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It’d be weird to tell him that I missed him today. So I don’t. Instead, I show him by crushing my lips against his. He responds by cupping my jaw, leaning into my kiss, and groaning into my mouth.
It sounds different today.
I tear my mouth from his to study his face. It’s hard and there’s a stormcloud of concern in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Can I tell you after I’ve tasted your pussy? I’ve been craving it all—”
“No,” I slam my hand on his chest, “Tell me!”
He looks at me, sighs. Then he untangles himself from my limbs and places his palms on the counter, either side of me. Brushing his nose against mine, he says gently, “You trust me, don’t you?”
I stiffen. “Don’t butter me up, Cillian.”
“Answer the question.”
“Yes, I trust you.”
He pauses. Looks up at me from under his lashes. “So, you trust that when I hand you back to Abruzzo, it’ll just be to lure him into a trap.”
A numbing sensation trickles into my veins. It sinks, like dripping treacle, into my stomach, putting out the nervous energy in my gut.
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
He sighs. “I’m not joking.”
We lock eyes for a moment. His clouded with concern. Mine threatening to leak.
“Baby, I—”
“No,” I interrupt, slipping out from his arms and stalking across the kitchen. “I’m not being used as bait. I don’t want to be anywhere near him. You know what?” I realize I’m borderline hysterical now, my voice an octave higher than usual. I stop at the mouth of the Garden and turn to face Cillian. He’s in the same spot, leaning over the kitchen counter, lips pursed. “You were right.”
He draws in a lungful of air and says, “About what?”
“The only person you can save is yourself. So that’s what I’ll do, Cillian. Forget about me, I’ll save myself.”
Following the sound of rushing water, I run down the cobbled path, branches and brambles scraping my arms as I stumble. I cross the stepping stones and head into the cool, quiet safety of the hut.
When I hand you back to Abruzzo.
My heart hammers against my chest, working overtime as it tries to deal with all of my emotions. I’m furious but also feel betrayed. When Cillian said he’d deal with it, I assumed he meant he’d just kill him. Not set up an elaborate plan, using me like a worm on a fishing hook, to lure in his big catch.
I’m face-down on the bed, head stuffed between two pillows, when the door creaks open. Floorboards creak. The bed dips. Warm, protective hands run up the back of my thighs.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
I feel the heat of his body next to me. Like I weigh nothing, he moves me onto my side and pulls me into his chest. It’s something about the familiar scent of his cologne, laundry detergent, and the strong cage he forms around me with his arms that makes me break into a sob. I want to push him away, but want him to never leave at the same time.
“Shh,” he murmurs into my hair, rubbing my back. “It’ll be okay.”
“How do you know that?” I mumble into his T-shirt. “That it’ll be okay?”
The silence swirls between us for a few moments. Then Cillian rolls onto his back, pulling me with him. With two fingers under my chin, he lifts my face to meet his. He plants a soft kiss on my nose and brushes back the strands of hair now matted to my forehead.
His eyes are dark, his voice gruff and serious.
