“What are you doing?” Lara gasped when Malachi, instead of taking the leather jacket from her, stepped closer still.
Their bodies were now almost touching, their gazes locked, the air between them feeling heated and charged.
“I’m going to kiss you.”
Lara wasn’t sure if Malachi was answering her question or making a statement. The determined glitter in his dark gaze, easily holding hers captive as Malachi’s hands cupped either side of her face and he slowly lowered his head, told her it didn’t matter which when his intent was the same either way.
Malachi was going to kiss her.
From the moment his lips touched hers, Lara knew it was a kiss unlike any she’d ever known.
For one thing, Malachi didn’t just press his lips lightly against hers, questioning or seeking. No, he devoured. Lips captured, teeth bit, his tongue began to thrust slowly in and out of the heat of her mouth.
He took, possessed, claimed.
Lara possessed and claimed him back.
Their breathing sounded ragged, their groans of pleasure filled the air, taking them deeper and deeper into a labyrinth of pleasure so intensely sensual, Lara was shaking by the time they both became aware of the fact they could smell cigarette smoke. Someone else had joined them outside and was standing only feet away.
Malachi laughed softly as he ended the kiss to rest his forehead against hers. “This isn’t the right place for this,” he apologized, the warmth of his hands still gently cupping her cheeks.
Lara doubted there was a right place to be so consumed by a man, she’d totally forgotten where they were and why.
This was her place of work.
The man who had stepped outside for a smoke during his break was a fellow nurse.
Lara pulled away from Malachi. “If you think you can seduce me into telling you why I sto—have,” she corrected, “Gerard Taylor’s wallet, then you’re very much mistaken. Or maybe you had the impression you could blackmail me into your bed with that knowledge?”
Malachi’s claim that “it takes a lot, and I mean a lot, to make me angry” seemed to be at war with his usual calm as he appeared to be processing her words. His eyes were narrowed, a nerve pulsed in his clenched jaw, his lips—which seconds ago had captured and devoured hers—were set in a thin line.
“I don’t think that,” he finally answered in monotone, telling her that the calm had won out over the anger. “But if it helps you to tell me the truth, then you should know that over the past weeks, I’ve grown to dislike Gerard Taylor and his group of selfishly privileged friends intensely.”
“Oh, you can admit to that now?”
His mouth twisted. “I have a feeling I’ll admit to anything you want me to.”
Lara frowned. “And if I just want you to leave me alone?”
He grimaced. “That I can’t do. Sorry.”
“You aren’t sorry at all,” she accused before giving an impatient toss of her head. “I have to go.”
“I’ll wait here for you.”
Lara eyed him incredulously. “I have another three hours of my shift left to work.”
“I’m aware.”
Lara scowled at him for several minutes before shaking her head. “Please yourself.” She turned to go back inside the hospital, but not before she heard Malachi murmur softly,
“I’d much rather please you.”
* * *
“What the hell are you doing here, Mal?”
He turned his head to look at one of his one-year-younger-than-him twin brothers. Darius strode purposefully toward him in the early morning light.
Darius and Felix were fraternal twins rather than identical, although both were dark haired and blue eyed. But Darius’s clothes always looked as if he’d bought them from a thrift shop, and Felix always wore perfectly bespoke tailored Italian suits. Contrarily, Darius kept his hair short from the years he’d spent in the military, and Felix’s hair was expertly styled and fashionably overlong. Darius was a sniper and Felix was an accountant, both of them working beneath the umbrella of Kingston Security.
Malachi remained leaning against the wall outside the hospital where he’d told Lara he intended to be when she finished her shift. “I’m waiting.”
Darius scowled at him. “You had Sinclair climbing the walls once he realized your tracker showed you’ve been at this hospital for the past four hours. Hell, once he explained, we at least thought you were in emergency with one of your legs hanging off.”
“Sinclair and his fucking trackers,” Malachi muttered with a glance down at the watch where one of those trackers was situated.
Their eldest brother had married the woman he adored several months ago. As a result, the brothers had managed to talk Sinclair down from maintaining the constant vigil he’d kept the past five years as he searched for the kidnapped and the people responsible for taking them from their loved ones.
They all understood Sinclair’s deep need for retrieval and vengeance had become so intense because his first wife had been kidnapped and murdered. But this second marriage was another chance for Sinclair to be happy, and Remy certainly deserved her husband’s full attention to be on her and the baby they were now expecting.
Oh, Sinclair still became a vigilante when the police failed to act quickly enough, but he now allowed his brothers to assist him in those searches and retrievals.
His one condition to easing off a little had been to have his brothers, cousin, and their wives all wear a tracker inside their watches or phones. This way, he knew where any of them were at any given time.
Which was how Sinclair would have known Malachi was at the A&E department of one of London’s hospitals, and Darius had been sent here to find out why.
Which Malachi could quite well have done without.
“So, what are you doing here?” Darius looked him up and down. “I can see you’re still standing on your own two feet, and you don’t appear to have any obvious injuries.”
“I’m waiting.”
“You said that. But waiting for what?”
“Whom.”
“Whom?” Darius repeated slowly. “Did you put someone in the hospital again?”
Okay, so yes, Malachi admitted there had been several occasions when he’d put someone in the hospital, sometimes by accident, others intentionally. “No.”
“So who are you waiting for?”
Malachi’s inability to lie had never been more of a curse than it was right now. “A woman,” he muttered.
“What woman?”
“My woman,” he stated firmly.
His brother’s brows rose to his hairline at this uncharacteristic show of aggression. “Your woman?” he repeated.
“That’s what I said.” Malachi straightened away from the wall so that the brothers’ heights of three inches over six feet were now the same. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Do you?” Darius frowned. “Hell, does she?”
“I don’t—”
“As a matter of fact, I do,”
Malachi’s head turned sharply in the direction of Lara’s voice.
She was wearing the same billowy black coat from the night at the theater, a blue sweater and faded blue jeans beneath it, and a pair of black ankle boots. Her riotous red hair was now loose about her slender shoulders. She had a large black leather bag looped over one shoulder.
She also appeared tired after working a twelve-hour shift, having dark shadows beneath those beautiful blue eyes.
Eyes that were snapping with temper as she approached them. “I’m Lara, and you look as if you might be one of those five brothers or one cousin Malachi claims to have,” she said, addressing Darius. “If that’s who you are, then you need to sit him down and explain that I am not his woman.”
Darius’s eyes narrowed. “I think I prefer to accept Mal’s opinion on the subject.”
“I’m seeing everything in a kaleidoscope of colors, Darius,” Malachi told his brother softly.
And he wasn’t referring to the half dozen different colors of the clothing Lara had been wearing the night he’d first seen her in the theater bar.
Malachi’s nature and intelligence were such that he became bored easily. As a result, over the years, people, and the world, had taken on the dull sameness of whites, grays, and black. Since first meeting Lara, Malachi was now seeing everything in a palette of colors that were the spectrum of the rainbow and all the ones in between. After so many years of mediocrity, it was exhilarating.
Darius stilled. “Because of Lara?”
“Yes.” It made Malachi not want to take his gaze off her even for a second, constantly greedy for the surge of expectation she’d brought back into his life.
“Then she really is yours.” It was a statement rather than a question.
“Yes.”
“That’s incredible, Mal.” His brother slapped him on the back. “I’m so pleased for you.”
Lara threw her hands up in disgust. “You really shouldn’t be encouraging his inappropriate statements!”
Darius’s mouth quirked. “Mal doesn’t make inappropriate statements. He always tells the complete truth.”
“As he sees it.”
“Yeah,” Darius confirmed affectionately.
Lara glared. “Let’s see how far that truth gets him when I have the police arrest him for his stalkerish behavior.”
Malachi snorted. “About as far as it’s going to get you when you’ve explained to them that the reason I started following you is because you stole my client’s wallet.”
Guilty color entered her cheeks. “I did not steal it!”
“You certainly didn’t just find it lying on the ground.”
Darius’s eyes narrowed. “Would this wallet be the same one that Gerard Taylor ranted on about to Sinclair once he discovered it was missing?”
“Yes,” Malachi confirmed.
His brother looked confused. “Your woman had it all the time?”
“What the… I am not his woman!” Lara gave Darius a furious glare before turning back to Malachi. “Could we not discuss the wallet anymore right now,” she hissed uncomfortably.
He shrugged. “I’m happy to wait to continue that conversation until after I’ve driven you home.”
“It’s only a mile. I always walk.” She welcomed that solitary time to be able to breathe in the fresh air and daylight after working a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, in recycled air beneath bright overhead lights.
“I’m here now,” Malachi stated. “I’ll drive you home.”
“I am not traveling on the back on your motorbike!”
“I’m sure Darius will let me use his SUV.”
His brother’s expression brightened. “Does that mean I get to ride your Harley?”
“It does.” Malachi took the keys out of his pocket and threw them in his brother’s direction, receiving a set of the SUV’s keys in exchange. “The helmet is attached to the back seat, as usual. And make sure my precious baby arrives home in one piece,” he warned darkly.
“Your other precious baby,” Darius teased.
Malachi smiled at the realization that he did now think of Lara as his precious baby. Much more so than the emotionless machines he had dedicated his life to so far. “Yes,” he confirmed.
“Will you—”
“Malachi is not driving me home!” Lara cut in exasperatedly on their conversation.
Malachi was feeling a little disgruntled right now. He was cold and hungry and hadn’t yet had his first cup of coffee of the morning. “I think we both know that I am.”
She looked incredulous. “Simply because you’ve decided as much?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do, pick me up and carry me to your brother’s vehicle— Forget I said that.” She hurriedly held up her hand in protest when Malachi instantly took a step forward with the intention of doing exactly that. “Could you get your brother under control?” she appealed to Darius.
“Hmm—I don’t believe anyone has been able to do that since the day he popped out of the womb demanding to be fed and clothed for the next two years, after which he would dress and feed himself, thank you very much.” Darius grinned. “There’s simply no arguing when Mal makes a decision. Or the unique brand of logic that takes him there.”
“I’m arguing.” Lara looked as if she was about to explode with the frustration of it.
Darius sobered. “By the sound of it, you also stole and are in possession of another man’s wallet.”
“Not anymore she isn’t,” Malachi informed him evenly as he produced Gerard Taylor’s wallet from the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
* * *
Lara gasped before hurriedly taking the bag from her shoulder to check the contents for the wallet she’d been carrying around with her since stea—acquiring it. Now that she had it in her possession, it hadn’t felt right to leave it at her apartment while she was out at work all night.
But until a few minutes ago, when she came off duty and went to change before leaving the hospital, her shoulder bag had been secured inside her locker.
It had been such a strange night Lara admitted to being slightly distracted as she put on her street clothes. But there had also been no reason why it would have occurred to her to check inside the bag to make sure the contents, particularly the wallet, were still where she’d left them.
She checked now.
There was the flotsam and jetsam usually found in a woman’s handbag: purse, hairbrush, makeup bag, cell phone, mints, several pieces of small change rattling around loose in the bottom. Gerard Taylor’s wallet wasn’t there.
Because, apparently, Malachi now had it.