When Sam came back with the blood donation, he wanted to hang around in the room, but I barked at him to leave.

After I took care of Ruslan’s wound, I put him on sedatives and took off my gloves, joining Sam in the waiting room. He was sitting on the couch, messing with his phone and hair at the same time. He stood up alertly the minute I appeared.

“He’ll be fine.” I tried smoothing my hair into something that resembled a ponytail. “I’m glad you brought him in, though.”

He stared at me quietly, like he was looking at me for the first time. The heat flooding my cheeks was unbearable.

“Move in with me,” he said suddenly.

“What?” My breath caught in my throat. “What are you talking about? We haven’t even gone on a date yet.”

“A date?” He spat out the word like it was dirty. “We don’t need to go on dates. We’ve known each other since before you were allowed to vote. I’m picking up from where we left off after your little cabin stint, Aisling. I’m not starting from scratch.”

“You’re starting from wherever I want you to start or you are not starting at all,” I announced, giving him the stink eye. “And I can’t move in with you.”

“Why?” he demanded. “You want to move out. And you should. You are kissing thirty, Nix. Twenty-seven is no spring chicken. And your parents don’t need a babysitter anymore. They’re sorting their shit out, like they should have done three decades ago. Your mother is going to therapy. Your brothers told me. You’re welcome for that little push, by the way.”

Welcome?

He was now taking credit for the fact my father moved back into Avebury Court Manor and both my parents attended therapy together? Unreal.

I took a step back, staring at him like he was a complete loon.

“First of all, they are attending therapy because you scarred them for life, not pushed them together.”

“To-may-to, to-ma-to.”

“Secondly,” I hissed, “I don’t make any money of my own and can’t afford to pay rent.”

“You paying rent was never on the fucking table,” he quipped. “I own my place.”

“I will not be freeloading.”

“Nothing about this arrangement is free, Aisling. There’s a heavy price to pay when you are shacking up with a man like me.”

“You’re still being a chauvinist pig.” I folded my arms over my chest.

He took a step forward, crowding me as he brushed a fly-away from my cheek. “No, Nix, I’m taking what I want. What’s mine. And what I deserve.”

“You don’t deserve me.”

He smiled. “I used to think that was true, too. Then I found out what you do here in this clinic. We are not so different, you and I. The only thing separating us is semantics.”

I gasped. “Don’t you dare. What I do is—”

“Beautiful. And also illegal. In a saturated population, life is always cheap,” he replied, his breath fanning across my face, making every cell in my body tingle with need and anticipation.

“You’re still being an asshole,” I informed him.

He leaned forward, saying the words as his lips traced mine, speaking into my mouth. “I never promised not to be an asshole. I only promised to be your asshole.”

“What about other women?” I was starting to feel it. The way I liquefied in his arms. “What happens when you grow tired of me?”

“I will never grow tired of you.” His tongue glided between my lips, prying them open as he kissed me deeply. I let him, despite my inhibitions, and my better judgment, and the fact that I knew this was the opposite of what I was trying to do.

I became lax in his arms, enjoying the steadiness of him as his tongue rolled around mine. His fingers dug into my skull, gripping my hair.

“All these years, Nix, I thought about you. Every time I fucked someone else. Every time I brought someone into my office. I’d close my eyes and it was you I’d see. Then I’d remember your family would destroy us if I had you. They would never let that fly. I would remember how I’d fuck your life up if I touched you. If you became mine. If you were privy to all the blood I shed. I didn’t want to bring you into my mess, but now that I know that we’re both screwed-up and imperfect, it changes things.”

“And you have my father’s approval.” I put a hand on his chest, pushing him away. “How?”

He grinned. “I think your father figured out I am willing to go further to get you than he is willing to go to protect you. He is not a stupid man, Ash. He knows I always get what I want. And what I want is his daughter.”

“Your kiss.” I frowned. “It tasted different.”

“I quit smoking.” He arched an eyebrow, looking more annoyed than gloating.

“You did?” My heart did a weird flip in my chest. “Why?”

“You said you hated it. You said you don’t want to feel like you’re kissing an ashtray.”

“You should have done it because you want to live to a ripe old age.”

“Well, that might not be in store for me with my line of work anyway, but while I do live, I’d rather do it with you by my side.”

He said all the right things, and did all the right things, and still, I couldn’t forgive him. Not now. Not yet. Not when I knew that he was so close to destroying my family.

I took a step back, sobering up.

“What about my ban from Badlands?” I asked. The change of topic seemed to have thrown him off, too, because he cocked his head, examining me coldly.

“What about it?”

“Lift it.” I tilted my chin up.

“Nix,” he said darkly, narrowing his eyes. “I will not have you parading around in skimpy clothes in close proximity just to make me suffer.”

“Yes, you will,” I said airily. “Because you want me, and when you want someone, you make sacrifices for them—and don’t try to control them. Better get used to it.”

He considered my words, his face twisting.

“One condition.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes?”

“Have dinner with me.”

“I thought we were past dating.” I couldn’t help but grin.

“We are,” he said dryly. “No one said food is going to be the only thing on the menu. I’ll come pick the kid up in a few hours.” He leaned down, kissed me hard, turned around, and walked away.

It was only when he was gone that I realized the bastard had managed to snatch a piece of my heart in his fist yet again.

Thief.

Sam picked me up on New Year’s Eve, wearing a full-blown tux and a solemn scowl that suggested Satan himself had blackmailed him into doing this at gunpoint.

“For you …” He shoved a bouquet of flowers into my hands when I opened the door, all dolled up in a sheer white mini-dress paired with Louboutin boots.

They were a mix of lilies, sunflowers, and roses, in all shades and colors.

I pressed them to my nose and grinned.

“Thank you. Let me put them in water.”

“What’s the point?” He groaned, still obviously struggling with nicotine withdrawal. “They’ll die at some point anyway.”