Looks like you have a stage-five clinger on your hands, my beautiful turtle.
She’d say that about Robert when he’d start to get clingy.Stage-five clinger here!Robert was a mood-clinger, though. The impulse came and went with him.
It seemed like it might be a permanent thing for Cian.
Maybe that was why I studied him as much as he studied me. I wanted to know who he was.
He was silent—by choice or not—but the people around him never had an issue understanding what he wanted. And for such an odd group, they seemed to work as a family. They all seemed to watch out for each other.
For a man who was dubbed the Beast of Boston, he had loyalty. I thought that said a great deal about his character. I just wished I knew what was going on. On a deeper level, something haunted the castle, and at times it felt dark and cold, but everyone was tight-lipped, and it reminded me of how much of an outsider I was.
As far as I could tell, I was going to be with Cian indefinitely, and maybe I shouldn’t have wanted to know more about him, but I did. I wanted to know what had happened in the castle to make it feel perpetually chilled. I wanted to know if Cian could talk, and if so, why wasn’t he talking to me?
My curiosity wasn’t exactly a choice. There was something inside of me pulling me toward him. Whatever it was sparked my hunger for information, even if my brain tried to warn me to leave him alone.
He seemed like a lonesome soul. Someone who could spend hours inside of his head, and without a book to root him there. Even though my initial thought had been that the lights were on but no one was home, I’d been wrong. I got the feeling his mind was a trap, and he was caught inside of it. But he’d made himself at home in the prison.
Yeah, he was silent, but by no means simple. There were intelligent thoughts behind that frozen-over gray window. Maybe because at times, he warmed enough to let me see through it.
It was momentary glimpses that I was starting to live for.
When Keenan talked to him, mostly by the lough, I could see his words filtering into Cian’s head, and he’d make his choice based on whatever he was thinking and feeling. His brow furrow told me it was something he’d have to think about or something he didn’t like. If he stared at me, his stance relaxed, I knew he either expected the news from Keenan or already had an answer.
Or like the first dinner we’d shared in my room, at the desk. It was only the two of us. No words had been spoken, but…it only made the intensity of the connection between us even stronger.
Especially after he’d fed me a bite of mashed potatoes. The moment kept replaying in my head more than it should have. It made my body feel things only my romance books had.
A man had never touched my body in a sexual way, but when Cian looked at me, it felt like he was.
His hands were huge, his skin taut, and I found myself staring at them when he did the simplest things—like pick up a fork to eat—or when he fixed something around the castle. Even the thought of him touching me like he did those things made me breathless.
I craved his touch.
I craved to see his face, to finally look into both of his eyes, like maybe that would reveal to me who he truly was. Maybe his hair hid that part of his face because it was the most vulnerable.
I craved to know all of him.
The thought of him made me stir in bed.
Ever since the dinner we’d shared, I felt restless. I couldn’t wait for the night to be over so I could spend time with him.
The sun was just coming up over the castle, and the green grass and lough glowed from the early morning light. I twisted my hair into a messy bun as I went to the window and looked out. It was one of my favorite views in the castle. It was peaceful and gave me a sense that all was going to be okay. The only thing missing was…him. He was usually below the window when I came to it each morning, a cup of coffee in his hand, waiting for me to rise with the day.
I rushed to my door and flung it open. “Ah!” I jumped back a step.
He was standing next to the door, his back against it, his visible eye closed. Had he been sleeping standing up? He wasn’t sleeping anymore. His eye was wide, like he wasn’t expecting me to rush the door.
I looked down before I could meet his eyes. “I thought something was wrong…” I didn’t want to admit that I’d missed him waiting for me below the window. It was embarrassing.
He tapped his wrist.
“Yeah,” I breathed. “I know. I overslept.”
He nodded at what I’d said, then nodded downstairs. He was reminding me we had plans. Mrs. Sweetman, who had insisted I call her Beatrice, had suggested a trip to Galway the day before, probably the biggest city close to wherever we were. She said I needed to pick out clothes of my own. Cian had nodded, and that was that.
“Ahh…” I hesitated. “I mean…” I couldn’t find the right way to say this. Words were tripping me up.
His eye widened.
