“You wound me.”
“You kidnapped me. I’d say we’re nowhere near even.” Something she had to keep reminding herself, though the fact she kept forgetting annoyed the hell out of her. Only a weak woman would get all aflutter over a man who obviously meant her harm. A weak woman or one with a death wish.
Carrigan wasn’t either.
So why was she here, sitting across from him as if they were best pals? She leaned back and recrossed her legs. “Why are you stalking me?”
“If you’d remember, you are the one who came to me. I was just sitting here, minding my own business, enjoying a drink.” His cocky grin said otherwise. He’d known she would come back—that she wouldn’t be able to resist. The knowledge he’d read that much in her personality in such a short time set her teeth on edge.
“Enjoy it in a different bar. Hell, in a different city.” She had to get a handle on her attitude. As it was, she was practically waving a giant sign telling him that he got under her skin. There was no reason to hand him over more power than he already had—and he already had too much.
“Now, lovely, don’t be rude. I’m buying you a drink.” He nodded at the bartender as she handed over a duplicate of the dirty martini already sitting on the table.
“I can buy my own damn drink.” She sounded surly and childish and hated it. You can do better than this. So do it. She watched a trio of girls who couldn’t possibly be twenty-one pass their booth, hips swinging wildly and sending come-fuck-me looks at the man across from her. He didn’t even glance their way, which only aggravated her further. “What do you want, James?”
“You already know the answer to that question.”
Did she? Because she was starting to wonder, even though she knew better. He wants the album back. Plain and simple. She’d have to be a damn fool to think he actually wanted her. “Pretend I don’t.”
Instead of jumping right on that, he snagged his beer and drank deep while he watched her with those unnerving blue eyes. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he saw more than she wanted to reveal. Carrigan took a sip of her own drink—perfect, as always—determined to wait him out and not speak again first.
The silence stretched out between them like a live thing, twisting and snapping and full of too many things best left unsaid. Why? Why did you do it? Why did you make me feel so much and then turn around and betray me in every way that counted? They were questions she’d never allow herself to ask because even the asking showed him that she cared in some small way. She didn’t. She looked away, doing her damnedest to ignore the way her hand shook when she brought her drink to her lips.
“Why did your father bring you back to the city?”
It was so unexpected, she almost answered truthfully. She caught herself at the last minute. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“It does.” He shifted, once again drawing her attention to his big thighs. Powerful thighs. Every part of him was built powerfully, like he was a gladiator from ancient times. She had no problem picturing him wielding a sword in an arena somewhere, cutting through his enemies with the same determined look on his face that he wore now. “Word has it that your father is arranging a marriage for you.”
“Gossip is bad for the soul,” she said in her most prim tone, even as her mind raced. She hadn’t expected the news to be kept secret—her father had no reason to hide his intentions for her—but hearing it from a man who was both an enemy and something more was disconcerting, to say the least. She’d only been back in town for three days—either James had an inside man, or her father had put together that damn list of his long before she drove back into Boston. A thought struck her, and she blurted out, “You aren’t thinking of throwing your hat into the ring, are you?”
His gaze sharpened on her face, searching for an answer she wasn’t sure she had. “It would almost be worth seeing the look on his face when I did.”
Her brain caught up to her mouth. Finally. She pressed her lips together, as if that would really do anything to help her maintain control. Control was one thing she’d always prided herself on having—if not over her life, then at least over herself. Being this close to James, even with a table between them, was making it hard to focus. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
Yes. He so would. And her father wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him, tentative truce or not. Carrigan stared at her drink, tilting it this way and that in the low light. After everything that happened, it shouldn’t concern her if James Halloran had a death wish. It should serve him right to take a bullet the same way her little brother had—even if he wasn’t the one who gave the order—but the thought of the world no longer holding him in it…it was a cold one. “Don’t do it.”