Dead of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 1)

I didn’t kiss back. My insides flailed in objection.

He released my face and placed his hands on the wall, caging me with his arms. Then he dipped his head to meet my eyes. “So?”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets to keep from yanking him back to my mouth. “I’ve worn out my welcome. It’s time I go. Alone.”

“Hmm.” He dropped his hands. “There’ll be wigs on the green, then. Till my last breath, I’m going to protect ye.”

His unblinking glare said he’d tie me up with rosary beads and stuff an alter cloth in my mouth if I challenged him. A challenge I would normally not back down from.

“I won’t be responsible for your vow.”

“Aw, ye pain in the hole. Ye know full well the vow is futile without ye.”

I rolled my head back against the wall. “Like tits on a nun.”

“Feckin’ apt. Dried up useless tits. Now let’s go see wha’ we can scrape up for dinner.”

“Jaysus’ bloody bitch-bag.” Roark’s roar jerked me awake the next morning. He was in the shower.

I snorted as I rolled out of bed. Bet that mouth had earned him hours of penance.

“Everything okay in there?” I asked through the door.

“Out of water,” he hollered back then opened the door and kissed my cheek. “Sorry I woke ye.”

I followed him to the clothing rack. What would he do if I tugged the towel hanging on his narrow hips? Oh so tempting…

“Pipe must be crocked,” he said. “I have to go up.”

“Crocked? Like broke?”

“Aye,” he said, distracted.

I fixed breakfast while he dressed. After we ate, he checked the pipes running through the bunker. I gathered my weapons. I could look for more clothes. Replenish the mags for the carbine. Maybe rummage through a library. Look for Jesse.

He caught up with me in the kitchen and snatched the pistol from the island. “Quit your running around like a blue-arsed fly. You’re not going.”

“Hell if I’m not. Give me back my gun.”

He flipped it over. “Where’s the safety?”

Duh. Big lever on the side. “In the trigger. Now give it.” I held out my hand and curled my fingers back and forth.

He crouched in front of me, flicked the strap on my thigh holster and seated the gun. Then he rose, his green eyes as still and deep as a Scottish loch and fixed on me. He murmured from inches away, “I’ll feel better if ye den’ go.”

“And I’ll feel better if you stop thinking of me as a weak little bitch.”

“I den’—” A muscle jumped in his cheek. He leaned in and caressed my lips with his Irish lilt. “I think you’re the only lass left in the world and not worth risking on a water errand I can do alone.”

I resisted the urge to step back. “Too bad. Oh, and while we’re out, we’re swinging by a library. And shopping. I need clothes.”

He scowled.

Oh my, that didn’t look right on his gorgeous face. Still, “You can’t keep me here.”

He gripped my jaw. “I know it, ye obstinate woman.” He lightened his grip. Swayed close. Closer. Deliberate and watchful, he kissed the corners of my mouth.

My heart picked up its pace. His lips parted over mine.

I stepped back. Affection without making it about shagging? Did he part his lips when he kissed his mother? Who was he kidding? I didn’t run, but I didn’t linger. Besides, I had blades to sharpen and ammo to don.

Twenty minutes later, I waited for him by the oval exit in the workout room. I traced the blood stains on the fur sleeve of my cloak. Blood from a chest wound that would’ve been fatal if Jesse hadn’t arrived when he did. Why did he follow me across the Atlantic? Had he followed me to the bunker as well? Could he still be up there?

I blew out a breath. I’d been hidden down there for a month. How stupid to think he waited.

Roark’s boots echoed in the passageway. A gasp escaped me when his unsheathed sword glinted in the doorway. Clad in full cassock, rosary and collar, he read the amusement on my face and grinned. Then he raised the sword. “Hello. Me name is Inigo Montoya. Ye killed me father. Prepare to die.”

I laughed with pangs in my side at hearing the Princess Bride quote inflected with his accent. He sheathed the blade and approached me while he elided, “El bonny lass-ocho, ye muy beautiful temptresta. Ye put fire-ito in me burrito and make me feel like elwanker-ito.”

Between fits of laughter, I said, “I don’t know Spanish, but I’m pretty sure you won’t find wanker-ito in the dictionary.”

When he stepped toe-to-toe with me, his repartee came in hot breaths on my neck. “I may have muchocabeza and uno wee heart-ito but te amo mija.”

“Te amo mija?”

He spun the wheel on the door and led me into the alcove.