When I do notice, he’s standing only inches away. His eyes catch mine. Hold me captive.
He’s a blond Adonis. Age has only made that truer. Those eyes are bright and alive, the slope of his jaw sharp enough to slice my finger open. I want to touch him more badly than I’ve ever wanted anything.
“Can I ask you an honest question, though?”
“Yes,” I hear myself whisper.
“How do you feel when he says he wants to protect you?”
“I feel… claustrophobic,” I reply. “Trapped. Chained.”
“And what do you feel when I say that to you?”
I look at him. At those beautiful light blue eyes. At the wavey sunshine gold of his curls.
It’s so hard to lose myself to old memories when he’s this close. His mere presence is all-consuming. Like he’s crowding out the shadows with the force of his light.
“Undeserving.”
I don’t really think about my answer, so when it comes out, it takes me by surprise. I freeze for a moment, but it’s too late to take it back.
“Undeserving?” Cillian echoes.
“I… I don’t know why I said that,” I say quickly. “Um, I…”
I can barely finish my sentence. All I can do is turn away from him to try and hide my scarlet face and my burgeoning sense of vulnerability.
It’s his damn eyes.
His damn intoxicating eyes.
He grabs me by the hand before I reach the window. He swings me around and I almost collide into his chest, but he holds away at arm’s length.
Almost as though the close proximity is making him just as nervous as it’s making me.
Still, he doesn’t let go of my hand. “Saoirse, you deserve the whole fucking world,” he rasps. “You deserve a real fucking chance at a future. With the people you choose to include in it.”
I shake my head. “I lost my chance at a real future when I chose to marry Tristan.”
“You were forced to marry Tristan.”
I sigh. “Maybe. But I made my bed.”
“Fuck that,” Cillian growls, tugging on my hand a little so that I stumble closer to him. “And fuck him. He preyed on you when you were still a child and he made you feel like he was your only option in life. He’s a fucking predator and he needs to be put down.”
“Cillian, no!” I gasp.
His eyes focus on me. They grow cautious suddenly. “No?”
“I don’t want that.”
“If he’s gone, you’re free,” Cillian says quietly. “Unless… you… love him?”
He says it like the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind until just now.
“I don’t want you killing him for me,” I clarify. “I don’t want you getting involved.”
“Why?” he demands. “Because this is the bed you made?”