Page 114 of Wasted
He was failing at his attempt to sound casual or teasing. Even his tone gave away the tension building inside him, causing him to tap his fingers on his bouncing knee.
“That’s it.” He pointed at the upcoming entrance marked by the sign, Specialty Auto Repair.
Against her better judgment, she pulled into the small parking lot and slowly chose a stall.
“Thanks.” He released his seatbelt and instantly reached for the door handle.
“Cillian, wait.” She touched his left hand.
That stopped him. His gaze fell on her fingers making contact with his hand, and he settled back into the seat.
“I told you last night, I don’t want you doing anything rash.”
“It’s not rash. I’ve been thinking about it all night.”
“That’s not funny.” And even he didn’t look the slightest bit amused. “You know what I mean. If you turn to violence, you’ll only get yourself into trouble with the police, which won’t help me or anyone.”
“I can’t let him think he can hurt you, Vicks.” Cillian’s gaze locked on hers, his dark orbs sparking. “He’s not going to do that again.”
Her heart squeezed. Cillian was doing this for her. He was angry for her sake.
She let her fingers linger on his hand when she should pull away. Few people, maybe no other person, cared about her quite that much. She couldn’t help but be grateful.
“Thank you. It means…” She moistened her lips. She needed to be careful not to give him the wrong impression with her gratitude. “I’m grateful that you want to help me through this difficult situation, and that you’re willing to put yourself in harm’s way to do that.”
“How could I not?” His response nearly cut hers short as it spewed out with intense energy. He put his other hand on top of hers, holding her there. “If anything ever happened to you, Vicks…” The glint of pain in his eyes and the pinch of his features finished the sentence.
Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths as she stared into those eyes, unable to look away. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Her pulse raced.
He leaned toward her, slowly inching closer as he kept his hand between hers. His gaze lowered to?—
A loud rumble made her jump, pulling her hand free.
She looked out the windshield.
A heavyset man in coveralls spoke with another man by a large motorcycle that made the offending noise. Or the welcome one.
Unless she was very much mistaken, Cillian had been about to kiss her.
And she had been going to let him.
Chapter
Thirty-One
Cillian slowed his bike to a stop at the back door of the Chicago Renaissance Art Museum and took off his helmet.
Looked like no one was outside in the small lot for employees. Perfect timing to send a message.
He planted his feet on the ground on either side of the bike and rolled the throttle.
The engine revved nice and loud, the sound carrying far beyond the parking lot.
He rolled the throttle a few more times. Waited. Eyes on the solid back door.
Glenn must be busy.
Cillian revved the engine again. And again.
