Page 195 of Carnal Wagers

“How are you feeling?” I ran my fingers through the bristles of his beard. They were longer than usual.

“I should be asking that question.”

“But I did first. So tell me, Cillian, how are you feeling?”

His steady focus magnetized mine. Those deep-sea blues reeled me in like an anchor to its winch.

“Thankful you’re in my arms. Relieved to feel you breathing against me.”

“That’s not what I meant. Not in here. Up here.” I slipped my hand off his heart and tapped his forehead. “Be vulnerable with me, like I am with you. Tell me honestly, how are you holding up with all this?”

He caught my finger and nibbled on the tip with light grazes of his teeth. “I’m only ever vulnerable with you, mo leannán.”

“Then talk to me. Don’t keep me in the dark about your demons. I see them anyway.” I grazed his cheek with mine and whispered in his ear, “I know you’re feeling more about this than you’re showing. It’s okay to let go too. No one but me has to know you’re not infallible.”

His breath hitched, and his hand cupped the back of my head. He closed the distance between us until the warmth of his forehead seeped into mine. “Just let me keep holding you. It helps. Knowing you’re here makes it all worthwhile.”

I scratched my nails along his short beard. “Then maybe we should talk about how I’m going to stay here beyond my visa.”

“Ah, I see how it is. Using me for my connections, are you?”

The corners of my mouth ticked up as I tipped my chin until only a hair’s breadth separated us. “Always. I’m a businesswoman, after all.”

“My dodgy little fairy.”

“My heartless husband dearest.”

The kiss was like coming home after a long voyage. A bit tentative, as if we were rediscovering each other, and a whole lot of desperation to beat away the dread of the last couple of days. It was everything I needed and all I ever wanted. Him and me forever.

A knock cut through the slow build of sexual tension we were in no condition to act on. A moment later, Erel trudged into the room. A slight slump rounded his usually straight back, and his face was downcast with a weariness I’d never seen on him. Even in the hardest times, nothing beat him down.

“I need to speak with you,” he said in French, fixating on the two of us coiled together before looking away. “Alone.”

Every sense of calm I’d found in Cillian’s arms evaporated.

“No,” I answered in English. “Together or not at all.”

I had a feeling where this conversation was headed, and just because I was good at dealing with problems on my own didn’t mean I wanted to, especially right now.

“Will you help me up?” I asked Cillian.

The mattress crinkled as Cillian shuffled around for the remote. The bed whirred to life and folded up at an incline. He helped me shift up it, and with a pained huff, I hugged my knees to relieve the pressure on my back, my head sinking into the pillow in exhaustion.

“It’s…” Erel restarted in English. He cleared his throat. “It’s about Maeve.”

My inner pot of emotions bubbled out of my control and sputtered in a series of pops up my throat.

“Do you blame me?” I asked him.

“No. I can’t…”

“I didn’t want to shoot her. You have to know I would never…”

Erel gritted his teeth as the skin around his eye sockets flushed red. “I know. You did what you had to do. This is not…”

His face screwed up, and my shame surged and slipped out below the lid keeping my emotions contained.

“I’m sorry.”