Page 31 of The Love Destroyers

I hear him laughing behind me before it shuts.

A smile stretches across my face.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SEAMUS

I watch Emma go upstairs, grinning at her back. Her figure might be hidden by that coat, but I remember the curve of her hip under my hand and the way her lips moved against mine—demanding and needy. She’s one hell of a woman. I’d probably let her take my wallet too, especially if it meant feeling her slide her hand into my back pocket.

Truth is—I’dliketo fuck around and find out.

But I’ve promised myself not to. If I can get Nicole to stand down, I can stay here with my brother and sister—and if I’m going to stay here, the worst thing I could do is take Emma to bed. No good would come of it.

No, that’s not true. I know it would be good. Fucking great. The kind of thing I’d want to repeat.A lot. Worse, I enjoy being around her. I like arguing with her and flirting with her, which are one and the same. If we went there it would be messy as hell, because it would inevitably end in flames. Maybe literally, lit with my own lighter.

Might be worth it, my dick suggests.

But I’m no kid anymore. I’m old enough not to be led around by my dick. So I stand out there in the cold for a couple of minutes to get my shit together.

I breathe in the frigid air, watching the evergreens across the street dance in the wind. Thinking about what’s going on upstairs. Will Emma go in hard or soft?

She’s obviously pleased with our plan. She needed a push, and she got herself a shove. But she wouldn’t want to let her friends and family know that. She wouldn’t want to admit to any vulnerability or weakness.

I get that.

I’m here, aren’t I?

When Nicole let me in on this plan, building on Chuck’s offer of a place to stay, it felt like an answer to a question I’d been afraid to ask.

What comes next?

This, I guess. Living in a new city with an older male roommate who knits and bakes and wants to watch sitcoms with me. Working, temporarily, at Honey Do, an online company someone told me about at a bar a few nights ago. It’s a website where strangers hire people to do chores they either can’t or don’t know how to do themselves. It was laughably easy to get listed with them—all I had to do was provide the license with my fake name.

I figured I could use a filler job until Ellie and the asshole arrive, so I can avoid selling my car. Now that keeping Ingrid is a real possibility, I can’t see my way toward listing her. It puts bitterness in my mouth to think of her sitting around in some rich guy’s expensive garage, tasting the road only once every four months. Even then, she’d be driven cautiously. Furtively. I built her back up from the ashes, and a phoenix of a car like that deserves to be driven.

Someone should give me an award for Most Banal Accomplishments in One Week, because I also have a job lined up for after it’s all over, at a garage in Asheville. City life is more my style, so I figured I’d prefer that to fitting into thehandyman/mechanic void in Marshall. It’s boring work, safety inspections and the like, but steady. Easy.

Declan and Rosie know all about Nicole’s scheme for Emma and my part in it. Rosie said she was one hundred percent behind any motivation that would get me to the great state of North Carolina. Declan was more reserved, worried about any attention my involvement might bring our way. He has no need to worry about that, something I’ve wanted to tell him for years, but I can’t explainwhy. So I settled for telling him that even a camera-happy woman like Ellie could not give a shit about who’s driving her around—drivers are faceless entities who might as well be fused to the car for all the rich passenger cares.

Truth is, I’m glad Nicole gave me a boot to the ass too. I’ve always liked being around other people. The noise of them. The energy. The back and forth of conversation. The buzz of possibility.Will I sleep with her? Will I punch him in the face? Will we be friends? Will she ruin me?When I’m alone, the back and forth is all in my own head—and the only real possibility is that I’m going to fall into melancholy places, the way I was before that lunch with Chuck.

There’s not much chance of that happening here. My roommate wouldn’t give me enough peace and quiet for it to be possible.

Smiling and shaking my head, I finally head back inside.

It comes as no surprise that everyone’s sitting around the dining area. Emma is holding court at the head of the table the way my uncle used to do. My uncle, the crime boss. The comparison makes me grin. Uncle Rory was an asshole—no two ways about it—but he knew how to own a room. So does this woman.

Emma looks like a goddess crowned with fire and rage, her eyes glittering with purpose, her dark hair spilling in inkyhandfuls around her shoulders. Her nose is a bit pink from the cold still, but she’s taken off the gloves.

Her gaze flies to me, and I salute her as I settle in against the wall, wishing for a cigarette. Or maybe just wishing I could slide my hand into her pocket to get my lighter. I wouldn’t want to pull it out too quickly, though.

Off limits.

I’d been in a mood to forget that at New Year’s, but I’d be forgetting it to my peril now.

Her lips twitch, but she returns to hervery seriousexpression as she pans her gaze around the room with an intensity that makes me grin. “Let’s go through the plan,” she says, and they do.

Emma will be staying at the Grove Park Inn for spa services. Nicole’s job—with an assist from me—is to get Ellie and dickhead out of the way so she can search their room, including whatever they put in the safe. Hopefully, Dickhead’s computer, which he brings everywhere, will be accessible. We’ll go from there.

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