Seeing Nero transformed into an almost reasonable human makes me believe that miracles can happen after all.

Maybe that’s what it takes: an unexpected pairing. Cal fell in love with the daughter of our worst enemy. Nessa is married to her own goddamned kidnapper. Nero got his heart stolen by a girl he barely noticed in high school. And Dante is back together with the woman who ripped out his heart.

In that case, maybe Dean and I are doomed. He’s exactly my usual type. Exactly what I always pick for myself.

And we’re barely getting along at all now.

We had one rather awkward coffee date earlier in the week. This time Raylan kept a respectful distance at a different table—pretending he had some emails to answer, but I suspect just trying to give Dean and me some space for ourselves.

It didn’t really help. Dean was sulky. He kept asking me how long this whole ridiculous bodyguard thing was going to go on.

“I don’t know,” I said testily. “If we can’t find the person who tried to murder me, I guess the alternative is that he succeeds in offing me. Either way, you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Oh, come on Riona,” Dean said, rolling his eyes at my melodrama. “You know I don’t want you to get hurt.” He reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “I just miss you. And I’m tired of these Victorian-era chaperoned dates.”

I pulled my hand back. “I know,” I said. “But there’s not a whole lot else I can do about it.”

The truth is, I could tell Raylan to drive me over to Dean’s house for a proper date. Raylan could monitor the house while Dean and I ate dinner on our own, then went upstairs for a little private time. That’s how you’d treat a normal security guard.

But Raylan isn’t a normal security guard. And not just because he’s friends with Dante.

There’s something about Raylan that doesn’t let you keep him at arm’s length. He’s too perceptive and too goddamned personal. Too honest and too . . . himself. There’s no layer of professional distance between him and me. There never has been.

Even Nero sees it.

He looks up from his switchblade, fixing me with his cool gray eyes, and says, “So, are you and the cowboy fucking yet?”

That’s a classic cross-examination tactic. Ask a question bluntly and abruptly to try to shock the defendant into answering honestly.

“No,” I say, without giving Nero the pleasure of an emotional response. “I have a boyfriend.”

“But you would otherwise.”

“No,” I say calmly. “I wouldn’t.”

Nero snorts, obviously thinking I’m full of shit.

“I know this will come as a shock to you, but most people don’t fuck every single person they meet,” I inform Nero.

“They do if they’re hot,” Nero says.

“Oh, so you think Raylan’s hot?” I say innocently.

To my surprise, Nero grins. “Yeah,” he says. “Real dreamy.”