She isn’t my punishment.
She’s my gift.Chapter 10MeganThe next few days pass in a sort of weird blur. I have to work at the hospital, and Carson attends the guard that goes with me. I have to reluctantly admit that having a guard that involves him isn’t so bad. I reckon it’s the principle of the thing that gets me so angry.
I can’t forget what happened in Stone City, and it’s almost disturbing to me how easily I move on. Carson took a life. He did so because of me. But my main focus is on what was in the contents of Eve’s diary.
Is there really a mole in our midst? I have a hard time bringing myself to think about such a thing. These men are my family, and I trust them implicitly.
Should I go to Keenan? Nolan is the one I confide in, the cousin I trust the most. There were days in my youth we spent all night by the shore, sitting on the rocky cliffs of Ballyhock, sharing a smoke, sharing a drink, sharing our minds and hearts. A little part of me misses the way we used to be able to confide in one another. Now that he’s married, we have less time together. And his wife is the woman he confides in, as it should be.
Still, I wonder… does the Clan know there’s suspicion of a spy among them? Keenan misses absolutely nothing. I ought to know, I think wryly. Then I remember the note in Eve’s diary. I sigh.
They know. But do they know who?
I haven’t had any time off since the incident in Stone City, my hours long and arduous. I work all day. At work, I barely have time to take a sip of water or sit for lunch, the tasks coming one after another. There’s a shortage of nurses in the Ballyhock hospital, like many throughout the country, and though we’re compensated well, the work is grueling.
I’m grateful for the work, though. When one is busy, it’s much easier not to think about problems or worries. I move from one task to the other, my interaction with Carson mostly the texts he sends me—which, I note with glee, are growing more and more salacious in nature—and his presence with the guard that escorts me.
On the fourth day after we went to Stone City, I have my first day off all week. I’m dead asleep, the curtains pulled, when I hear a knock on my door. I open one groggy eye and glance at the clock. Seven o’clock. Bloody hell, who could it be at this hour?
I’m quickly in a panic. Did something go wrong? Is everyone alright? I glance to the table, where my mobile lies, dead. I was so tired last night I forgot to plug it in.
I throw the covers off and race to the door, standing on tiptoes to see out.
And my heart nearly stops. Carson, his hair still damp from a shower, carrying a tray. He waves at the peep hole.
I glance down at myself. Jesus, I need to get better about my night clothes. I’m wearing a faded pair of shorts and a thin wisp of a tank.
I unfasten the deadbolt—learned that lesson right quick—and open the door.
He steps inside, while I shut and lock the door behind him.
“Good girl,” he says with an approving smile that makes my belly flip. “You’re catching on.”
“Aye,” I say on a yawn. “Carson, I’m a mess. Just rolled out of bed, and I—”
But I don’t get very far. He put the tray he carried down while I locked the door, and just as fast he’s pressing me up against the door. One hand on my chin, the other on the small of my back, he’s pulling me into him for a kiss.
Ah. So he’s missed me. My belly warms at the very thought. It’s nice to be missed.
Before I can tell him I haven’t even brushed my teeth or rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, his mouth is on mine and I’m moaning softly into him. My knees buckle but he holds me up. Oh, how I’ve missed this.
He kisses me until I’m boneless and aroused, and I’m eager for so much more. When he finally releases my mouth, his eyes meet mine, and he smiles.
“Missed you,” he says.
“Missed me?” I tease with a smile. “You’ve seen me every day.”
He grins. “Seen you, aye. Haven’t had time for more than a quick conversation.”
He bends and picks up the tray he brought. “Fancy breakfast? Breena’s with Maeve, and we’re interviewing nannies today.” He’s got a pot of tea and a plateful of my favorite scones, clotted cream, Ballyhock’s good butter, preserves, and a plate of fried eggs and sausages. My stomach rumbles with hunger.
“Oh, aye, this looks delicious,” I say. “But I only worked, didn’t run a damn marathon.”