Leather & Lark (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #2) (57)

“Shh. Don’t give the devil any ideas. I want to sneak up on him. And don’t you and Lachlan go testing those muffins. Those are all for Mayes.”

Ethel blesses me with a cheeky grin, and then with a deep, contented sigh, she closes her eyes. With a shake of my head, I grab my bag and order an Uber, and before long I’m headed to the sprawling estate home of Leander Mayes with a box of my aunt’s muffins on my lap.

When we pass the fortified gate and the house comes into view, Lachlan is waiting for me at the entrance. We roll to a stop and he comes forward to open my door, his hand outstretched in an offer. I hesitate only briefly before taking it.

“Thanks for coming,” he says as we wait for the Uber to depart. He seems suspicious of my driver’s intentions until the taillights disappear around the curves of the winding driveway. I wonder how long he’s been doing that, studying everyday things and people, making sure nothing is amiss. I’ve seen it in him before, the way he scans a crowd, searching for threats. He’s vigilant, wary of enemies hidden in plain sight, an instinct that’s been carved into him, as indelible as the ink in his skin.

I wonder how tiring that must be, or if he even notices at all.

“Of course,” I say. I offer a smile he doesn’t return. “I promised I would.”

Lachlan’s face remains grim as he opens the door for me. His hand finds the small of my back as I pass the threshold, his touch igniting a hum in my belly. “Remember what I said.”

“That Leander’s a bit nuts?”

“Yes. And I don’t recommend accepting any hard alcohol. It rarely ends well.”

“Got it.”

“And pizza. If he orders pizza, we’re feckin’ leaving.”

“Okay.”

“Basically, don’t take anything he offers,” Lachlan says with a shudder as we walk through the foyer and down a wide corridor.

“Sounds super fun.”

Lachlan ushers me through another door, this one leading to a set of concrete stairs that descends to the basement. I can hear a man’s jovial voice talking over loud music. Before I can take my first step down, Lachlan presses a hand to my stomach to stop me.

“Let me go first,” he says. His touch is gentle, just his fingertips graze me, but somehow it sends a tingle along my skin. I clutch the box of muffins a little tighter. I don’t think he notices how my breath stops or my lips part. He just looks right into me with an expression so wary it looks like pain. “Just … be careful.”

He lifts his hand away and turns to lead our descent, leaving an empty ache behind.

No. No ache. That was definitely a hunger pang. It’s just all that talk about pizza. Probably.

And even if it wasn’t the pizza and it was an ache, it’s still just simple biology. I’m on a very long dry spell, that’s all. And Lachlan’s being extra broody and weirdly protective, and he’s hot, and I have eyes. I can appreciate hot. It doesn’t mean I want to fuck my husband.

I snort a laugh.

Lachlan’s head whips around as my outburst echoes across the concrete. He looks at me with both confusion and fear, as though Leander could come storming through the door at the bottom of the stairs to blow our heads off.

And that’s pretty much what Leander does.

“Bang bang bang.”

I’m looking down the muzzle of a gun.

At first it’s all I see, a snapshot etched into memory. Lachlan’s hand darts out and he yanks me up onto the step behind him. The movement takes just long enough that I capture the image of Leander on the threshold of the open door, gun raised, a welcoming yet terrifying smile on his face. And then all I see is Lachlan’s back, my body sheltered by his.

“Christ feckin’ Jesus, ya psycho. Put that away before you kill yourself and then the rest of us,” Lachlan says, his accent thicker with his irritation.

Our host laughs and lowers his gun before stepping back from the doorway in an invitation to pass. “Can never be too careful.”

“You were just trying to scare her.”

“He’ll have to try harder next time,” I say even though my heart is pounding its way up my throat. I try to maneuver around Lachlan but he slides an arm around my waist, gluing us together. I extend a hand toward Leander. “Lark Kane, pleased to meet you.”

Leander grins as he shakes my hand. There’s something off about this guy, just like Lachlan said. A disconnect between his sharp green eyes and cutting smile. “Kane, huh? You don’t have to keep that up here.”

“I’m not.” My smile has an edge when I pull my palm away and pass him the box of muffins clutched in my other hand. “Per your request. These were made fresh this morning by my aunt herself. Her famous brown butter apple cinnamon muffins.”

“Oh, you spoil me. I like you already,” Leander says, and I know with the way he beams at me that it’s not the butter or sugar or apple cinnamon he craves. It’s power. To bend the dying matriarch of Montague Muffins to his will.

Rather than return my hand to my side, I take Lachlan’s arm instead, a detail that Leander absorbs before he ushers us inside.

Leander welcomes us into a room that’s meant to look like a pub, with a stocked bar and a big-screen TV and a dartboard. He offers us drinks that we decline and directs us to a set of leather couches and chairs. I don’t feel any comfort in this space that’s meant to feel familiar. All I feel is out of my depth.