"This is wonderful." She curled against me, then glanced down at her clothes with calculating eyes. "Though I feel overdressed for a picnic."
I nearly choked on my champagne. "Aoife..."
"What?" She traced patterns on my chest, touch deliberately innocent, green eyes dancing with mischief. "These clothes are a bit formal for lounging, don't you think?"
"You're still recovering." I caught her wandering hand before it could drift lower. "The doctors said?—"
"The doctors cleared me weeks ago." She shifted, suddenly straddling my lap, pupils dilating as she settled over me. "I'm perfectly healthy. In every sense."
My cock hardened instantly at her warm weight. "You need rest?—"
"I need you." Her lips brushed my ear, breath warm against my skin, making me shiver. "Four months since you've properly touched me. I'm going crazy with wanting."
The memory of her pale and broken in that hospital bed kept my hands neutral on her waist, even as my body betrayed me.
"We can't risk?—"
"Risk what?" Frustration flashed across her face, her hands fisting in my shirt. "I'm not spun glass. I won't shatter if you kiss me properly."
"You nearly died because I couldn't protect you."
“Stop that.” She studied my face, those perceptive eyes seeing too much. Her expression softened with understanding. "You're not protecting me from the world anymore. You're protecting me from yourself."
The accuracy hit like a blade between my ribs.
"I should explore the house." She climbed off my lap with studied casualness, but I caught the hurt that flickered for a split second across her features. "See what the architects came up with."
I watched her go, hands clenching into fists as I fought the urge to follow.
Minutes crawled by. The silence stretched until panic clawed at my chest.
"Aoife?" I called, already on my feet. "Everything all right?"
"In here." Her voice from the master bedroom held a note that made my mouth go dry.
I found her standing in afternoon sunlight streaming through windows. She'd removed every stitch of clothing, and the sight of her—all curves and smooth skin and confident sensuality—hit like a physical blow.
"Aoife."
"You won't come to me." She walked toward me with predatory grace, hips swaying, breasts softly bouncing. "So I'm coming to you."
"We can't?—"
"We can." Her naked body pressed against my clothed one, heat searing through fabric. She looked up at me through her lashes, lips parted. "We will. Because I'm tired of being treated like an invalid, and you're tired of pretending you don't want me."
Her hands worked my shirt buttons with urgent fingers. As the fabric fell away, her fingers brushed against something hard at my waistband—the compact pistol I kept concealed.
She paused, meeting my eyes with understanding rather than surprise. "Even now?"
"Always." I removed the weapon, setting it within arm's reach on the floor. "I can't turn it off, Aoife. The need to protect you."
Her expression softened, one hand cupping my cheek. "I know. It's part of who you are. But God… months of sleeping beside you, wanting you, while you maintain this ridiculous distance."
"I'm trying to protect?—"
"Bollocks." The last button gave way, shirt hitting the floor. Her eyes raked possessively, hungrily, over my chest. "You're punishing yourself, and me. I won't let you. Not anymore."
She claimed my mouth with fierce hunger. Despite every rational thought, my body responded instantly, hands fisting in her hair as I kissed her back with months of pent-up need.
