Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“I’m fine,” I blurt.
“Get yourself something too,” he says as I turn away. “If you’ve got the time, we’ll drink them together.”
Now he makes this request. Now when I’m about a million miles away from being able to enjoy it, from being able to savor the excitement that would’ve captivated me if there wasn’t a mob goon with a freaking hostage upstairs.
Toby raises his eyebrows at me. Since Toby usually starts after lunchtime, he’s missed the whole Killian saga, but he can tell something’s happening here. My hands tremble as I prepare the coffees, my legs shaking as I carry them over to the table in the corner. Killian watches me with his blue eyes, more intently than yesterday.
When we sit, our legs brush. Despite the circumstances, a tingle dances up my leg, shivering over my body. I clasp both hands around my coffee mug.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks. He leans forward when I don’t answer. “If this is about yesterday…”
“It’s not,” I tell him. “Well—not in the way you might think.”
“What way is that?”
“About the, you know, the dress and stuff.”
The ‘and stuff’ in that statement holds a lot. It contains all the closeness, our hands touching, how he leaned in and his breath shimmered over me before he pulled away and ended what might have been.
“Temptation overcame me,” he says, his voice fierce and husky even as he lowers it. “I think you know…”
“Go on,” I murmur.
“I shouldn’t.”
“But you’ve already started now.”
He takes a breath, then speaks in Gaelic.
“I caught the word ‘desire’, I think,” I murmur. “Or the equivalent, anyway.”
He smirks. “It’s not fair of me to speak when you don’t understand, but even if I use English, I’m afraid you won’t understand.”
“Are you saying I’m stupid?” I challenge.
“No, hell no,” he says. “I’m saying things are complicated. Yesterday, that dress highlighted how beautiful you looked. But you look gorgeous every single day, Lucy. Every time I walk in here, it’s a battle not to…”
“Go on,” I say again, my voice breathier this time.
“I shouldn’t,” he growls.
“Why? Have you got a girlfriend? Yesterday, you asked if I have a boyfriend. I don’t. But you never told me if you’re spoken for.”
“I don’t. I’m not.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Perfect as usual.”
I smile shakily.
“If I upset you yesterday, just know, if I had a choice, I would’ve done things differently,” he says earnestly.
“You’re not making any sense. You’re not spoken for… but you don’t have a choice? Is it because we knew each other before?”
“Come again?”
“Lost as a child in Ireland, you carried me to that cave, made me laugh, and helped me forget my asshole dad was chasing my mom across the country. When you made living seem worthwhile and gave me the ring and, the rain stopped, called me your lucky charm. Maybe you think it’s weird.”
“No, it’s not that,” he says. “I’m just not in a position to start a relationship. And I don’t think I could keep things casual with you.” He chuckles.
“What’s funny?”
“I need to relax. I didn’t come in here thinking I’d say any of this. I just needed to see you.”
“You’re not making any sense. You need to see me—you think I’m beautiful… but we can’t even go on a date. I can’t even believe we’re talking like this. I didn’t think you even liked me—”
When Clover barks from upstairs, a bolt of pure terror strikes through me. I look at the ceiling, imagining all kinds of horrors. Quickly, I take out my phone and check the dog camera. The woman, the prisoner, is sitting cross-legged on the floor with one of Clover’s toys, a somehow hopeless smile on her face, like she can’t dare to let herself feel happiness even for a moment.
On the couch, Shane sits with the pistol casually aimed at them.
“Something’s wrong,” Killian says when I slip my phone in my pocket.
“I’m fine,” I say, standing.
He bolts to his feet, gripping my wrist before I can turn away. “What’s going on?” he demands. “Don’t tell me you’re fine. Or that it’s nothing. Is your dog sick?”
“What’s gotten into you?” He seems like he’s on the verge of an explosion.
“I learned some bad news recently. Maybe helping you would help me. Talk to me, Lucy.”
“I can’t,” I whisper, annoyed with myself when his image distorts, my eyes shimmering with tears.
“Woah… Lucy…”
He takes my other wrist and pulls me toward him. There are other people in The Celtic Crust—it’s not a huge bakery—but it’s like they all cease to exist.
“If I tell you,” I whisper, “I’ll be putting you in danger. You’re a good person, but you can’t do anything against…”
“Tell. Me.” He takes my hands, squeezing them encouragingly.
“The mob,” I whisper.
His expression drops, the light draining from his eyes. He lets my hands go and stares at me like he’s pissed I said anything, like he wishes he could turn back time a few seconds and make it so I never spoke.