“Aye. And you will be permitted to come and go.” Kieran’s cool-gray eyes twinkle as he brings his glass to his lips. “We have a few kinks to address first.”
Sarcasm spills in the form of laughter from my mouth.Oye, this is his game. We’re playing the idiota’s game.I snort. “Yes, the attempts to escape.”
Kieran laughs too, and I have the feeling, under other circumstances, other women would’ve appreciated that sexy laugh. The sound of it adds some serious weight to the lining of my sex.
“Also, you havethemwatching us.” I glance toward the shore. A ways away are a few guards, and down the beach too,andon the cliff where we came from.Andperhaps, there are a few snorkeling. Who knows?
I continue the argument. “Tell your guys, nice try. They’re naturals at blending into the trees. The rest of it is hit or miss.”
Kieran drags a heavy hand through his hair. The soft wind carries his thick, lowered voice. “There was a time I’d not have all the henchmen about the place.”
The sneer recedes while I watch fresh grief wash over his face.C’mon, chica. This is not the time to develop Stockholm syndrome. Thank thecabrónwhen he releases you—and that’s optional. Wrenching my fingers together, I can’t help the spark of curiosity. I inquire, “Something happened?”
Kieran opens a wicker basket, situating containers between us. “Steak, ham sandwich, uh . . . lobster roll . . .”
Oye, bastard, you almost had me.I utter, “You don’t skip any meals.”
“Not by choice. Only on the day we arrived home.”
I laugh again. This one is an unexpected delight and not on behalf of his choice word . . .home. He’s a tad broody over leaving all the food at the pub. “Would another apology suffice?”
“No. I punished you accordingly.”
Again, I find a genuine smile tugging the edges of my lips as the sun dips into the underworld. The twinkling glow of the candles around us illuminates the chiseled carving of Kieran’s face. “Well, then, it’s refreshing that you don’t hold grudges.”
“Adnan did?”
My eyelid twitches. I take back my last thought. The wine isn’t creeping up on me. My defenses haven’t plunged. I’m not surrounded by the most romantic gesture ever to befallen me. I tricked myself into craving something that couldn’t be.
“I’m leaving!” I jump to my feet. In my hast to rise, the heels of my bare feet dig into the sand, and my arms fly out attempting to gain purchase.
“You ain’t leaving, lassie.” Kieran keeps his seat, leisurely perusing the basket for more food. Although he speaks, the bastard doesn’t afford me a single glance. “Take a wee moment, contemplate your next move. Sit thefeckdown or try me. What’ll it be?”
Oh, so that’s a test, then?
15
Kieran
In a grave, low tone, I threaten, “You ain’t leaving, lassie.” I work the stiffness in my jaw. Ava’s exercised my patience, first by asking why I have so much security.What’s with thefeckingquestions?Has it not gotten through her skull that the henchmen mulling about are here for her protection? The grocery incident didn’t penetrate her thick skull? I growl out, “Take a wee moment, contemplate your next move. Will you sit thefeckdown or try me? What’ll it be?”
She’s toofeckingstubborn to bridge the abyss. Hell, in another life, I would’ve sent the lassie away. Or, at the very least, gotmefar fromher.I feel like afeckingpussy. For the first time, I see a wee bit of my father in myself. Useless. Too much bloody conceding.
From my peripheral, I watch the lass. She stands there weighing the options she sure as hell doesn’t have. She ain’t got any. But I’m watching her. Aye, I am. The wind plays across her face, stroking her cheek, kissing her lips as she stands between a handful of stars. She doesn’t have half a problem with my mouth on her clit. But kissing her?
Ava squirms and turns her head, wanting to fight me. Same as she did when I settled her onto the blanket on the sand.
With an audible huff, Ava plops down.
“Good choice.”
“Ihateyou!”
I wag a finger. “That’s our love language, Ava. Youfeckinglove me, thank you. Feeling’s mutual. No! I love you more. I actually have an ache in my chest every time you push me away!”Which is psychologicalbullshitethat happens when a daft lad takes too muchshitefrom a woman.
“Liar,” she says in Spanish.
Aye. Iama liar. No. I don’t love her. That will come later. It must.