Page 92 of The Love Destroyers

“That’s one reason,” she agrees. “There are plenty of others. Like the fact that you have secrets, and I’m a person who likes to dig.”

I smile at her. “And a lawyer who might bury me with that same shovel.”

“I wouldn’t,” she tells me firmly, the expression on her face brooking no argument. I believe her, and it makes my heart hurt. Because it sucks to have a deep wanting for something you can’t have.

“But it wouldn’t put me in a good position,” she continues.

“No. Probably wouldn’t be the best position for me to be in either.”

“Are you worried about your face being seen on Ellie’s broadcast tonight?” she asks, frowning, as if the thought had only just occurred to her.

“Not really. But my brother is going to freak out when he finds out. She texted the link to me and there are a lot of views and comments.”

“Why aren’t you worried?” she asks.

I sigh, leaning against the rabbit’s cage—and getting another hiss from him. Fair enough. I wouldn’t want anyone messing with my home either.

“We have protection.”

“From your family?

“Something like that.”

I glance at Emma, who has the look of a woman who knows she’s not getting a straight answer. She doesn’t seem pissed, though, more resigned. Like she knows this is part of the wall between us and agrees with me that it should probably stay there.

“Go take a seat,” she says softly, rubbing my chest now. “I’ll get you some tea.”

I don’t want any tea, but I’m feeling unsettled. Uncertain. And I’m aching to get off my feet. So I let her walk away from me, and I head into the living room and lower into the green chair Emma brought over the other day. It feels like sitting in a cardboard box, but I can’t get up.

“Oh, no,” she says when she returns a few minutes later with a mug full of tea I have no intention of drinking. She captures her full bottom lip between her teeth. “That chair’s no good for sitting.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

SEAMUS

“You gave Chuck a chair he can’t sit in?” I ask as she sets the tea down on the coffee table after finding a coaster.

“What can I say? I give shitty presents.”

She grips my hand as if to help me up, but I shake my head. My rib is protesting the thought of any movement, even though no part of me is fond of this chair. “I don’t think I can get up right now.”

“Do you want your tea?”

“No.” She’s still holding my hand, a look of entreaty on her face, and I decide to be honest. “I want you.”

She watches me for a few seconds, as if she’s deciding whether she’d like to kiss me or kill me. “Five minutes ago, you were trying to convince me to stay away from you.”

“What can I say? I’m a complicated man.”

And then she surprises the shit out of me by sitting on my lap, straddling me, careful to stay away from my ribs.

I give her a questioning look, and she says, “Lucky for you, I’m a complicated woman.”

“There was never any question about that,” I murmur, soaking in my fill of her face. It’s different up close, gifting me with details most people don’t get to see. The tiny washof freckles across the bridge of her nose, a little curl of short hair at her temple. A dark ring around the edges of her irises. Instinctively, I want these details to be mine.

Smiling, she says, “It seems only fair for me to be uncomfortable with you, considering I brought the chair over.”

“I’m not uncomfortable anymore. Besides, you heard what the nurse said. I need to sit. I’m following instructions.”

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