Page 150 of Savage Hearts
“It’s super complimentary, though. You’ll like it.”
“I already know, baby. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Oh. Okay. So the feeling’s mutual?”
“Fucking hell, woman. Shut up.”
He kisses me again, giving me a very good reason to.
In the morning, we return to the cabin in the woods.
On the drive from the airport down the rutted dirt road, I gather my courage and ask Mal about Spider. I’m hoping since we’re not in bed, he won’t get so mad.
I’m wrong.
As soon as I mention his name, he goes stiff. “He’s alive.”
“Is he going to stay that way?”
“Not if you keep asking me about him.”
“I’m only asking because you haven’t told me anything. The last I heard, you’d drugged him and told him to leave the country, but he hadn’t.”
He’s silent for a long time. I’m not sure he’ll ever answer me, but then he does, his jaw tight, looking straight out the windshield as he drives.
“He’s still in Moscow. Sniffing around like a dog.”
“What are you planning on doing about him?”
“Nothing.”
I examine his profile, but can’t get a clue to what he’s thinking. It’s like looking at a brick wall.
If the brick wall wanted to smash something, that is.
“I’m sorry that this conversation is pissing you off, but I have to know that he’s going to be okay.”
With slow, precise enunciation, he replies, “Why is that so important to you?”
“Mal, look at me.”
He clenches his jaw instead.
“Come on. Just for a sec.”
He draws an exaggerated breath, exhales, then glances in my direction.
As soon as our eyes meet, I say softly, “I don’t have feelings for him. I never did. I promise you. But I liked him, and he was really nice to me. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him. Okay?”
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then looks back out the windshield.
We drive for a while in silence. I let him work it over in his head without pestering him, and am finally rewarded when he says grudgingly, “I’ve already put the word out that he’s off-limits. No one’s to touch him. If anything bad happens to him, it won’t be our doing.”
Relieved, I scoot across the seat and duck under his arm. Cuddling up to him, I kiss his cheek and whisper, “Thank you, sweetie.”
He says vehemently, “I hate that Irish fucker.”
“I know.”
