Leather & Lark (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #2) (71)
“Not a feckin’ chance.”
“Okay then.”
Lachlan puts music on. We don’t talk much, so I hum along and watch the city lights as they slip past my window. I feel safe in this bubble of steel and black leather. Lachlan’s energy is as gravitational as an imploding star’s. His thoughts churn, but never release. It feels like he has so many things to say but no means to let them loose, so they coil inside. More and more, I want to know what they are. I need to know.
“I’m kind of looking forward to this,” I say, trying to break the tension that’s crept into the silence. “I feel like a spy.”
Lachlan lets out an unconvinced hmph. “Hopefully it won’t be that exciting. Let’s just grab the files we need and get out.”
“But it’s Friday night at the club. We should at least check it out a little. Who knows, you might actually have fun.” I gasp theatrically and clutch a fist against my heart. “You do know how to have fun … right?”
“I’ll have you know—”
“You don’t. I already know that,” I say flatly before I let go of a dramatic sigh as we stop at a red light. “I guess I’ll just have to have enough fun for both of us.”
I wink, stoking the flame that always seems to burn deep within Lachlan. He holds my gaze, unerring. “You’ll be careful. That’s what you’ll feckin’ do. The person we’re looking for could be at that party.”
“And what, you think they would do something in public?” I shake my head. “We’re talking about someone who’s obviously careful to kill in private and who keeps to a set schedule.”
“I don’t care, Lark,” Lachlan says. “And if this is some barmy plan of yours to goad a killer out of hiding, don’t even think about it.”
My teasing smile falters and I turn my gaze to the road ahead. “It’s not. Don’t worry.”
A honk sounds from behind us. Lachlan mutters a curse and the car surges forward. For a long moment, I think we’ll be riding the rest of the way in silence, but after just a few blocks I feel Lachlan’s eyes on me. The moment I glance in his direction, he catches my hand from my lap and holds on.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you. Maybe I’m overthinking it. But just be careful, yeah?” He squeezes my hand, my wedding set trapped beneath the pressure of his palm. “I want you to be safe. I’m worried about you.”
An ache slides into my chest, burning hot and unexpected. When Lachlan lets go of my hand, I catch his before it reaches the steering wheel, and the responding surprise in his expression is unguarded, a reaction that I store away in memory. “I will. I promise.”
I lift my palm away and offer an untroubled smile. But I can tell something is still roiling within Lachlan. It doesn’t pass—definitely not when we park and he pulls a gun from the glove compartment to holster it at his back, nor when we head toward the entrance of the building. He keeps a hand on the small of my back as we walk through the lobby and head for the elevators. One arrives just as a small group enters the building and catches up with us, and they follow us inside with no acknowledgment that the elevator is beyond capacity. A tiny burst of anxiety flares inside me as my back presses to the wall, but at least we’re not in the dark. Rather than face the doors, Lachlan turns toward me. We’re so close I can feel his body heat. His eyes stay trained on mine. My heart knocks a stuttered rhythm when his hand presses to my waist.
“You okay, duchess?” he whispers as the elevator starts its ascension. The group around us talks and laughs, oblivious to the electric charge that seems to encase Lachlan and me.
“Yeah.” My eyes fix on Lachlan’s lips and I can’t seem to tear them away. I’m caught up in the heat that rolls from his body. He’s so close that I can smell a hint of the mint on his breath. “I’m fine.”
I could so easily reach up and wrap my hand around his nape and draw his mouth to mine. I could discover where this current takes us, see if it ignites or destroys. Maybe I could confess that I think about our moment on Rowan’s balcony every day. That when I do, I can’t help but touch my lips and wish that it had been the first time we met. I could tell him how I wonder more and more about the hurt I’m still holding on to and question why I don’t just let it go. I could tell him that I’m starting to see things in him that I tried to ignore—his fierce loyalty, his protectiveness for the few people he cares about, the way he remains true to the hardest of promises. I could admit that I forgave him when he stood next to his car and promised to work for my forgiveness. Maybe even before that. I know that saying these things would erase the heartache and regret in his eyes.
But I don’t say anything.
The elevator arrives at floor seventeen and the group exits first. A heartbeat later, Lachlan’s hand slips away from my waist and he leads the way to the entrance of the club.
Base thumps beneath the thrum of voices and laughter, the club already busy despite the relatively early hour. Jewel-colored lights flicker across the ceiling. At the far end of the club there’s a wall of windows looking out over the shimmering city skyline. Some people dance, some stand with their drinks and mingle. There’s an energy in the air, a sense of darkness and need that I struggle to define. Maybe that’s just me—or us. Lachlan’s fingers intertwine with mine as he leads me though the throng toward the bar. After we grab our drinks, we find a spot to stand near the windows where we can watch the crowd on the dance floor and the patrons who mingle at the high-tops.