Butcher & Blackbird (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #1)(12)
“How did Lachlan come up with this location, anyway? And how do I know he’s not going to feed you information to help you win?”
Rowan huffs a derisive laugh and pulls the bottle from my fingers, taking a long swig before he answers. “Because like I said, my brother has no interest in seeing me succeed. If I lose, he’ll get to rub my face in it for a year, and he’ll enjoy every second of it.” When Rowan passes the bottle back to me, he looks around the room, his gaze a careful pass across the features as though he’s hunting for hidden cameras or guests he didn’t notice. I already know we’re the only ones checked in. Aside from the proprietor, a guy named Francis who lives in a well-kept Second Empire-style house that overlooks the inn, we’re the only ones on the property. I’m sure Rowan knows this too, but he’s right to be careful. “As for how he came up with West Virginia, well…let’s just say he has connections to certain people who can access certain files of certain government agencies, and some associates who can fill in the gaps.”
“That certainly sounds dubious, for certain,” I say, grinning when Rowan rolls his eyes at my teasing. “What does your brother do for work?”
Rowan sits back in his chair and taps the armrest as his eyes follow the curves and angles of my face. Their navy blue caress summons a blush to my cheeks. He looks at me in a way that no one else does, as though he’s not just trying to decipher my thoughts and motivations. It’s like he’s trying to memorize the smallest details in my skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind my flesh.
“Our hobby,” he says when he seems to figure I’m safe to share this answer with. “For Lachlan, it’s not a pastime. It’s a profession.”
I nod. It makes sense to me now how he could have access to information about criminal investigations. Either he works for the military, or for dangerous, well-connected individuals.
“So you’re sure he’s not going to help you cheat,” I say.
“If anything, he’d find a way to help you cheat.”
“I like him already.” My smile brightens when Rowan shoots me a fake glare. I take a sip from the bottle and pass it over. “What about you? Do you enjoy the restaurant business?”
Rowan turns a sly smile in my direction. “Have you been looking me up, Blackbird?”
“Like you haven’t been doing the same to me,” I counter.
“Guilty as charged.” Rowan takes a long drink of wine and balances the bottle on his knee. He watches me for a moment before he nods, his smile a little wistful. “Yeah, I do. I love running my own kitchen. I like the pace. It can be frantic, but I enjoy that. I do well with a bit of chaos. Maybe that’s why I like you,” he says with a wink.
I huff a laugh and roll my eyes. This man. He could make anything look flirtatious. “What’s with the name?” I ask, and though I skirt around his comment, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the least. “Why’d you pick 3 In Coach?”
“My brothers,” Rowan says, his smile taking on that nostalgic quality once more as his gaze falls to the bottle in his hand. “We were teenagers when we left Sligo and came to America. I remember Lachlan buying the tickets. Three in coach. It was the start of another life for us.”
“Just like the restaurant,” I say, finishing the trail of thought he’s left for me to follow. His eyes brighten when he nods. “I like that.”
Rowan passes the bottle to me. Our fingers graze one another’s around the cool glass. Our touch lingers for a moment longer than it should, but for some reason, I find that it’s still less time than I’d like.
This is absurd, I remind myself. You don’t know this man.
I firm up my posture, shift my line of sight to the front desk to give Rowan only the corner of my eye when I drink from the bottle. Walls are good. Boundaries are necessary. He’s the kind of guy that will bulldoze right through them if I set my guard down. And this is still a competition, after all. I should only be looking for information that will help me win.
In my periphery, I see Rowan’s hand sneaking closer to my chair and I turn to pin him with a glare. The cheeky fucker gives me his most innocent mask.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m going to steal your e-reader. I want to read about the two-dick dragonman.”
“I’m sitting on it. Touch my ass and I’ll break your hand,” I say, failing to contain a laugh as he rhythmically prods my arm.
“I won’t. I’ll push you over and grab it, then cackle maniacally as I run to my room in triumph.”
“Just download the app like a normal person and read it on your phone, weirdo.”
“Rock-paper-scissors for it.”
“No way.”
“Come on, Blackbird. I need some dragonman DP.”
He’s giving me another poke on my bicep and I’m giggling when a foreign sound enters our domain. It suddenly feels like we were in a bubble that’s just burst. It’s not normal for me, and the appearance of Francis by the front desk is a shock to my system. I’m usually so aware of my surroundings. But Rowan had me locked in another realm, as though nothing else existed but us. And for some reason, that felt like a relief, a break from the constant pressure of searching for danger lurking in shadow.
“Hey, man. I hope we weren’t keeping anyone up,” Rowan says. He doesn’t even try to hide the bottle of wine he balances on his knee, his other hand wrapped around the armrest of my chair.