“Conor Gallagher.” I smirk. “Could youbemore Irish?”
“Christ. We don’t have time for this.” Scowling, he pushes away from the window, grabs me by the hand, and starts dragging me along behind him as he walks from the room.
Oh…
Did I saywalks?
More likestrides.
Those long-ass legs of his cross the room so fast, I’m practically running to keep up as we pass through the foyer and head up the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time.
“Hey!” I hiss, tugging at my hand. It’s no use — his grip is unshakeable. “Let me go, asshole!”
He leads me straight into the master bedroom — apparently he took detailed notes during his brief tour, earlier, because he seems freakishly familiar with the layout of my house — and practically drags me into my walk-in closet.
“Two minutes,” he growls, tossing my brown leather duffle bag at my feet. “Pack.”
“And how the hell am I supposed to do that with you holding onto me like a caveman?” I yank on my arm again. My already-sore wrist is smarting so fiercely, I’m stunned to find tears suddenly glossing over my eyes.
Dammit. Don’t cry, Shelby. Your street cred is hanging by a thread already.
I try to turn away to hide the tears, but it’s too late. Conor notices my wet eyes — I get the distinct impression there’s not much hedoesn’tnotice — and drops my damaged wrist so fast, you’d think I had leprosy. Cursing lowly under his breath, he takes a hasty step away and props his large frame against a nearby rack of shoes.
From the corner of my eye I watch him running a hand through his messy hair and, for the briefest instant, think I spot a flare of remorse in those unreadable indigo eyes. It’s gone so fast, I convince myself it was never there at all.
Conor Gallagher isn’t the remorseful type.
I bet he’s never apologized for a damn thing in his whole damn life. The air of alpha male arrogance surrounding him is so thick, I doubt he can even see his own faults, let alone own up to them.
His voice jerks me back to earth. “I feel obligated to remind you you’ve got exactly one minute left before we’re out the door. You gonna keep staring at me like you’re wondering about my star sign or are you gonna pack your damn suitcase?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I was merely trying to see up close and personal whether there is, in fact, a 666 engraved on your skull.” I lean in, squinting intently. “IthinkI see it… then again, it could just be a frown line… seeing as you have an Olympic Gold Medal in Scowling.”
“Cute,” he says in a flat tone that suggests I’m the farthest thing fromcuteon the whole planet. “Pack.”
“You’re relentless, you know that?”
“And you’re a pain in the damn ass.”
“Only when I’m teaching a barre class. What can I say? I really like to work the glutes.”
I think he actually might throttle me, if the steam leaking from his ears is any indication And the feeling isdefinitelymutual. For a long moment, we’re both silent — glaring at each other in mutual dislike, neither prepared to cave to the other’s demands.
“Thirty seconds,” he warns softly. Funny — I never knewsoftcould bescaryuntil right this second.
“If you’re describing your average stamina time between the sheets, I can’t say I’m surprised,” I inform him sweetly.
He doesn’t take the bait, but his eyes flicker to the duffle at my feet, then drag slowly up my body — taking in every detail from the bare feet with pastel-painted toes to the fitted yoga pants to the slice of tan skin at my hipbones to the pink sports bra peeking through my open-weave white sweater to the long brown hair cascading around my shoulders. By the time they finally return to lock on mine, I’m having a hard time breathing and there’s an intent gleam in his eyes I’ve never seen before.
“Hunt.” His voice is full of gravel. “Time’s up.”
My mouth opens, but all my witty retorts fly out of my head as I watch Conor push off the wall. The closet feels remarkably small as he begins to advance on me.
“What are you doing?” I squeak, backpedaling a step.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Holding out my hands like a shield, I back away from him. He keeps coming, pursuing me across the enclosed space like a freaking jaguar — all lithe muscle and dark predatory grace. I scurry around the center island where I store my jewelry, as though having a buffer between us might somehow keep him at bay.