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“We can’t assume that. We have to treat this like a game of chess against an opponent we’ve never played before. We’ve cut off the coke supply, now we’re waiting for his move.”
“Or we can just tip the whole board over,” Donnacha growls, curling his fingers over the armrests of his chair.
Lorcan ignores him, pinning me with a blistering stare. “No. Cillian is well-placed to help us. You accepted his job, yes?”
I grind my back molars together. “Technically, yes.”
“Good. Arrange another meeting. Somewhere on his turf. See what you can find out for us. His business deals, his connections. Anything that will shine some light on how he operates.” His eyes darken. “Anything that will help us bring him down. You’ll help us, won’t you, Cillian?”
I nod. Then I pick up Valentina and hold her in Poppy’s direction, arms outstretched. She rolls her eyes and collects her child from me. I rise to my feet, cross the carpet to shake Lorcan’s hand.
“It’d be my pleasure.”
And it will be. Because I have another reason to want to take Abruzzo down.
Dahlia
Chapter 6: States of Consciousness.
I’ve read the chapter title a million times, highlighter twirling between my thumb and forefinger. I’ve stared at it so long now that I can see the texture of the ink and all of the vowels float above the page.
I sigh, frustrated, then slam the textbook shut.
I’m too on edge to study. Too full with thoughts of Cillian; there’s isn’t room in my brain for Sigmund Freud’s thoughts too.
Scraping the chair back, I leave the coolness of the kitchen and step into the magical world of the Garden. The warmth and light spilling through the glass, hundreds of exotic flowers in a kaleidoscope of colors surrounding me. I can feel myself thawing in the heat, softening around the edges. I slip off my sneakers and dip my feet in the stream, rolling my head to release the tension gripping my neck.
My body relaxes, but my mind struggles to get on the same page.
What’s the point of studying, anyway?
I might not even be alive to take the exam.
Steadying my breathing, I sink my palms into the wet soil of the riverbank and focus on the cool sensation creeping up my hands. Grounding myself, quite literally. When I squeeze my eyes shut, I allow my mind to go to Cillian, even though I’ve been trying to fight the thoughts of him all morning.
I see the intensity of his gaze. The promise on his lips. I feel the protectiveness in his grip. The hunger in his kiss.
When I open my eyes again, he’s staring right at me from the other side of the river.
I falter, thinking he’s a figment of my imagination, but it’s not. We lock eyes. My heart beats louder than the waterfall. Then he slowly slips his T-shirt over his head and steps out of his jeans.
Jesus Christ.
My heart goesthump, thump, thump,and I allow myself to indulge in the view. He studies me, studying him, as he removes his watch and lays it on top of his clothes, before stretching up to his full height.
It’s hard to believe I’ve had those bulging arms around my waist or rested my head on that carved-from-stone chest. My eyes dip further south.
Or that I’ve hadthatinside of me.
He lowers himself into the water and wades towards me. When he’s close enough, he slides his hands up my thighs. They are wet and warm and stoke the fire in my lower belly.
He looks up and frowns at me. “You’re worried.” I open my mouth to lie, but I already know he’ll see right through it. Instead, I concentrate on the circles that his thumbs are creating on my inner thighs. My goosebumps show my body can’t lie to him, either. “I told you, I’ll sort it.”
“I believe you.”
“Good.” Then, he meets my gaze and licks his lips. “I’ve been thinking about your kiss all morning.”
The cheesiest of grins splits my face in two. “Even though it broke your rule?”
