After a warning from Kane not to disclose anything about his identity, my brother, or our current situation, we head up to the restaurant to meet Yve.

I can feel his gaze on me from his position near the bar as I take a seat at the booth across from her. You’d think after being near him all day, I’d be used to his scrutiny, but it’s still unsettling. As are my warring feelings when it comes to him.

Before I knew who Kane was, he fascinated me. Now? My fascination is growing to unhealthy levels.

He’s nothing like I expected. I thought he’d sit in the corner of my office and watch the door, like Scar does when he’s guarding Keira, but Kane shocked me by helping. When I dumped an entire stack of invoices off the edge of my overwhelmed desk, he picked up every single one and reordered them.

It took me a few minutes to process the fact that a man who is probably more accustomed to handling bullets than paperwork was alphabetizing my invoices.

It has to be completely beneath him, and yet, he didn’t hesitate.

I’ve been the low woman on the totem pole at Seven Sinners for so long that it’s strange to have someone take anything off my plate. And now, instead of looming over me in a semi-public space, he’s watching from a nondisruptive distance. Well, nondisruptive to everything but my concentration.

“You’re as jumpy as a cat in heat. What’s going on?” Yve studies me, seeming to zero in on my every fidgeting gesture.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Drank too much coffee this morning.”

“Should probably have some whiskey to help tame that buzz then, yeah?”

“Not for me. I don’t drink whiskey, especially during work hours.”

“Fair enough, but I’m ordering some. I took the afternoon off. JP is holding down the fort, along with a few new employees, and I’m calling for a ride home.”

“Feel free. I’m happy to serve you all the whiskey you could possibly drink.” I wave over one of the waitstaff, and Yve orders her whiskey and I order us an appetizer. As soon as the server steps away, I get down to business. “Tell me about this event you want to plan.”

On the phone, Yve mentioned setting up a whiskey-tasting night at her boutique as a way to drive people into the new lingerie store.

“I want to call it Frisky Whiskey Night at the Pretty Kitty.”

I grin. “That’s perfect.”

“I thought so. My competition is big into champagne and shopping nights, but that’s boring. Whiskey is so much more fun, and I think it would really suit my clientele better.”

I flip open my planner. “When are you thinking?”

We discuss a few dates, debate them, and finally settle on a winner. During our conversation, I can’t help but look over Yve’s shoulder a half dozen times at Kane.

When I shut my notebook and attempt one more surreptitious glance, she shakes her head.

“Really, girl? You aren’t subtle at all.” She casually glances over her shoulder, and from her shift in posture, I know the moment she spots him. Her attention swings back to me.

“Now I get it. Who’s the lucky man?” She pauses, holding up a finger. “Wait. That’s him, isn’t it? The one you had the thing for that you didn’t know his name?”

“Shhh. Please don’t say anything. It’s not a thing. There’s nothing happening. It’s no big deal.”

She leans back in the booth and tilts her chin. “You’re a terrible liar. That’s totally him. Now I see why you kept going back. I would’ve too. You know, if I didn’t have my own man. He’s delicious.”

“It’s nothing. Really. It’s not going anywhere.” Even as I say the words, I want to snatch them back because I don’t want them to be true. Then again, how can they be anything but the truth?

He’s a hit man. We’re going to track down my brother, figure out how to keep him and me safe, and get rid of the people who want him dead. And then . . . it’s over. Simple as that.

Yve’s gaze turns mocking. “Girl, I know all about not wanting to get involved with a guy. I even know all about hating a guy, or at least telling myself I do, which clearly isn’t your issue here. Sometimes the universe has different plans than you do, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.” She pretends to reach for her purse that hangs on the end of our booth and glances over her shoulder again. A moment later, she turns back to me. “He can’t take his eyes off you.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Pshh, girl. He’s practically eating you alive. That man looks like he’d drag you into a corner and have his way with you just as soon as eat that burger in front of him.”

She isn’t lying. When Kane’s gaze sweeps over me, there’s no denying the hunger.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper.

“Is he a good man?”

Yve’s question should be an easy one to answer, but I freeze. Is Kane a good man?

“I guess that depends on how you define good.”

“He hit you? Talk down to you? Make you feel stupid?”

Yve’s stare is intense, and I hate to think she has experience with any of those things, but given the sharpness in her tone, I know she must.

“No. Definitely not.”

“Is he inconsiderate? A liar? An asshole? Mean to kids and dogs?”

I shake my head. “No. Although I’ve never seen him with a kid or a dog.”

“You think he’d be a dick to them?”

I try to picture it, but I truly can’t. “I can’t imagine he would be.”

“Would he hide a body for you?”

That question takes me completely off guard. “What?”

“Would he cover your ass no matter what? You get that feeling from him?”

She doesn’t know it, but he’s already committed to physically covering my ass and doing whatever else he can to help me.

“Yes. He would,” I reply unequivocally.

“He’s kind to you? Helpful? Always make sure you come?”

It’s lucky I’m not chewing because I would have choked. “Oh yeah.”

“Then he’s a good man, or at least a good enough one.”

I contemplate her requirements for being a good man, and I’m a little stunned. All the things she said—the positives and the negatives—would separate bad from good . . . but there’s so much more to it. Isn’t there?

“No amount of money can make me take a job if I won’t be able to live with myself after it’s done.”

That’s what Kane said when I dropped the bomb of a question on him this morning.

He might do bad things, but does that make him a bad person? My brother does things that plenty of people would classify as bad, but he loves me like crazy and would do anything for me. I don’t think he’s a bad person.

At the end of the day, that’s what truly matters. Isn’t it?

---

Yve’s comments leave me with plenty to think about for the rest of the day, made even more complicated by the man across the desk from me.

Kane’s presence makes me hyperaware of every movement I make, down to the slide of my blouse across my skin. In the middle of reviewing résumés, my mind wanders to what happened in the shower last night, and the strange mix of vulnerability and strength it revealed.

My concentration completely blown, I slap my laptop closed. “I’m done for the day.”

Kane’s eyebrows rise. “You sure?”

I nod. “Yep. Hit the wall.”

He stands and stretches. “Finally. I pull plenty of long days, but you’re a workhorse.”

“I’m not sure I like that description.”

I unplug my laptop and spin my chair around to grab my bag off the floor to pack it up. Once I have it in my hands, I straighten in my chair, intending to spin back around, but Kane is behind me. I didn’t hear him move, but I can feel him there.

“You’re smart. Determined. Disciplined. I’m impressed. I meant it as a compliment.”

I want to curl up in his heat and his clean, spicy scent, but his kind words make me wary. Like I’m missing something.

I spin around in my chair to face him. “Why do I feel like you want something from me?”

He wraps a hand around each of the arms of my chair, caging me in. “Because I do.”

My heart stutters. “What?”

“You, naked.”

Heat flares in my belly, not just at his words but from the need rolling off him. I want to bend. Give him everything he wants. And that scares me.

How did I let him gain this much power over me?

“You don’t need to soften me up with flattery to get that, as we both know.”

I try to look away, but he rolls the chair closer to him and captures my attention once more.

“What the hell does that mean?”

I glare. “I’m already fucking you. There’s no need to turn on the charm now. It’s pretty much a foregone conclusion . . . unless there’s something else you’re after.”

His gaze narrows, and for long moments, a heavy silence builds between us like crates of dynamite.

“You don’t see it. How the fuck do you not see it?” His brows dive together as he shakes his head.

“What are you talking about?”

“You still don’t have the first clue about your own self-worth.”

I bristle at his comment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Obviously.” He pushes off the arms of the chair and rises. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”