Mind racing in ways it shouldn’t after two hours in the gym, I exit the cellar, negative habits tripping over each other to fell me first. I want to go back, to work my body harder. I want it tostop.But I know it never will, and for tonight at least, I’m done trying.
I need music.
I need sleep.
Ineedto find someone to fuck before Mal Gallagher takes up permanent residence in my head and the mark he’s left on me becomes indelibly etched on whatever long-dead part of me he’s managed to reach.
The heavy cellar door closes behind me. I’m at the foot of the steep stairs that lead to the floor above. Jack hates damp things. He spent a long winter hyper-focused on the mouldy mess the previous owners left behind. The whole pub is dry now, clean and ventilated, so I feel it the moment the air is sucked out of the narrow space and every scrap of intuition I possess alerts me I’m no longer alone.
And the tingling in my nerves tells me it’s him—Mal—a heartbeat before he appears halfway down the stairs, a bag slung over his shoulder, face shadowed by the light of the pub behind him.
He’s shirtless again.
So am I, but this time I’m the only one covered in sweat, a fact lost to me as I drink in what little of his torso I can see while he’s on the stairs.
The swathes ofdryskin my wild imagination tells me will be as warm as if he were standing in sunlight instead of the dark.
The subtle cut of his abs as they descend into his low-slung cargo shorts.
Six feet lie between us, but it feels much smaller as he halts his descent and stares me down, towering over me in a way I’d fucking hate if I gave a shit.
I don’t.“If you’re trying to escape, I’ve got news for you about the direction you’re headed.”
Mal appraises me, giving nothing away. “If it takes me to the washing machine, I’m grand.”
He sounds more Northern Irish than he did a few days ago. I wonder if Jack does too. If they’re bringing it out in each other. I wonder if the back view of his torso is as criminally distracting as the front.
I move aside so he can pass me.
Mal takes a few more steps but pauses in the best or worst place, depending on which version of me is making the judgement.
I can smell him now, see his pulse thrumming in his neck. Feel the heat of him on my skin, both real and the burn I’ve dreamed up in my head. Up close, I see the gold flecks in his brown hair and the darker scruff covering his jaw. I see the assessment in his gaze and contemplating what he’s searching for pisses me off. “What do you want?”
His brow ticks up, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Lots of things. But I’ll settle for some information.”
“About what?”
“My brother.”
“You want to know something about Jack, ask him yourself.”
Mal glances behind him. Up the stairs, where a door bangs and a blast of music flares from the tourist side of the pub.
He looks back with an expression that’s trying too hard to be pleasant, and it’s unnecessary effort. I don’t need anyone to be nice to me. I’ve spent my whole fucking life making sure of it.
Mal, though. I don’t know what he needs, from me or anyone else, and maybe it won’t kill me to find out.
I jerk my head at the door beyond the cellar gym. “Machine’s in there, I’ll show you.”
Without waiting for an answer, I rotate and make for the utility room. And I know the second he takes a step to follow me. I sense him at my back like a derailing train, which is fucking stupid.
He just wants to talk.
Less than that. He wants answers, not a deep conversation, and if I can give him that without betraying Jack’s confidence, I will.
Why?
I don’t know. And there’s no time to figure it out. I slip into the utility room with seconds to spare before Mal’s right fucking there. Here. In another small space, but now there’s a closed door between us and the rest of the world.