Assumed Identity(23)

“No. I frightened you. It’s part of my charm,” he added in a self-mocking tone. “I’m used to it.”

Robin bit down on the urge to argue her point. One look into those craggy, distorted features and she knew he wasn’t exaggerating. It wasn’t a handsome face. There was no friendly vibe here. Still, there’d been other things she’d noticed—his strength, his protective nature, his willingness to help a stranger in trouble—that she’d been attracted to, that she’d longed for tonight. “I’d hoped you’d stay with me. I needed you.”

“You don’t know me, lady. I’m not what you need.”

“It’s Robin, remember? And you have no idea what I needed tonight. I needed to feel safe. I needed to believe that no harm would come to my daughter. I needed an anchor in the middle of all that chaos. You said you’d stay.”

“I said I’d stay until the cops showed up. I kept my word.”

“You kept...?” She tapped the fist that held the paper against his shoulder, knowing she couldn’t be so unkind—or foolish—to really vent her frustration against him. “The only time I felt safe tonight was when you were with us. I felt like somebody had my back so I didn’t have to be afraid for a few minutes and I could think straight.”

Lonergan shook his head. “I can’t be that guy for you.”

And yet he had been. “You’re right. I don’t know much about you. I don’t know where you’re from or what you’ve done. But tonight, you were everything Emma and I needed. That’s the man I know. That’s the man I expect you to be.”

“You’re welcome to your expectations, lady.”

“Robin,” she corrected, irritated with his adamant refusal to be civil. “Are you ever going to have the courtesy to tell me your first name?”

“I don’t do niceties. Small talk isn’t my thing.”

“No. Strangling masked men, lurking in the shadows and being stubborn is your thing. At least have the good sense to get out of the rain.” She retreated to the door, unsure whether she was inviting him in or urging him to leave.

“I will. Now that I know you’re safe. Don’t go out at night by yourself again. Especially with the kid. She’ll distract your attention and slow you down.”

“I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect my daughter.”

“Exactly.” He moved a single step forward, filling up her personal space, perhaps trying to frighten her again, perhaps succeeding. “You won’t do her any good if someone takes you out.”

“Takes me out?

“I’m not talking about a date.”

She knew what he’d meant. Why go to that dark, morbid place? What kind of man thought like this? In terms of basic survival. Black and white. Good and evil. Robin didn’t know whether to fear this beast of a man or pity him. “Who are you, Mr. Lonergan?”

His voice dropped to a low and husky timbre that skittered across her ear drums and pricked each nerve into a heightened awareness of his heat and size and scent. “A guy with a knack for showing up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Her own voice squeezed from her throat. “From my perspective, you entered my life at exactly the right time.”

He shook his head. “I’m not in your life, lady.”

Robin called him on his determined effort to deny any connection between them, whatever it might be. “Then why did you wait around for five hours to make sure I got safely to my destination?”

Lonergan braced his hand on the door frame behind her and leaned in. Robin sucked in her breath and flattened her back against the glass, feeling the heat from his body filling up the narrow space between them. He dipped his head, bringing that square, scarred jaw to within inches of her temple, forcing her to tilt her eyes to keep track of the intention in his grim expression. His hungry gaze dropped to her mouth and Robin thought he was going to close the distance and kiss her.

She held her breath in a mixture of anticipation and shock at just how badly she wanted to sample his kiss. A clear rivulet of rain dripped from tip of his nose onto her cheek. The cool drop sizzled against her skin and she gasped as if he’d physically touched her. “Let’s just say I’m making sure my conscience is clear. I don’t like to leave a job half done.”

“You’ve done your job,” she whispered. “I owe you so much. My life. Emma’s life. What can I do to thank you?”