Blow(5)

But his hair wasn’t peppered with gray. Instead it was the color of the most delicious chocolate. Brushed forward on his forehead, feathered toward his cheeks, and shaped perfectly around his ears, in such a way that he looked professional yet hip at the same time. But more than his hair, it was his eyes I noticed. They were the most vibrant hazel eyes I’d ever seen.

And they were still looking back at me. “So he is here?” he asked.

With a nod, I gestured toward Michael’s office. “He seemed . . . upset.”

Long lashes fluttered as his eyelids shut and then quickly reopened. “I hope he didn’t do anything stupid.”

“I hope you understand, there are no second chances.” Sean said sharply.

The door had creaked open, and a heated conversation floated toward us.

“I do,” was Michael’s short but tense response.

The handsome stranger strode toward his father, his face now a picture of restrained anger. Sean spotted his son and narrowed his eyes. “I told you to wait in the car.”

His son squared his broad shoulders. “And I told you to wait for me to park.”

Clementine, still on my hip, was oblivious to the bitter exchange as she reached forward toward the handsome stranger. He was closer now, and the playful grin he gave her made my stomach flutter.

His eyes went from her to me, and I could feel the weight of his stare. I shivered under its intensity.

The moment was broken when Sean huffed and shot Michael one last glance. “I’ll deliver your message and be in touch.” He then rushed by me, glaring at his son. “Let’s go,” he ordered.

His son nodded toward Michael, and then he cut his gaze back to me. He was staring again.

I found myself staring back.

And I studied him further. His brows were slightly darker than his hair color. His skin was smooth. There were faint, very faint, freckles on his nose that perfectly matched mine. And his slight beard was scruffy in a way that looked like he shaved daily, just not close, or maybe it was a five o’clock shadow.

Looking at him made my body feel like it was made of Jell-O.

“Good night,” he said. And then just like that, he turned and walked away.

My heart stilled. “Good night,” I whispered.

I couldn’t help but watch him. He had a slight swagger that made him fit right in on the streets of Boston. That walk had my eyes still glued on him as he strode out the door. On his neck and the way his short, wispy hair exposed his nape. On his pants and the way they hung low. On his tight ass. On his long and lean body.

I very rarely found anyone even mildly attractive, but I found him extremely so. I wondered how old he was. Not that it mattered. Still, even after the door closed, I couldn’t get the picture of him out of my head.

I tried to turn my mind off.

To focus on what mattered.

But it was extremely difficult to do.

The gravitational pull I felt toward him was just undeniable.





LOGAN


“What the f*ck?” I barked.

My father kept walking and ignored me.

Furious, I grabbed his arm. “I said, what the f*ck was that?”

Of all the things I’d helped him do for the Blue Hill Gang over the years, we’d always steered clear of women and children; they were off limits.

My father turned and glared at me. “Don’t ever challenge my authority in public like that again.”

Remorseful, I dropped my grip. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that in front of them, but you crossed the line.”

He started to pace. “I thought he’d be alone.”

At least he was rattled. “Maybe the next time you go off half-cocked, you’ll make sure you know what you’re walking into.”

The sunlight was fading but I could still see the lines on my father’s face. This kind of shit was wearing him down. He stopped and looked at me. “Look, Logan, I appreciate your help, but I told you on the way over here, I want you to stay out of this.”

The anger I had just managed to suppress flared up. With a step toward him, I pushed my finger into his chest. “You don’t get to decide when I’m in and when I’m out.”

“I saw the way you looked at her,” he said, his voice more even now.

I shoved him, still pissed as f*ck that he went in there. As soon as he saw the woman and child, he should have bolted. “I didn’t look at her in any way. You don’t know what you’re talking about. All I want is for you to slow down and think before you involve people who don’t need to be involved.”

Maybe I had looked at that woman in a certain way, but it didn’t mean shit. I might have grown up in two very different worlds—one where wealth bred cordiality and one where violence led the way—but somehow there was a part of me that wasn’t divided, and that part would never f*ck another man’s wife.

My father’s laugh was dry. “Slowing down isn’t an option and you know it. Just stay away from her,” he warned.

With an uneasy feeling, I said, “Promise me she will be left out of whatever Patrick has planned.”

He shook his head. “That’s not my call. He already thinks O’Shea needs a little motivation, which is why he sent me. Besides, Logan, chances are good that with what’s on the line, Patrick has already looked at different ways to solve this problem.”