instinct, but he couldn’t resist. An instinct of his own had his hand turning, the palm flattening on the plump curve of her tit.
So soft. So round.
Lyse whimpered. He caught a glimpse of white teeth biting into her lip, hard enough to be drawing blood.
“Lyse?”
Without thought his thumb swept up to circle the hard nub. Lyse’s head fell back on her shoulders, her mouth opening, arching herself harder against the touch. Begging for more. Such beautiful, innocent pleasure.
But she’s not innocent, is she?
He pinched her nipple at the thought, then again when her hand came up to grab his bicep, her fingernails digging deep. She turned her head, and her gaze latched on to his mouth. He knew exactly what she was wanting.
She licked her lips. He leaned closer, close enough to taste her breath on his tongue.
“No!” The grip on his arm stopped pulling him closer and pushed instead. Fionn stopped dead.
Glistening eyes met his. “Don’t.” Lyse sucked in a ragged breath. “If you don’t mean it, then don’t.”
Mean what? That he wanted her? His body had desired hers for far too long, but that was all this was. Except, looking into her eyes, he couldn’t help remembering Deacon’s words. She’s in love with you.
He jerked back as if her skin had burned him. The sheen of tears caught his eye before Lyse tucked her chin, hiding from him. He couldn’t identify the ache in his chest, and he didn’t want to. Instead he circled to his side of the bed, turned off the light, and lay down, but he didn’t think he’d sleep.
He didn’t deserve to.
Don’t hurt her.
As much as he believed she was guilty and deserved punishment, Fionn thought he had indeed hurt Lyse. What kind of man did that make him?
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Nine
Lyse stretched her cramped muscles, rolled over, and snuggled back under the covers like she normally did, on the side she preferred. Facing Fionn like she hadn’t been able to last night because of her hand being cuffed.
Facing Fionn.
Her eyelids shot open.
The pillow directly in front of her held the imprint of his head, but the covers were thrown back and, when she touched it, the mattress was cold. Fionn was gone.
She guessed she should be grateful he’d uncuffed her before he left.
A shudder went through her as she stared at the spot where he’d lain beside her all night. She’d held herself very still as Fionn had settled into sleep, not wanting to risk his attention, unsure she’d be able to tell him no a second time. Her first kiss and a man’s hand on her breast all in the same night. She should be celebrating, but even as good as Fionn’s touch had felt—like a dream come true but far, far hotter—it had also felt wrong. She’d been a convenient female body to him, and she’d rather not have him at all than to have him not care.
Obviously she wasn’t the casual-sex type.
You wouldn’t still be a virgin if you were.
Sitting up, she scooted to the edge of the bed, pushing the thick fall of her hair out of her eyes. She would have to face him today, after what they had done. Or rather, what he had done. If she regretted anything, it was that—not getting to touch him too. But she wouldn’t get that chance, not again. Fionn was a lot of things, but not a rapist. She’d told him no; she knew he wouldn’t touch her again. And something inside her mourned his loss all over again.
Slipping quietly from their room, she made it to the bathroom without running into anyone. Cool water helped her wake up, and she used her fingers to comb her hair back and tie it into a sloppy knot at the back of her head. There was nothing she could do about her lack of a bra, but she straightened the rest of her clothes, retrieved her glasses from her bedside table, and made her way to the kitchen.
Siobhan stood at the stove, turning bacon. The scent of coffee and frying pork filled the air, and Lyse’s stomach growled. She’d never g
otten her chicken soup last night.
Siobhan glanced up at her as she entered. “Morning, dear.”
Her friend’s glance was open and friendly, just like always. Had she talked to Fionn this morning? Had he told his mother what they’d done last night? Had he spilled more details about her past? She couldn’t tell, couldn’t read Siobhan’s body language well enough, but God, she wanted to. Wanted to know if her friend was still her friend.
“Good morning,” she said, cautious of the minefield she was stepping onto.
Siobhan jutted her chin toward the coffee maker. “Help yourself. How I ended up with an Irishman stuck on coffee in the morn, I’m not knowing.” She grinned. “Certainly gets him up and going, if you know what I mean. Maybe that’s why coffee is such a favorite in the States.”
Lyse crossed to the cabinet to grab a mug, hiding her blush from Siobhan. Somehow she didn’t think Mack needed help getting up and going in the morning. The man was a typical adrenaline junkie, even flirting with sixty years old. Most of the teams Lyse had worked with at Global First were the same, the men filled with an overabundance of testosterone. Even Fionn. Or especially Fionn. He surely had plenty of sex drive.
And she’d been in bed with him this morning. Surely Siobhan didn’t think…
Lyse blushed harder.
“Mack is showerin’. Fionn is out walking the perimeter, he said.” Siobhan transferred thick slabs of bacon onto a paper-towel-covered plate. “They’ll be back in time for breakfast.” She pointed at a loaf of fresh-baked bread Lyse recognized from the local bakery. “Cut that up, yeah?”
Grateful for something to do with her hands, Lyse rummaged in the drawers until she found a knife, then got to work. She was four slices in when she caught a glimpse of Fionn at the edge of the tree line.
“He’s always been a stubborn one.”
Lyse startled, the knife dropping from her hand to clatter onto the counter. Siobhan patted her back before moving to the sink nearby. Rather than attempt to pick up the knife and start again, Lyse planted her palms on the cool tile surface and breathed, staring at the spot where Fionn had disappeared into the woods once more. What had Siobhan meant, he was stubborn? Of course he was stubborn—that was part of what made him good at his job, at hunting. If only he’d ease up on that stubbornness where she was concerned.
“So…” Siobhan stuck her hands under the running water. “I got Fionn’s side of the story from what little he was telling me last night.” She reached for a towel to dry. “We’ve known each other how long, dear?”
Lyse’s heart gave a kick that took her breath. She rubbed at her chest a moment. “A few weeks.” It was the truth, though not wholly honest. Lyse knew to the day how long it had been since she’d first made contact with Siobhan.
Siobhan nodded. “I remember you walking into the post office like it happened yesterday.”
Lyse had ordered coffee online. It had always been a weakness. Her fellow geeks in the tech department didn’t care if the coffee tasted like sludge, but Lyse had always figured if she was going to run on caffeine, it should at least taste good.
Siobhan worked the counter at the post office. After the third package, she’d invited Lyse to the French patisserie, a more local option for coffee.
“Fionn obviously believes you were after finagling your way into my life, but we both know better.” Because Siobhan never met a stranger. “So why don’t you tell me your side of his story, and let’s get things straight up front?”
Lyse took a deep breath, hoping it would calm her. Give her courage. It didn’t. She turned to face Siobhan. “What he said was true. I did set a bomb. And he was almost killed.”
Siobhan stared into her eyes for a long moment, seeming to take her own measure. “But not for the reasons Fionn thinks.”
“Fionn…” What did her motives matter? What she’d done, that was what mattered. Motives could’ve gotten him killed despite how hard she tried to save him. “It doesn’t matter,” she finally said.
Siobhan scoffed, then nodded toward the bread. “Bring that to the table.”
Some of Lyse’s tension eased. Siobhan would drop it now. She would believe Fionn, turn away from Lyse, and when the time came for Fionn to drag Lyse back to the States to face charges, Siobhan wouldn’t feel torn between the two of them. She could continue on, happy, and Lyse wouldn’t carry one more regret on the pile that already threatened to crush her.
After setting the bread on the table, Lyse sat in the chair across from Siobhan and cupped her warm coffee in her palms. Siobhan passed her a plate. “Food, then talk.”
Of course. “Siobhan…”
Siobhan pointed the fork she was using to dish up bacon at Lyse. “Don’t be arguing.”
Siobhan had the whole mom argue-with-me-and-you’ll-regret-it thing down. But even that force of will couldn’t keep Lyse’s stomach from rebelling, so she focused on the warmth of her coffee instead of the food in front of her. “What do you want to know?”
“How close were you and Fionn before?”
Not nearly as close as I wanted? “We were colleagues. I was the head of the tech department at Global First.”
“I always knew you were way smarter than you were lettin’ on,” Siobhan said. She nibbled a piece of bread. “So what’s the story?”
Lyse focused on the rich brown of the liquid in her cup. “Fionn’s best friend, Deacon, was targeted by a crime lord from South Africa. He’d killed the man’s son a couple of years before while trying to rescue an American senator and his family. Mansa took exception to the loss of his heir, criminal or not.”
“So he came after Deacon?”
“Yes.”
“And where does the bomb come in?”
Lyse swallowed hard. “Mansa was the kind of man who could find spies anywhere.”
“And you were his spy?”
Siobhan’s tone said she doubted that, but it wasn’t far off the truth, was it? “No, I am—” She swallowed hard, wishing her stomach wasn’t in knots so she could drink her coffee instead of staring at it. “No. Someone at Global First…they found out something about me, something they could use against me. Use to get me to do what they wanted.”
She could feel the intensity of Siobhan’s stare despite refusing to look at the woman. Long moments passed. “They threatened someone you love.”
“How did you know?” Lyse whispered, the words low and ragged.
“Because I know you,” Siobhan said. “What happened exactly?”
So Lyse told her—about the contact, the target, about the bomb and the birthday party, trying desperately to get everyone out of the way. “Buildings are replaceable,” she said. “People aren’t.”
“It was a sound plan,” Siobhan agreed. “Give the bastard what he was wanting without really giving him what he was wanting. So what went wrong?”
Lyse cleared her throat. “Fionn.” Even when she fell in love with him, he’d thrown a wrench in her plans. He’d never stopped. “He and Deacon showed up to visit Trapper. I tried to get them away, to keep them safe. I tried so hard.”
The cup shook in her hand as memories flashed in her mind—fear, panic, pain. Coffee sloshed over the side, singeing the burns her hand already bore from Sean’s soup. Siobhan’s cool hand settled over Lyse’s, stilling it. “Lyse.” A napkin appeared in her view as Siobhan dabbed gently at her skin. “Give me the cup, dear.”
Lyse didn’t want to. Without the cup she had nothing to hold on to, nothing to focus on, give her a center. She would go back to that stupid girl whose hands always fluttered as she tried desperately to figure out how to fit in, what to do next, how to hide the embarrassing emotions that only proved how unworthy and awkward she was. She didn’t want to be that girl anymore.
And yet she couldn’t resist Siobhan’s gentle insistence. She pried the cup away, but she didn’t leave Lyse’s hands empty; she replaced the coffee with her own grip, steadying Lyse despite her story. Despite knowing the truth of the awful t
hings she had done.
“It was Fionn, wasn’t it?”
Lyse jerked her head up, her gaze slamming into Siobhan’s. “What?”
“The threat they used against you. It was Fionn.”
It was a statement, not a question, but that wasn’t possible. No one knew. Lyse had never spoken the words aloud, not even that night when Elliot Smith had questioned her. Not that Elliot hadn’t figured it out, but Lyse’s humiliation had run too deep to say what needed to be said.
A tear escaped. “How did you know?”
Siobhan shrugged. “The way you look at him. The way he looks at you. Were you lovers, then?”
Lyse laughed, the sound strangling in her tight throat. “God, no. Fionn would never—” She shook her head. “I’m not good at hiding my feelings, I guess. I’m pretty sure everyone knew but him.”
Siobhan narrowed her eyes. “He knew, all right. He knew you better than you think. Only one thing makes a man as angry as Fionn is at you, and it’s not lack of knowledge. Or indifference.”
“He believes I tried to kill him. He wasn’t wrong about that.”
“No, he doesn’t believe that,” Siobhan said, still looking thoughtful. “Like I said, Fionn is stubborn. He knows exactly what happened. But if he admits it, he also has to admit the real reason he came after you. The real reason he’s so angry.”
Lyse rubbed at the ache in her chest. “Why is that?”
Siobhan’s smile was all secrets and satisfaction. “Oh, I think I’ll be letting the two of you figure that out together. Don’t worry, dear. I don’t think it’ll take long, especially if you’re sleeping in the same bed.” She patted Lyse’s hand. “Not long at all.”
Chapter Ten
When Fionn entered the kitchen, Lyse shot out of her chair like it was on fire. “I think I’ll shower,” she said, focusing on her plate. “If I’m going to stay here—”
“You’ll be staying.”
The words left his mouth harder than he’d meant them to, harsher than he’d intended to handle her today, but the suggestion that she’d be anywhere but with him…
Destroy Me (Southern Nights: Enigma Book 3) Page 6
