The main room is about eighty feet long by sixty feet wide and vaults five stories to a muraled ceiling. On the second, third, fourth, and fifth floors, bookcases line each wall from base to cove molding. Behind elegant banisters, catwalks permit access, while ladders slide on oiled rollers from one section to the next.

But it’s the first floor I spend so much time on, with its freestanding bookcases crammed with all the latest, greatest reads standing tall on polished wood floors scattered with plush rugs. Two seating cozies, fore and aft, boast opulent yet comfy chesterfield sofas and brocaded chairs topped by soft throws, centered around my beloved respite from the Dublin rain and cold—fancy enameled gas fireplaces.

I glanced at my well-stocked magazine rack (sadly out of date) and my cashier’s counter. I smiled at the old-fashioned register with the tiny silver bell that tinkled whenever the drawer popped open.

I moved to the counter.

A note was propped on the register.

Welcome home, Ms. Lane.

“Arrogant, overconfident jackass.” Keys lay on the counter beside it.

I wondered what car he’d left me this time. I was reaching for the keys when, out of the blue, emotions bombarded me, intense and confusing. They were accompanied by a barrage of memories: the day I’d stumbled into this place, my anxiety at being lost, meeting Barrons for the first time, my naïve conviction that he was exactly the kind of man I would never date.

“And we haven’t dated.” I crushed the note in my fist. Just had completely uninhibited raw sex. Months of it.

I closed my eyes, more memories of this place crashing over me: the night I’d seen the Gray Man devour a woman’s beauty and had rushed here for answers, with no idea what was wrong with me but already suspecting it was permanent; the night I’d accepted his offer of a fourth-floor bedroom overlooking the back alley and moved in; the day my daddy had come looking for me and I’d realized I could never go home to Ashford until the madness in Dublin was over and I’d either succeeded or didn’t care because I’d be going home the same way as Alina, in a box; the night I’d given Barrons a birthday cake, then eaten it alone, after it had splatted from the ceiling.

I inhaled his scent. He was near, a few feet away. Lust nearly buckled my knees. He was a tireless lover. There was nothing off-limits with him.

“Ms. Lane.”

I fisted my hands in my pockets and opened my eyes. He stood across the counter, eyes dark, features impassive.

“Barrons.”

“It’s a Hummer.”

“Alpha?” I said hopefully.

His obsidian gaze mocked. Would I waste my time with anything less?

“Dani’s moving in,” I told him.

“Dani’s going back to the abbey.”

“Then I am, too.”

“I hear you’re not welcome there.”

“I will be soon. I have plans. And I need her.”

“You need me,” he said flatly. “I thought you’d have figured that out by now.”

I had. I kept getting knocked down. And I kept getting back up again, a little stronger each time. But I still wasn’t strong enough. One day I would be. Until then, Barrons was the only one that scared all my enemies away. If IYD really would have worked on Halloween, he definitely guaranteed me the highest odds of survival. I was done hopping from swell to swell, trying to avoid the tidals. Right or wrong, good or bad, I’d chosen: Barrons was my wave. But there was no way I was living alone with him. I needed a buffer, and my buffer needed a place to live, too.

“What’s wrong with Dani staying here?”

“She’s in more danger at your side.”

“I don’t think she’ll go. She has a mind of her own.”

“Then figure out how to convince her it’s best for both of you.”

“It might take a few days.” According to the LM, I had only three, anyway. “Give me that much, at least.” Once she was here, I’d work on keeping her here. And put her to work with her super -hearing and other senses at figuring out what was under his garage and how to get us down there. He might be my wave, but he wasn’t my surfboard. Knowledge and usefulness were all that stood between me and the riptide.

He studied me for a moment, then nodded tightly. “Forty-eight hours. Keep the kid under control and out of my way. And there are new rules. One: Stay away from Chester’s. That means a ten-block radius. Two: You share all pertinent information with me without my having to ask. Three: Keep the kid away from my garage. Four: If you try to force yourself into my head, I will force myself into your pants.”

“Oh! That’s total bullshit!”

“Tit for tat.” His gaze dropped to my breasts, and I had a sudden, much-too-detailed memory of yanking my shirt up while he’d watched them pop out, jiggling. “Or would that be tit for tit?”

“There’s no need to be rude.”

“I can think of endless needs to be rude.”

“Keep them to yourself.”

“Such a different tune you whistle now.”

“You sound angry, Barrons. Frustrated. What’s wrong? You get a little addicted to me?”

His lips drew back, baring his teeth. I’d felt them on my nipples. I could almost feel them there now.

“We fucked, Ms. Lane. Even cockroaches fuck. They eat each other, too.”

“Same page, Barrons.”

“Same bloody word,” he agreed.