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)
He nods. "Fair enough. Sorry, a stór. I was thinking of my grandad, the day he had a heart attack. Before he couldn't speak anymore, he kept saying, 'Owen, Owen...' Owen's my uncle's second-in-command. At the time, I thought my grandad wanted to see his friend, maybe speak to him about something concerning the business. But—I don't know..."
I squeeze his hand. "You can talk to me."
"I'm thinking I've been played," he says. "Because now that I think about it, my grandad sounded scared. Maybe he wasn't asking to see his friend; maybe he was warning us. But I can't start a war based on feelings... and there's nothing to be done about it tonight. You don't need to worry about this."
I remove my hand. "You might not be able to protect me forever, Killian."
"That's where you're wrong," he says huskily. "Even if I have to let you go, I'll never stop protecting you."
Hello, mixed signals. It's nice to see you again. Not...
Sixteen
KILLIAN
Itry my best to sleep alone in Lucy's bed. She's in her mom's old room next door. We slept in separate bedrooms because she's not ready to go all the way yet. When she suggested it, she also had this slightly resentful look in her gorgeous eyes. I know she's pissed at me for stubbornly insisting that this has an endpoint.
But what's the alternative? Let her into the mob world?
Unable to sleep, I toss and turn. I know Ronan is watching the property from the outside. I've set an alarm for four AM so we can change over and he can grab some shuteye. He's a loyal man, a good friend, and I trust him, but I still can't shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen.
I know I need to rest for the ball tomorrow evening. Uncle Frank sent out the invites earlier today via text. He's holding it at the swankiest hotel in the center of the city: a clear signal that there's going to be no violence unless he wants to bring the Feds swarming down on us. Even Uncle Frank isn't that stupid.
Most likely, he wants to schmooze the troops, wants to rally support. I stare at the ceiling, part of me wanting to go next door and be with my lucky charm.
Taking her to the ball might be a risk... but leaving her unprotected? Forget that.
I sit up when I hear her door open, her voice, quiet and hushed, "Good girl, don't bark. We don't want to wake our guest."
I walk to the bedroom door and throw it open. "Who said your guest was asleep?"
She looks smoking hot in her PJs, short shorts that cling to the curviness of her ass, and a tank top that shows her nipples poking through the fabric. "Did I wake you?" she asks, her eyes flitting to my chest.
I'm wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, every muscle going hard as I look at her. "I couldn't sleep. Too many thoughts bouncing around my head."
"Ditto," she murmurs. "Don't laugh, but I was going to do some baking. Just for fun."
I grin, taking a step forward. "What are we making?"
"Are you sure you want to join me in my crazy midnight baking session?"
"No time like the present for a lesson."
"So I'll be in charge... is that what you're saying?"
I surge toward her, grab her hips, then slip my hands around to her ass and down over her thighs as I move in for a hot kiss. She gasps captivatingly as I lift her off her feet, then she curls her legs around me instantly and grinds against my pole.
"Killian," she moans.
"I know," I say between hungry kisses. "I should stop. But you're too damn addictive."
I carry her to the counter, sitting her down and pushing my groin against hers, feeling her lips kissing my stiff length through the fabric of our clothes. She sinks her fingernails into my chest, pushing herself away, pouting beautifully at me.
"I'm in charge, remember? And step one to making Irish buttermilk scones is not getting the food prep surface all... messy."
I smirk. "By 'messy', I assume you mean covered in your gorgeous release?"
"Ew," she says.
"Say that like you mean it," I groan, taking her wrist and guiding her hand to the outline of my aching cock. "Try feeling how wild you make me, how hard, and then tell me you seriously think 'ew' is the right response."
When I let go of her wrist, she keeps stroking up and down my length, moaning as she goes from my tip to my base. I take a shaky step back after a minute, seed rushing to my length, obsession gripping me and trying to make me tear down her shorts and reveal her virgin entrance.
"Good call," she says, hopping down from the counter. "Now, are you ready to be my baking assistant?"