He winks. “You can thank me later in the hotel room.”
It eases a tiny bit of the crushing weight on my chest. Just a little.
“She’ll forgive you, love,” he says. “I promise.”
She may, but I’ll never forgive myself.
Chapter 13
Tate
I force myself to focus on what we need to do, the safety of the Clan of paramount importance. But though my mind tells me one thing, I’m still lingering with her, still feel her in my arms.
“How’s your head?” I ask her, as if talking about normal, pragmatic things can pull me out of my stupor. I’d dreamed of taking her. Claiming her. Making her mine, in every possible way. And it was everything I hoped for and more.
Everything.
But we have important work to do, for the safety of my Clan, the safety of all of us.
She nods. “So much better. I thank you for the orgasmic healing.”
I give her a teasing swat to the arse that makes her squeal. “It’s been my literal pleasure.” I love that despite everything we’ve been through, despite the dangerous road we still have ahead of us, she hasn’t lost her sense of humor and wit. I love everything about this woman.
We load up the car with our bags and equipment—she doesn’t know I’ve got an arsenal of weapons, and I’ve no doubt I’ll use them—and I open the door for her, my hand lingering on the small of her back. She ducks her head and smiles softly.
Gorgeous.
And when I take my seat beside her, I slide my hand across to hers. She tucks her hand against mine, our fingers entwined, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“Right, then,” she says, nodding her head. “Tell me all the details.”
I can’t bloody tell her all the details, but I’ll tell her as much as I can.
“We’ve a private jet, but will need to head to Inverness first. I’ve an errand in town, and it will be easier for us to fly from Inverness straight to Dublin. By car would take too long, and it’s too complicated.” Water and ferries and the like, and we have no time.
“So you’ll fly to Dublin…”
“We’ll fly. We have friends outside of the city, good friends who’ll help us find what we need.”
She nods, not able to help the small, pleased smile that flits across her face. “And we’ll visit my publisher.”
“Aye.”
A minute later, she’s fiddling with the radio, does something with her phone, and before I know it, the car’s damn near bursting with the sound of music. She grins, throws her head back, and belts out lyrics.
“Someone’s in a chipper mood,” I say, giving her a teasing glance. “Seems getting fucked good and hard agrees with you.”
Her cheeks heat, but she grins, nods, flicks me a thumbs-up, and keeps on singing. But when the song ends, and the next one begins, she sobers, looking out the window with a sigh.
“What are you thinking of?”
She doesn’t answer at first, and I realize she’s undoing the work of a lifetime of coping by twisting the truth. She doesn’t want to do that anymore, if what she’s told me is any indication. She’s determined to turn over a new leaf.
She sighs. “Islan’s bloody pissed with me.”
It’s more important to me that my sister’s alive. For now, anyway. We’ll deal with the aftermath of all this after everyone’s safety’s secured.
I squeeze her hand. “She’ll get over it.”
But Fran only looks out the window.
I change the subject. It’s time for us to focus on what we need to do, and my sources say she’s going to be integral.
“Fran, what can you tell me about your ex?”
She makes a face like she’s eaten rotten food. “Fergus?” Even his name seems distasteful on her lips.
“Aye, lassie.”
She shrugs. “We met online. He promised his undying devotion.” She rolls her eyes. “Only child, mother was a schoolteacher and single mom. Died when he was just out of school, and he threw himself into studies.”
“Interesting.”
She gives me a curious look.
“Literally everything he told you was a lie.”
Her jaw drops. “What?”
“He was raised by two parents in Wales. Mum’s a politician, father as well. Bloody fucking rich. Fergus isn’t even called Fergus.”
Her jaw unhinges.
“It’s another reason we’re going to Inverness first. My sources say he’s having a pint in town, and I’d like a word before we go to Ireland.”
“Jaysus.”
“He knew exactly what he was doing.”
“Then he… used me?”
“Aye.”
“But whatever for?” She gets the cutest little pucker between her eyebrows as she thinks about this. “I’m not rich. I don’t have anything to offer him…”
“Don’t you, though?”
No answer at first as she mulls this over, then she groans. “My contacts. He wanted access to my contacts?”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe he thought I’d strike it rich and he could be my bloody lap dog.”
Possessive heat curls around my gut. I grunt in reply.