Blaine laughed. "Haven't diagnosed me with a hero complex, then, little dove?"
"No-no, Mr. Steel, that I haven't. You are about as far from a hero as it gets."
"How rude," he hummed. "And after I swooped in and saved you from those big, bad bullies. Aren't therapists supposed to build up their patients' self-esteem?"
"Not when that patient's ego is already way overblown. But it's not like you'll be my patient going forward, so we're good regardless." Savior or not, being back in Blaine's presence and feeling my body instinctively lean toward him reminded me of how much of a jerk he'd been during our session. I scowled at his handsome profile for good measure.
"Does that mean you've changed your mind about shagging me?" He didn't even look at me, just grabbed my arm and stepped off the pavement so he could lead me across the road.
I did my best to ignore the shiver of awareness his touch drove through my skin, even through my wooly coat. Damn him and whatever all-male pheromones he seemingly bathed in before going out! And damn my traitorous ovaries.
"No offense, but I would rather slit my wrists." I yanked my elbow out of his grasp the moment we were on the pavement again. "Does this usually work for you? Do women really drop their knickers when you make your interest in their fun bits known?"
"Generally, they do, yes. In fact, your continued refusal might end up doing permanent damage to my fragile self-image. Isn't it in your ethical code that you must do what you can to help those who come to you seeking help? You really want to risk your professional reputation over the welfare of a patient?"
I really should have learned my lesson from our encounter in my office, but every word out of his mouth grated against my nerves-partly because of my frustration at my body's reactions, and partly because he served them with the most obscene smirk I'd ever seen. So instead of biting my tongue, I dug my heels in and rounded on him.
"I realize that your crippling self-hatred is so tied to your masculinity that you constantly try to undermine strong women with crude attempts at sexual dominance, but maybe you should try to see us as more than something to bury your cock in, hmm? Whatever it is you're so desperately trying to hide from yourself, it isn't going to go away by sexually harassing anyone who thinks to challenge you."
Blaine's deviant lips twitched, most likely at making me lose my temper-again. "Ah, but I have nothing against strong women, Miss Holler. I'll even let you be on top."
I took a deep-deep-breath and counted to ten. "Sometimes, Blaine, we don't get what we want. It's part of our emotional development. Clearly, you've missed out, so see this as an opportunity to better yourself. If I had gotten the pony I desperately wanted for my sixth birthday, I would probably have ended up a horrible human being who thought she could get anything and anyone she pointed at, as well." Yeah, I was subtle. "But I didn't, and look at me now, all capable of acting like a normal person."
My righteous fury had done nothing to dim the devilish gleam in Blaine's eyes. "You say I'm the one who's scared, but you should see yourself-you look positively terrified that a night in the sack with me will make that prim and proper façade of yours come tumbling down."
Well, ouch. That hit a tad too close to home. I took a step back and shook my head, disengaging as I should have done from the start. "I truly hope you learn to drop the bad boy act one day so you can get rid of your demons. Goodbye, Blaine."
I spent the train ride home doing my best to forget I'd ever met Blaine Steel, but it was hard to ignore how completely he'd gotten under my skin.
I knew it wasn't just because he'd made my panties damp. No, it was also because he reminded me so strongly of all the things I'd run away from, and all the things I still woke up from nightmares of. He was dangerous; there was no doubt in my mind about that after having looked into his eyes. He was the type of man who could and would crush a person if it suited him, and yet … I hadn't done everything I could to fly under the radar. I'd argued with him and shoved his flaws in his face, like some moron with a death wish.
Perhaps it meant that I was finally starting to heal? Maybe, if I could face a man like Blaine and not immediately turn around and run in the other direction, then my childhood had finally lost its petrifying grip on me.
I felt marginally better when I got off the train, but I was still too emotionally squashed to consider cooking.
I stopped by my local chippy on my way home, giving my current diet a remorseful thought as the bell jingled merrily upon my entry.
"Chicken Kung Pao, Mira?" Mr. Chang sent me a friendly smile when the smell of fried food and soy sauce enveloped me.
Okay, so maybe there was a reason I never really completed a diet, leaving me in an eternal cycle of restrictive eating, binging, and then guilt. When your local chippy knew both your name and your regular order, there weren't all that many excuses left.
"Yeah, thanks, Chang," I said, sending him a pale smile. "With extra sauce, please."
Oh well, the guilt would have to wait until tomorrow. Right now, all I wanted out of life was my Kung Pao, my sofa, and a date with Doctor Who.
I was already considering maybe slapping on an episode of Coronation Street after the good doctor when I let myself into my apartment ten minutes later, balancing my bag and the food while pulling the keys out of the lock as the door slammed shut behind me. But my musings were cut short when I reached for the light switch and nothing happened.
Dammit. Was the fuse blown? I fumbled my way through the hallway in the darkness toward my kitchen, praying it could be fixed by flipping random switches in the fuse box. Getting an electrician out after hours in London was about as likely as seeing a rainbow-colored unicorn strutting down the street wearing a tutu.
It wasn't until I got to the kitchen that I realized I wasn't alone in the flat.
Something scraped against the floor in my living room, but even before I'd managed to convince myself it must have been something outside making a weird noise, I heard the unmistakable sound of boots against the wooden floors, making their way toward the hallway. Cutting off my only escape route.
My pulse surged as I spun around, mindlessly groping for a weapon from my kitchen counter. I grabbed a wooden handle and ripped my weapon to me, dropping the Kung Pao on the floor.
"I know you're there!" I hissed, my voice sounding somewhat more steady than I felt.
The steps stopped right in the doorway to the kitchen, and then a cone of light momentarily blinded me as someone switched on a flashlight.
I squinted against it, not wanting to lose track of my would-be assailant-and realized my weapon of choice was a wooden spoon.
"Hello, Aignéis," a cold, dreadfully familiar voice said from beyond the glare. "Or Mira, I suppose you go by these days."
A small whimper made its way through my throat, but I don't know how, because every single muscle in my body spasmed and then froze as the man shone the flashlight onto his own face, casting it in an eerie glow.
They had found me.
*
Chapter 3
Blaine
"You what?" I stared at my father, a bottle of beer frozen halfway on its way to my mouth.
He shot me a cold look-the one that I'd learned to take as a warning early on in my life. "I've arranged a marriage for you. It's a business deal with the Clery family from Belfast. They've been pushing for our help up north, and we unfortunately owe them. This is the best way to pay our debt without actually giving them anything of real value."
Apart from one of his sons, of course. Not that William Steel had ever seen any of us as much more than business assets.
I slammed the bottle of beer down on the kitchen counter, unable to keep my infamous temper fully in check. "Why the fuck me? Do I really strike you as the best husband material around?"
My father raised an eyebrow at me. "You're my oldest available son, so the task falls to you. Besides, married life might do you some good. There's no reason to kick up a fuss about this, Blaine. You're going to go to the church, you're going to marry the girl and sit through the reception so the Clerys can show off their new connection, and then you can do whatever the hell you want, as long as you make sure your wife doesn't get herself killed by any of our enemies along the way. Though it would suit you to breed a couple of heirs while you're at it-it's way past time one of you began expanding the bloodline."
I bit back a snide remark about me being the oldest available son. If he hadn't sent Jeremy to the U.S. to strengthen his business ties across the pond, and Isaac wasn't in jail, then I would have been third down on the list of sons to get married off to improve the business. Not to mention I had absolutely zero intention of "expanding the bloodline." Ever. But I knew better than to challenge him. He would send every ounce of his considerable power to back me against any of the other crime families in town. Hell, he would even back me against the police if need be, but cross him … Cross him, and it no longer mattered that we were blood.