Jade

---

“Neither is breaking into my house,” I replied with all the anger I could muster.

Which wasn’t very much.

It was hard to show how pissed off I was when my heart was pounding so hard I thought it would beat out of my chest.

Yes, I talked a good game, and thought I might be able to back it up, but not against him.

On instinct, I lifted my eyes to his face, studying him now as I hadn’t been able to before. He was mouthwateringly handsome, probably six and a half feet tall, body solid muscle. His dark auburn hair was slightly longer than fashionable, but the look worked on him, gave his chiseled face a bit of softness that made him that much more appealing. When I’d first seen him, I’d had instant recognition, saw from his build, the shape of his face that he was related to the Murphys.

But I didn’t know him, and that he was here couldn’t mean anything good.

“Did Patrick send you?” I spat, able to muster more anger now.

I had thought Patrick and I had come to some kind of understanding, reached an informal truce, but perhaps I had been mistaken.

No, there is no perhaps about it. I had definitely been mistaken.

I wanted to scream with my anger and frustration. I’d been beating myself up for not giving him a chance and now he had sent one of his henchmen relatives to rub me out.

The nerve.

At the very least my anger at Patrick gave me the strength to calm some of my rampant fear.

This cousin, or whoever the hell he was, didn’t respond immediately.

Instead he squeezed my wrist a little tighter.

“Let the mug go,” he said on a low voice, the soft lilt of his accent and cool calm in his words all the more terrifying.

“No way,” I said, looking at him incredulously.

He blinked, the motion drawing attention to his outrageously long-for-a-man eyelashes. They were faint auburn, darker than his hair, and a lovely complement to the brown amber of his eyes.

They were lovely eyes really, in a lovely face. More than lovely if I was being honest. And given that those lovely eyes were in the head of a handsome man who was about to kill me with the giant paws he had wrapped around my wrists, there was no reason not to be honest.

It occurred to me that I was probably out of my damn mind for thinking about his looks at a time like this, but what else was there to think about?

The fact that my time here on this earth, short, meaningless, was about to be over?

Or that I would leave, never having told the person who mattered most to me how much she meant, or having apologized for not being the kind of friend I should have been?

No, that couldn’t be my last thought.

It wouldn’t be.

Given my limited options, I took the only one I could.

Without stopping to think, I stretched up as tall as I could, needing to go to the very tip of my tippiest toes, and then I kissed him.

I wasn’t sure which of us was more shocked.

Probably him.

Or maybe me.

I’d kissed him on impulse, knowing that doing so was probably insane but feeling compelled to do it anyway.

Not that I really knew what I was doing, mind you. I had no idea, but I went on instinct, and brushed my lips against his, and then pushed my tongue just between them.

Circumstances notwithstanding, it was a breathtaking experience.

His body, strong against mine, his lips almost decadent in their softness. The taste of him amazing, unlike anything I had ever experienced, something I knew I would get addicted to if I weren’t about to meet my maker.

And then nothing.

He pulled away from me, but didn’t let go of my wrists.

My lids had drooped low, but I opened them fully and locked eyes with his. The amber brown was a storm of emotion, surprise, anger, confusion.

I couldn’t feel sorry for him. He was the one who had barged in.

“Let it go,” he said again, using that soft voice, one that seemed to slink through my body, settle in my core.

He tightened his hold on my wrists ever so slightly, and I finally gave up in defeat.

I loosened my fingers and let my improvised weapon fall to the ground harmlessly. It thudded quietly against the small rug I kept in front of the sink.

For a moment I looked at the tea bag that lay there, wondering if it were going to stain the rug. Then I chuckled.

I was fucking nuts.

I had just kissed this…I didn’t know what to call him, so henchman seemed like a good enough word. I had just kissed this henchman, and I was worried about my carpet.

I laughed again, then shook my head.

He loosened his hold on my wrists, and I looked at him again. He looked even more surprised now than he had before.

His face, all heavy jaw and patrician nose, perfectly sculpted cheekbones, looked shocked.

“What the hell is wrong with you, girl?” he said.

“How long do you have?” I responded. I laughed again, looked at him to watch his expression.

“Are you cracked?” he asked, looking at me suspiciously.

“Do you really need to ask that question?” I asked, tilting my head at him.

“You are. Do I need to slap you or something, bring you back to your senses?” he said.

I narrowed my eyes at him, my visceral reaction to his words as strong as it was uncontrollable. “Not if you know what’s good for you,” I said on a low, threatening voice.

Which was all bluster, something I suspected he knew. He was holding my wrists, and I didn’t doubt he could crush them if he so chose. And I was fairly sure there was no way I could fight my way out of his grip. But for him to even suggest such a thing…

“You know what? You Murphys are un-fucking-believable,” I said, tilting my head at him.

He gaped at me, appearing not to know what to say. But I knew what to say, and I proceeded to say it. Patrick wasn’t here, so might as well get this all off my chest.

“Patrick comes to me, talks about a truce, and then sends you here. You break in, and then get upset that I’m going crazy. What the hell!”

He narrowed his eyes, and I went quiet, not liking the expression on his face.

He had been calm before, but at what I had said, something in him changed.

I wasn’t entirely sure what, but I was entirely sure that I didn’t want to wait to figure it out.

“No offense, of course,” I said quickly. “I’m sure Patrick has his reasons for sending you here.”

My attempt at damage control went over like a lead balloon.

The stranger looked even angrier.

“He did not send me here,” he said flatly, his voice barely more than an angry rumble.

“What?” I said.

“You keep saying that, girl, but Patrick didn’t send me here,” he said.

I frowned, tilted my head again, confused now.

“He didn’t?” I said.

The man shook his head quickly, and I believed him. My gut told me he was telling the truth, and besides, his reaction was way over the top for it to be a lie. I’d been afraid before, still was, but that fear had been outpaced by curiosity.

So Patrick hadn’t sent him, which opened up a whole ’nother can of worms.

“If Patrick didn’t send you, why are you here?” I asked.

The stranger did something that completely shocked me.

He smiled.