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He reaches out and fixes my top where it's caught in my jeans. “Yeah, you are.”
“And where exactly would I sleep? The floor?”
His gaze slides to the rug beyond us, then drifts back to me.
“Well, that’s already been used, so you’ll join me in my room.”
My stomach drops, and a little gasp catches me off guard.
“How about no?”
“The front door is locked, the gates are manned, and I’m not driving you home when the night isn’t over yet.”
The confession lands between us, ugly and hot and real.
“I’m not sleeping in your bed.”
The muscles in his jaw flex. “And I never said anything about sleeping.”
“We shouldn’t—”
“We already did,” he says, walking ahead of me. “But first, Megan needs to be fed. This way.”
I stare after him. “Who the hell is Megan?”
Chapter 24
Sera
Instead of answering, Fionn crosses back to where his joggers are lying near the armchair and pulls them on.
He takes his phone from the pocket, taps the screen twice, and beyond the drawing-room, the house wakes.
Lamps and wall sconces flick on while something beeps from another room.
Of course, the Harrington gothic mansion has an app to control the lighting.
“Come with me,” he says.
The corridor outside the drawing room is cooler than the room we leave behind.
Fionn walks ahead of me, barefoot and half-dressed, because prowling through a creepy house at night is an ordinary thing for him to do.
Shadows sit thick along the walls. Portraits watch from gilt frames, their dead Harrington eyes following me.
I carry my boots in one hand and a whiskey in the other as he leads me along a narrower passage, then into a chrome chef's kitchen.
The floor is old stone, the ceiling high, and the counters gleam. Copper pans hang over an island. A black range sits against the far wall. At the back, a glass door shows nothing beyond it except darkness and the faint silver smear of moonlit rain against the panes.
Fionn opens the tall steel fridge built into the wall, because God forbid a Harrington would have to bend for milk.
“What are ya doing?” I ask.
He takes out a covered dish. “Feeding you.”
“I didn’t ask to be fed.”
“True,” he says. “But you’ll eat anyway.”
