Page 171 of Claimed At First Sight

The younger men carry themselves similarly. Their light brown hair is cut short at the sides, and their eyes seem to be a darker shade of a winter sea. The younger of the two looks relaxed. The other merely pretends to be.

Despite his loose, almost casual posture, something about him puts me on edge. And it’s not the faint scar that disappears into the collar of his shirt.

Even seated, he radiates contained violence. Not the polished, controlled kind Maximo projects, but something rougher. Like a dog straining against a leash. The sort of man who might smile while breaking someone’s nose.

A chill crawls down my spine.

Perhaps it’s the way his gaze keeps sweeping the room with a complete lack of warmth in his expression. Or maybe it’s simply instinct. I never want anything to do with him.

Jonas arrives with our food and places each plate before us.

For a few moments, the conversation gives way to the sort of appreciative silence only good food deserves.

I take another bite of the black cod before my gaze wanders back to the table with the three men.

That feeling of danger only grows stronger.

I observe them for another few seconds. The older man says something, and the man with the scar stares in our direction.

He doesn’t look away when he notices my eyes on him. I shift in my chair, fiddling with my napkin.

Lowering my voice, I say to Maximo, “Those men are watching us.”

He calmly cuts into his steak.

“I know.” Then he adds, “They have been since they arrived.”

“They seem… dangerous.”

Maximo doesn’t spare them a glance.

“They are, but right now they aren’t a threat.”

I frown. “And how do you know that?”

“Because if they were, we wouldn’t still be sitting here.”

The certainty in his voice makes me pause. He truly believes it, as if there’s no scenario where we’d remain seated if there were actual danger.

I try not to but sneak another look at the men.

“What do they want?”

His gaze follows mine for the first time.

“They’re assessing.”

“Assessing what?”

His eyes settle on me and don’t leave. It’s strangely grounding and some of my unease drains away.

“You.”

The unease returns with a vengeance.

I set down my fork. “Why?”

“The older man is Cormac Donnelly.”