Patrick

I hadn’t planned that kiss, but I certainly didn’t regret it.

Even without having heard Nya’s conversation, I knew she now had some idea of who I was, what my family did. When she’d turned to face me, her eyes had been wary, her expression slightly pinched. I’d watched her as she’d watched me, trying to figure me out, trying to figure out how she’d missed what probably now seemed obvious.

I’d seen the struggle in her eyes, saw as she tried to process what was happening between us. Saw how she’d tried to fight her attraction to me. And when she’d told me she wasn’t afraid of me, there had been no turning back.

She wasn’t afraid of me, and that kiss had proved that she wanted me. But there was still a question of whether she actually liked me.

That very thought annoyed the shit out of me. What the fuck should I care if she liked me or not? I shouldn’t, told myself I didn’t, but in truth, I did.

Pathetic. But what could I say? I clearly had a soft spot for Nya. I’d just have to make sure it didn’t influence me too much, and I’d have to keep my fucking hands to myself. I thinned my lips in a frown, remembered the feeling of Nya’s body against mine.

That would be a tall order.

I’d closed the door but listened as she moved around the room. A few minutes later, I stood taller in anticipation as I heard her footsteps approach. I’d expected her to take longer, but now, I realized my mistake. My sweet Nya would consider that hiding, and that was something I knew she wouldn’t abide.

I wanted to smile when she opened the door and just managed not to.

It didn’t matter.

She pushed past me without looking up. She stopped at the top of the stairs but she didn’t turn around, didn’t try to engage me at all.

I didn’t like that one bit.

If I hadn’t broken that kiss, we’d be fucking by now, but Nya was acting as if nothing had happened. I wanted to press the matter, wanted her to acknowledge at least that aspect of what was between us. But I held back, partially because I knew she was stressed, and mostly because I didn’t know what I was doing myself.

“You hungry?” I asked as I came to stand beside her at the top of the stairs.

She’d kept her eyes down, but when I spoke, she lifted them. She paused for a moment but then nodded, though I could see she didn’t like making even that minor concession.

“Come with me. I’ll make something,” I said.

Her eyes crinkled, but she didn’t speak as she followed me down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Nice place,” she said without an ounce of sarcasm as I pointed her toward one of the tall stools around the center island.

“This is a grand estate, Nya. ‘Nice place’ is the best you can do?” I asked.

She laughed, rolled her eyes, some of the tension of earlier breaking, much to my relief. “Sorry. What a grand estate you have, Patrick,” she said.

“Better,” I replied. “What do you want to eat?”

“I don’t care,” she said, shrugging.

“All right. I’ll make something quick,” I said.

We were both silent as I made French toast, eggs, and bacon. When I set the plate in front of Nya, she looked at it, then looked at me skeptically as I sat at the stool next to hers.

“What?” I asked.

She didn’t respond immediately, but instead took a bite of the bacon, then looked at me again skeptically before she took a forkful of the eggs.

Finally, she cut the French toast and took a bite. Her face twisted with pleasure, and she looked at me again surprised. But she didn’t speak, and instead ate her breakfast. When she was finished, she pushed the plate away and then dabbed at her face with her napkin.

“You like it?” I asked.

“You fishing for compliments, Patrick?” she replied.

“Maybe. You gonna indulge me?”

“My breakfast was acceptable,” she said.

She was silent for a moment and then she smiled, her expression bright.

“Right,” I said.

“It was actually pretty good. I’m surprised. Not that I take people on the surface, but that’s an unexpected skill,” she said.

“I’m the oldest of four. You pick up some things,” I replied.

I didn’t tell her that if I hadn’t learned, my brothers and I would have eaten dry cereal and canned beans, that if I hadn’t started working, we probably wouldn’t have eaten at all.

I also didn’t tell her that it had been years since I’d cooked for anyone. And never a woman.

No, I kept all that to myself. I wanted to share it with her, an unfamiliar impulse that made me stay silent. Besides, Nya wouldn’t give two shits about it anyway. She might be fond of my cock, but she was still uncertain about everything else. Anecdotes about my life were probably low on her list at the moment.

We sat in silence that was shockingly comfortable, and then she looked at me, her expression not telling me her thoughts specifically, but I could guess what they were. I didn’t say anything, would let her bring this to me.

“So you picked that up taking care of your siblings?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“And not doing other things?”

“I feel like you have a question for me, Nya,” I said, sad that the few moments of comfort were gone but knowing this was a conversation we were going to have and ready to get it out of the way.

“My father learned how to cook in prison,” she said.

I paused a moment, considered what her words told me, what her voice did. Her unspoken question had been apparent, as had her anger. Proof that my initial impression had been right. Even without the shooting, Nya would never accept me. Her past wouldn’t allow her to.

“I doubt mine learned anything quite so useful there,” I said, knowing it was futile, but still somehow hoping Nya could see we weren’t so different after all.

That seemed to take her aback for a moment, but only a moment.

“Who are you?” she said.

Huh. I was surprised again, even when I shouldn’t have been. The question itself was deceptively simple, but I heard the layers in it, just as Nya had intended me to, found myself off balance as I considered the answer.

“Patrick Murphy,” I finally said, giving her a deceptively simple answer, one I knew she heard the layers in as I had hers.

“Mobster Patrick Murphy?” she replied.

“Alleged. I’ve never been convicted of anything,” I said, giving her a glib answer, not embarrassed but for the first time caring what someone who wasn’t one of my brothers thought of me.

“That’s as good as a confession,” she said, her eyes widening.

Her anger was evident, but it wasn’t what I had been expecting. Tears, fear, yes, but this anger hadn’t crossed my mind. Then again, nothing about Nya had been expected.

“So that’s what your friend told you?”

“Leave her out of it,” she said.

“Nya, you and your friend have nothing to fear from me,” I said.

“So you say. But strangely enough, I’d never been shot at before I met you. Interesting coincidence,” she said.

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t want it to happen,” I said.

“No wonder you were so fucking relaxed this morning. Getting shot at is just a Tuesday for you,” she said.

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. “Not quite.”

“Why aren’t you denying it?”

“Denying what?” I asked.

“Who you are? What you are?”

“I’m nothing more than what I said before.”

She shook her head. “That’s not true, Patrick, and I think you know it.”

I couldn’t argue with her, didn’t even try. Instead, I gathered our dishes and moved to the sink. I could feel Nya’s gaze on me as I moved, but I didn’t look at her.

This thing with Nya was more troubling than being shot at. That was something I could handle and would, but with her, I was moving into uncharted waters. The physical connection and pull between us was undeniable, but it went beyond that.

There was something deeper, something more.

I felt good around her, found her charm and intelligence as engaging as her body. The truth was, I felt a stronger connection with her than I ever had with anyone else. Which was stupid. She was a stranger, one who was attracted to me but who clearly hated my life.

The smart thing would be to walk away and forget I’d ever met her. It was also impossible, my mind rejecting the thought almost instantly after it had been formed.

“I should go home,” Nya said.

Apparently she was having the same internal conversation that I was.

I finished washing the last dish and then turned, leaned against the sink, and watched her. She should go home. That would be for the best.

But I didn’t want her to leave.

“I’ll take you tomorrow,” I replied.

To my surprise, she didn’t argue.