Inside Out. Amy Lee Burgess

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      I aimed the apricot-colored pillow at the coffee mug in his hand and scored a direct hit. Hot coffee splashed along the bottom of the dresser. The mug hit the brass handle of one of the drawers and cracked in two.

      “A simple ‘no, Paddy, that’s not the friggin’ problem, you idjit’ would have sufficed.” Paddy surveyed the damage with a rueful shake of his head. He found another mug and, before he poured more coffee, cast a wary look to make sure I had no more ammunition.

      “Eating something might improve that temper of yours,” he remarked and ducked to protect his coffee when I winged my fork at him.

      “I don’t want to spend the whole damn day in this cramped hotel room listening to him snore and you chew, Paddy.” The smell of breakfast drove me crazy but I did not give in and grab up a handful with my fingers. Not even the bacon.

      “So, who’s stopping you?” He sounded impatient but not mad. Yet.

      That response took me aback for a moment. He had a point. I was no longer a “guest” of the Councils, unable to leave the premises without an escort and permission. House arrest was over. I was a free woman.

      Still suspicious, I said, “I can go out? Like leave the hotel?”

      “The world’s your oyster, woman. Well, within reason. I would like to take you out to dinner tonight so you’d need to be back here around six.” He grabbed his watch from the dresser top. “That gives you nearly seven hours. That enough time for you?”

      I didn’t need another invitation. I leaped to my feet and dashed to the overnight case which held my shoes. All seven pairs. Before I’d even unzipped it, I started to fret. Did I have a pair with me I wanted to wear? I’d worn the ballerina flats yesterday and my Louboutin pumps didn’t go with jeans, plus Murphy had given them to me and I didn’t want to wear anything from him. That only left the nude pumps, knee-high brown boots, an impractical pair of red stilettos—what the hell had I been thinking when I’d packed? Sexy red stilettos at a tribunal?—my navy blue Chucks and the loafers I’d worn in the car on the way to the safe house from Vermont. Bleh. No fucking way. They still had mud on the insides from Grandmother Emma’s dirt driveway.

      I tossed them toward the trash can by the dresser. One of them actually made it in. Paddy ducked again until he realized I wasn’t aiming for him.

      Once the Chucks were tied, I stood and craned my neck around in search of a damn room card and my purse.

      “I only have the one card.” Paddy knew what I looked for which was somewhat amazing for a man. “Let me keep it in case I want to go out. You can knock on the door and Sir Sleeps-a-lot can let you in if you get back before me.”

      I opened my mouth to argue but he shook his head.

      “Alpha,” he reminded me and tensed, as if he expected me to throw something at him again.

      I had the door half open when he called my name. I turned back and he tossed me something that jangled. I caught whatever it was automatically and stared down with dismay. A set of car keys rested in my palm. I didn’t drive cars. Not since the night I’d crashed my birthday present Mustang and my bond mates, Grey and Elena, had been killed.

      Paddy knew damn well I didn’t drive. He had to. Murphy told him everything. I’d spent half the ride to the hotel yesterday white knuckled with fear because Murphy had been too tired to take the wheel and I hadn’t known or trusted Paddy’s driving. The bastard wasn’t used to driving on the right side of the road, as he came from Ireland, and that had only added to my extreme anxiety. I had never been so glad to get anywhere in my life as when we’d arrived at the hotel.

      Paddy had wanted me to help with the luggage and stay in the car as he parked, but the very idea of a parking lot, and an underground one at that, had proved too much. I’d shrilly demanded to be let out by the hotel entrance and I’d waited in the lobby. Murphy, exhausted as he’d been, had been forced to help with the luggage. He hadn’t complained because he knew why I was scared.

      In fact he’d looked absolutely guilt-stricken in the harsh lights of the elevator as we’d ridden to the third floor. He’d forgotten I would be scared to drive with Paddy. It was an indication of his level of fatigue, but at the time it had seemed yet another betrayal.

      “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” I glared at Paddy and my fist closed over the keys so tightly I felt the edge of one of them dig into the flesh of my palm. It hurt.

      “Maybe a little,” he admitted and ducked when I threw the keys at his face. He knocked them away and they fell with a jangle to the carpet. When he looked at me, I knew I’d finally goaded him into anger.

      “Throw one more thing at me, Constance Newcastle, and you’ll be one sorry woman.”

      “Gonna beat me?” I mocked. He lunged at me and before I could escape out the door, he’d slammed it and had me pinned. I jutted my chin and braced myself for the blow, but it never came.

      “I don’t hit women.” From his scowl, I guessed Paddy was highly insulted that I’d even entertained that notion. His mouth was approximately two inches from mine and the entire length of his body was pressed—none too gently—against mine. In fact, I found it a little hard to breathe. One of his hands was pressed flat against the door near my head, the other clamped firmly to my shoulder. A knee rested against my locked-together legs.

      He elevated one of his brows again. “I do, however, kiss them. You are kinda turning me on here, woman.” He dipped his mouth closer to mine and laughed uproariously when I turned my face and his lips landed on my cheek instead.

      “Be a pity to make the entire staff of this fine hotel into liars, wouldn’t it?”

      “A threesome generally takes three people,” I reminded him.

      “So we’ll wake Liam.” Paddy moved his mouth to my ear and nibbled at my earlobe.

      “Padraic O’Reilly, you let go of me,” I demanded, but his breath in my ear did send a tingle down my spine. A small one, but a tingle nonetheless. Damn him.

      “He did tell me to take care of you, Stanzie. I’d just be doing what he asked me. You want to make him happy now, don’tcha?” Paddy moved the hand on my shoulder south and I twisted away from his fingers.

      “I don’t...” I gasped when his knee nudged my legs apart. “...think this is quite what he had in mind, Paddy!”

      “I’ve known him his whole life. You just met him six months ago. I think I might have a wee bit better understanding of how to interpret his words.” Paddy nuzzled my exposed neck. “You smell fantastic, Stanzie. No perfume. Why do Pack women insist on wearing perfume and covering up their natural, gorgeous scents? Every Pack woman smells the same, yet different. You’re nearly irresistible, you know that?”

      “That’s why we wear perfume. So big goons like you don’t mack on us like we were catnip.” I gave him a shove, but it didn’t do any good.

      “Every day for three days I sat next to you at that damned conference table smelling this scent and thinking what a good thing it was I was sitting down and the table was there.” Paddy traced a circle on my neck with his tongue then sucked at the center of СКАЧАТЬ