And I can’t wait for it to break.
Chapter Eighteen
Cavin
It’s beentwo days since that kiss, and I’ve replayed it in my head approximately eight thousand times. The soft sounds she made. The way she grabbed my shirt like she needed something to hold onto.
I’m sitting in my office at The Craic, supposedly reviewing the quarterly reports, but the numbers blur together. All I can see is her face, flushed and wanting, telling me she knows exactly what she’s doing.
All I can think about is having her alone in here, with me.
Christ, my focus is all over the place.
My phone buzzes. A text from her guard—the one I assigned to shadow her during the day.
Sir, Miss Kavanagh is at the bookshop on Grafton Street. She’s been here forty minutes. Should I be concerned about the duration?
I type back quickly:
No. She likes books. Let her browse.
Then I add:
But keep eyes on her. Report anyone who approaches.
Because that’s not obsessive at all, McCarthy.
There’s a knock at my door.
“Come in.”
Declan enters, followed by Daire. They both look like they’ve been up to something, wearing matching grins that spell trouble.
“What?” I ask, not looking up from the reports I’m pretending to read.
“Heard you’ve been texting your betrothed approximately ninety times a day,” Declan says, dropping into the chair across from me. “Very romantic, that.”
“Piss off.”
“And that you had her guards file hourly reports on her whereabouts,” Daire adds, leaning against the doorframe. “Very normal behavior.”
“It’s for her safety.”
“Right.” Declan grins. “Safety. Not because you’re completely gone on the lass.”
I flip him off, which only makes him laugh.
“So when’s the wedding again?” Daire asks.
“Five weeks.”
“And you’re already this whipped? Jesus, Cavin. What are you going to be like after you marry her?”
“Shut it.”
But they’re not wrong. Iamwhipped. Completely fucking whipped for a woman who, not long ago, blocked my number and looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe.
My phone buzzes again. This time it’s Erin.
