Page 105

I bit my lip, but the laugh escaped anyway.

Twice was generous. I’d gotten a very good look at him, enough to know his cock was every bit as impressive as the rest of him, and I wasn’t remotely sorry I’d looked.

Apparently being a prisoner in a cartel cellar had done nothing to damage the man’s confidence. He’d actually had the nerve to tease me about staring.

I pulled on the shorts, but the image of him standing next to me flashed through my mind.

He’d seemed big sitting down, but I hadn’t understood exactly how much larger he was than me until he pushed himself upright and towered over me.

He was all battered, bare-chested Irish muscle, and even after everything they’d done to him, there was no hiding how powerful he was. My father’s men had gone after his thighs because they knew exactly how dangerous he’d be once he was free.

Even hurt, Lachlan had filled the room in a way Father never had. Father needed guards, guns, money, and everyone’s fear to make himself feel powerful.

I pulled the T-shirt over my head, then closed my eyes and imagined him fully healed.

Bad choice.

My imagination immediately ran wild.

Lachlan without restraints. Nothing holding those massive hands in check. His temper finally unleashed on the men who had tortured him.

I wanted to see it, and not from a safe distance either.

I wanted to be standing next to him when Father, Marcela, and her men realized the monster they’d chained had gotten loose.

My gaze fell to the key in my palm.

He could easily have taken it.

Once his wrists were free, there had been nothing between Lachlan and the hidden passage except me. I could never have stopped him. One of his hands could probably close around both my wrists. He could have taken the key, forced me through the wall and made me lead him out, or worse.

Instead, he’d casually placed both hands on his thighs where I could see them.

Then, when it was time to put him back into the restraints, he’d held one of those hands out to me.

“Come here,” he’d said.

I’d gone without thinking, like a moth to a flame.

Whatever Lachlan Byrnes was doing to me, I suddenly needed to sit down and get a grip on myself.

I dropped onto the vanity stool and stared at my hand as though some trace of him might remain on my skin.

His hand had swallowed mine.

Its size had done something ridiculous to me. It shouldn’t have felt that good. But it had. It was rough and warm, and when his thumb brushed over my knuckles, my knees had nearly given out. That one slow brush had sent a current through my entire body and straight to my core.

I couldn’t help myself; I wanted that enormous hand at the back of my neck while he kissed me. I wanted the other sliding inside my shorts and finding out exactly what he’d done to me by doing nothing more than holding my hand.

I wanted to hear him call me good girl again.

My thighs pressed together.

Good Lord.

The man had said two words, and my body had practically volunteered for whatever came next.

I’d kissed him before. Barely.