Page 28 of Dublin Beast

We slip into a rhythm, our movements in sync, the space between us growing warm with the scent of sweat and leather. Every solidthudof glove against glove sends a spark through my system.

I push it down. It’s obviously been too long since I’ve been ravaged by a man with passion and power, because my body doesn’t usually weigh in when I’m working out.

“I’m sorry I upset you earlier.” I dodge a quick cross and reset my position. “I honestly bumped the table and saw the photo. I wasn’t snooping but I regret my comment because it obviously brought up something that hurts you.”

His jaw tenses. “All right. I apologize for snapping. Now, move on.”

Move on?Is that an invitation to change the subject or him telling me to mind my own business? Only one way to find out.

“So, what brings you to Liverpool? You seem to be a man on a mission—a mission that doesn’t seem to be going your way.”

His gaze narrows and I wonder if I’ve asked the wrong question and shut him down again.

“Ye don’t filter much, do ye?”

“Sorry.”

He chuckles. “Ye say that a lot.”

“Sorry. It’s a Canadian stereotype for a reason.”

He arches a brow. “Canadian, eh?”

I chuckle. “Yep. I say that, too. And you’re obviously Irish.”

“Aye, a Dublin boy, born and raised.”

I absorb a jab and step back. “So what brings you to Liverpool? A big Beatles fan?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to answer, but then he surprises me. “I’m looking for someone. And yer right, I’m no closer to findin’ her. You?”

“Same.” I absorb a jab and step back. “So, finding this mystery woman. Is it business or personal?”

“Och, a fair bit of both.” He shifts his stance, and I pivot to stay in position. “Speakin’ of business or personal, I’ve seen ye in the hotel with the Will Smith lookalike. He yer boyfriend?”

“Anton? Nope. I just met him a couple of weeks ago. He’s looking for someone, too.”

His eyes flick to mine, questioning. “There’s a great deal of that goin’ around.”

“Seems so.” I debate whether I should tell him details. He seemed to know Eddie Mason and wasn’t fond of the man. That’s a point in his favor. He might be able to tell me something I can’t glean from research alone.

I consider it for a few more swings of his fists and then decide—screw it. “Two of my best friends disappeared in Liverpool this summer. The police haven’t been any help. I came to investigate myself.”

He steps back, lowering his gloves. “And ye thought the best way to find out what happened was to get yerself abducted by the scum of the city?”

I shrug. “Anton knew every part of the plan and was my backup. If I failed to let him know I was all right, he had what he needed to take to the police.”

Bryan stops, his jaw flexing. “Why the fuck would he agree to riskin’ yer life in the off chance ye could learn about yer friends? Has the man no stones of his own?”

“I can’t comment on his manliness, but he’s been both worried and supportive. His sister is missing, and we both agreed that I—as a woman fitting the targeted pool of women going missing and a trained investigator—had a better shot at finding answers.”

He pulls off his gloves and walks over to the shelf to clean the equipment and grab a towel. Tossing the rolled fabric behind his neck, he turns back to scowl at me. “What kind of investigator? Are ye law enforcement, then?”

I roll my shoulders and shake my head. “No, I’m an investigative journalist.”

His gaze narrows, something unreadable flickering in those emerald eyes of his. “Ye need to stop. I commend yer intentions, but yer not of this world, lass. Mason isn’t just some low-level scumbag. If ye piss off men like him, ye don’t get a second chance.”

I snort. “That seems like a pot calling the kettle black situation. Aren’t you the one who pushed into his business and punched him in the face?”

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