Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(26)

Tossing back another shot, he cleared his throat and said, “Bare knuckle boxing. I was a bit of a shite when I was a lad.”

Yeah, she remembered what he had said earlier—quick temper and fast hands.

“And these are nothing,” Kyrnon added, stepping between her legs, his body warm where her thighs touched. “I have worse.”

Amber sat up a little straighter, boldly looking him over. “Do you?”

Gently circling her wrists, he lifted her hands to his face, using his own fingers to press hers against his face along the sides of his mouth. At first, she didn’t know what he was trying to show her, not with the feel of the soft hair on his face, but as she ignored the sensation, she finally felt them.

Beneath his facial hair, he had what felt like two incredible scars on either side of his mouth. Though she couldn’t see them, she couldn’t help but think she knew what they were, though she couldn’t remember the name.

“The Glasgow Smile is what they call it,” he explained, pulling her hands away though he didn’t release her.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to this Garrison place, and maybe you shouldn’t go back if this is what happens to you there.”

A surprised burst of laughter left him. “Was all fine in the end, I promise you. But tell me, how’d you get this one?”

His hand slipped beneath the edge of her shirt, tracing her left side, stopping where her thigh met her hip and the discolored skin there. She hadn’t even realized he noticed it.

“Surfing in Bermuda with my brother. I hit a reef the wrong way.”

She could still remember the way the coral felt when it bit into her skin, scraping it off. That pain had been like nothing else, and the healing process had taken weeks.

Kyrnon whistled low, his thumb rubbing over the spot, offering comfort though there was no pain. “I hate water.”

“You can’t possibly …”

“I’m Irish, lovie, through and through. I stick to land.”

Maybe she would try to convince him to surf one day. There were days when she missed driving down to the beach with her board on the roof, ready to hit the waves just as the sun was peaking over the horizon.

She was going to have to get back to California soon.

A buzzer sounded suddenly, Kyrnon’s gaze going over to a panel in the wall. Carefully moving away from her, he hit a few buttons, an image of the delivery guy appearing on the screen.

“Aye, be right down,” he said into the mic.

He was obviously quite serious about his security, the thought of that scratching the part of her mind that made her wonder about just who he was.

And how was she supposed to ask that?

If he was affiliated with any mob, it wasn’t like he could come right out and say it.

But …

Maybe she could run his name by Mishca, or even Niklaus and see whether they knew him.

Kyrnon disappeared into his bedroom, coming back out with a pair of shorts on. When he saw her smirk, he threw out his hands. “They just appeared.”

As he went down to get their food, Amber threw back her next shot. Thankfully, it wasn’t nearly as bad as the first, and by the time he came walking back into the kitchen with a bag of food, there was a pleasant warmth settling in her stomach.

Maybe it was lust.

Maybe it was the whiskey.

But whichever it was had her looking at Kyrnon in a different way. She became far more aware of his presence, and maybe, as he glanced in her direction, he felt it too.

“My bed or the couch?”

The question was innocent enough, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking of other possibilities. Pushing off the counter, she dropped down onto her feet. “Your couch is fine.”

And whatever he had planned for it.

Moving to the living room, she got comfortable, accepting the food he passed her. Grabbing the remote for the television, he switched it on, flipping through the channels until he reached…

“Turn it off, I can’t watch this episode.”

Kyrnon looked at her in surprise, then back to the television. “What in the hell do you mean? This was one of the best —”

“You take that back,” Amber said, balling up a napkin and throwing it at him. “The Red Wedding scarred me for life.”

Though she shouldn’t have been surprised. After that beheading at the end of the first season, she should have known that the author obviously hadn’t given a single f*ck, but she had kept on, thinking that was the worst she would experience.

Wrong.

Now she was just a masochist considering she still watched it.

“Come now, his strategy was shite from the start. He should have known that he if he didn’t bend to…”

Plucking the remote from his hand, she changed the channel. “Doesn’t matter.”

Chuckling, he dug into his food, allowing her to pick whatever they watched. She didn’t particularly mind what was on, but she didn’t want to end up a sobbing mess because a fictional character she had grown to care about had died.

Finally settling on another movie on one of the HBO channels, they ate in silence. And as she finished, placing the container in front of her, she found that she rather liked just being next to him. The silence didn’t feel awkward at all.

She was content to watch the scenes play out, at least until he reached for her legs and drew them up onto his lap. He didn’t look to her as he did it, his fingertips drifting over her skin moments later.