don’t know me, but I’ve heard plenty about you.”
His words surprised her.
“My grandfather, Patrick, told me to keep a look out for you, Rachel Mancini.”
She knew Patrick. When she’d first moved into the city, Patrick had been the first person she’d met.
But he’d passed away a few months ago. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather—”
The bartender held up his hand. “So am I, but he wouldn’t want us grieving. To him, life was for celebrating.”
Yes, that was the way Patrick had thought of life—just that way. She’d never seen him without a smile on his face.
“My name’s Aidan. Aidan O’Sullivan. And it’s good to finally meet you.” He offered his hand to her.
Rachel shook that hand, and quickly let him go. For some reason, she was far too conscious of Dylan’s stare on her.
Aidan glanced at Dylan. “What can I get for you?”
“Whiskey.”
Her gaze darted toward him. He’s still watching me.
“I have everything else that I need,” Dylan said.
He didn’t mean those words the way they sounded. Rachel was sure of that.
Aidan laughed and got the drink. “Hope you have better luck than the last one.” He pushed the whiskey toward Dylan.
Dylan’s fingers curled around the glass. “I will.”
Rachel took a quick gulp of her drink. It burned, in a good way, as it slid down her throat.
Dylan emptied his whole glass in one swallow. His eyes stayed on hers. He had the deepest, darkest eyes she’d ever seen. So dark they almost looked black.
His hair was black and thick. It was cut short and the cut just accentuated the hard lines of his face. Dylan wasn’t technically handsome. Rachel had to remind herself of that fact every few days. He wasn’t, though. He was more...dangerous. Rough. His jaw was square and firm, his cheeks were sharp angles, and Rachel was pretty sure that he’d broken his nose a time or two in bar fights over the years.
Dylan Foxx was an ex-Navy SEAL. As far as she knew, the guy feared absolutely nothing in the world. He was her team leader at the EOD. He was the man who had her back on every mission. The one man she trusted above all others.
He was also the man who was off-limits to her.
Actually, as far as Rachel was concerned, all men were off-limits. She’d made a near-fatal mistake with the last man she’d let get too close.
She wasn’t planning on getting burned—or attacked—again.
Rachel cleared her throat. “How did you know I was here?” Because Rachel knew it wasn’t some coincidence that he was in the pub, too.
He leaned toward her. Whenever he got too close, Rachel had the feeling that Dylan surrounded her. Maybe it was because of his shoulders. His shoulders were so wide. Muscled. Or maybe it was just because of...Dylan.
The guy seemed to dominate everything and everyone around him.
“I was on my way to your place,” he told her, voice low. “Then I saw you heading in here.”
She took another quick gulp of her drink. Perhaps she should be sipping it, but Rachel was too tense for that. “Why were you coming to my place?” Rachel pushed.
His eyelids flickered. “Because I wanted you.”
No, he had not just said that. The pub was too loud. She’d misheard him. “Wh-what?”
A furrow appeared between his dark brows as he leaned even closer to her. His crisp, masculine scent teased her nose. “Because I wanted to talk with you.”
Right. That made more sense. Her too-eager imagination had twisted his words.
“But this isn’t the place to talk.” He tossed some cash onto the bar, and his hand wrapped around hers. “Come on, let’s go.”
She should say that she’d just gotten there. That she wasn’t ready to leave.
But I am. She didn’t want to dodge pick-up lines and leering guys. Rachel had come to the bar because she couldn’t stand the silence.
There would be no silence with Dylan.
She rose.
His fingers twined with hers.
Rachel glanced down at their hands. That was new. He’d never held her hand before. Sure, Dylan seemed to touch her pretty frequently. He’d brush back her hair or he’d squeeze her shoulders, but never something quite so intimate as actually holding her hand.
“Dylan?” Her voice was so soft that she wasn’t even sure he’d heard her.
He didn’t respond, but he did lead her through the crowd, pulling her toward the door. Bodies brushed against her, making Rachel tense, then they were outside. The night air was crisp, and taxis rushed by them on the busy street.
Dylan still held her hand.
He turned and pulled her toward the side of the brick building. Then he caged her with his body. “Want to tell me what you were doing?” An edge of anger had entered his words.
Rachel blinked at him. “Uh, getting a drink?” That part had seemed pretty obvious.
“What you were doing with the blond, Rachel? The blond jerk who was leaning way too close to you in that pub.”
The same way that Dylan had been leaning close?
“Now isn’t the time for you to start looking for a new guy.” Definite anger now. “We need to find out if Jack is back here, killing. We don’t need you to hook up with some—”
She shoved against his chest.
The move caught them both off guard.
Beneath the streetlamp, Rachel saw Dylan’s eyes widen.
“You don’t get to control my personal life,” Rachel told him flatly. What personal life? The fact that she didn’t have one wasn’t the point. “And neither does Jack. Got it?”
He gazed back at her.
“On missions, I follow your orders. But what I do on my own time...that’s my business.” She stalked away from him, heading back toward her apartment building.
Then she heard the distinct thud of his footsteps as Dylan rushed after her. He’d better be coming to apologize.
Right. She’d never actually heard Dylan apologize for anything.
His fingers curled around her arm. He spun her back to face him. “Your last lover was a killer. I’d think that you’d want to—”
“You’re wrong!” The words erupted from her.
And something strange happened to Dylan’s face. They were right under the streetlight, so it was incredibly easy for her to read his expression. Surprise flashed first, slackening his mouth, but then fury swept over his face. A hard mask of what truly looked like rage. “You’re involved with someone else? You’re sleeping with someone?”
Since when did she have to check in with Dylan about her love life? “He wasn’t my lover.”
His hold tightened on her. “What?”
“Adam. Jack. Whatever he’s calling himself. He. Wasn’t. My. Lover.” There. She’d said it. It felt good to get that out. “We were going away together that weekend. We hadn’t...” Rachel cleared her throat. “He wasn’t my lover.” She yanked away from him, angry now, too. “Not that it’s any of your business who I’m sleeping with—”
“It is.” He