“You hungry, lass?”
“Aye, but it’s awfully expensive.”
He rolls his eyes. “Now, did I ask you how much it cost, or did I ask you if you were hungry?”
I smile and nod. “Pancakes.”
“Hmm?”
“I’d like a large order of pancakes, please. I hear they’re amazing in America.”
“Excellent.” He picks up the phone and places an order, then calls Keenan. He steps out onto the balcony when my phone dings with a text.
Aisling: Is everything okay? Why didn’t you come back to the room?? Text me, girl. I am worried about you!!! I GOT A TEXT FROM YOUR BROTHER
I snort.
Everything’s fine. We’re okay.
Aisling: We???!!?!?!
Aye. Lachlan’s here with me.
Aisling: Mother of God he moves fast, doesn’t he?
I roll my eyes heavenward. Fast? I’ve waited damn near a lifetime for him to make a move.
I suppose. But anyway, he’s here. Seems there was an issue with my guard. Can’t find them.
Aisling: Odd. Hopefully everything’s okay. You up for the tour today?
Aye. I look out at the balcony. Lachlan will join me, though, okay?
Aisling: Be still my heart. Of course it’s okay.
We make plans, and he comes back in the room.
“Alright, lass,” he says. “I spoke with Keenan. He’s concerned about your guard. He’s confident you’re not safe. He agreed with me that we won’t run, and that we’ll find whoever’s behind this.”
I nod.
“So for now, I suppose I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend.”
He winces.
“Why do you look as if that pains you, Lachlan?” I ask. Just when I think I mean something to him…
“I don’t want to be your boyfriend,” he says. “I want so much more than that.”
Oh my God.
There’s a knock at the door indicating room service. I let him get it while I mull this over.Chapter 8LachlanI’ve been a fool not admitting how I feel about her. A damn fool.
Yes, Nolan could kick my arse and so could Sheena, but I’d kick my own bloody arse if anyone harmed a hair on her head.
Fiona and I will make this work. And I’ll fight anyone who gets in our way.
I bring the tray of food into the room and settle it beside the bed.
“Eat. Then get ready.”
“Still a man of few words,” she muses with a teasing curl of her lip. She pounds her chest, and speaks in a comically deep voice. “Eat, woman.”
I hand her the tray with a warning look, though I can’t help but smile at her.
“Now.”
I sit beside her and dig into my plate of bacon and eggs, while she drizzles so much syrup on her pancakes I can hardly see them.
“Makes my teeth hurt just looking at that,” I say with a grimace.
“It’s delicious,” she says around a mouthful of pancakes.
We eat in comfortable silence. I watch as she cuts a piece of pancake with her knife and places it between her pouty lips. She chews and swallows, then shakes her head.
“What?”
“You’re beautiful.”
A faint flush of pink colors her cheeks, and she looks away. “Thank you. Is your food good?”
I’d give anything to keep this normal, to bask in the simplicity of being with Fiona, for as long as I can. Simplicity is underrated.
“Aye.”
“So after this… do you have anything to do?” she asks.
“Watch you.”
She smiles. “Even if that means coming onto campus with me?”
“Of course. I don’t want any of those dumb blokes thinking for a minute that you’re free.”
She gives me a teasing look. “But maybe I am.”
Heat surges in me at her taunt, but I keep myself in check. I reach over to cup her cheek in my hands, but my voice is laced with warning. “You’re bloody well not.”
She closes her eyes and her own hand clasps over mine. She sighs and shakes her head, but doesn’t speak for long minutes. Finally, she opens her eyes and stares at me.
“I feel like—like I’ve wanted this. And that it isn’t real. That I’m going to blink my eyes and wake from a dream. And you’ll be distant again. You’ll deny that you care.”
Deny that I care? Is that what she thinks?
I’ve spent years doing everything I could to protect her, to keep her safe, while I’ve been the one inflicting wounds. I regret what I’ve done, and I’m determined not to do it again.
“I know, lass, and for that I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to—”
I hold up my hand to stop her. “I do. I owe you an apology.”
She swallows, then nods. Accepting it.
We continue to eat in silence, until she asks another question.
“So… well… does that mean that you’re my boyfriend, then? Or at least pretending to be one?”
I roll my eyes. In the Irish mob, “boyfriend” is a foreign term. You’re either with a woman you claim… or you’re not.
“Sure,” I say with a sigh. “We’ll have to do something, won’t we?”
“Aye,” she says with a laugh. “We’ll have to do something.”
My phone rings. Keenan. She’s finished her breakfast, so I send her to the shower with a teasing smack to the rear. She squeals and giggles. I’m still smiling when I answer the phone.