‘Okay.’ I nod.
His gaze drifts to the phone in my hand. ‘I noticed you haven't called anyone.’ He rubs a thumb over his chin. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but you can’t tell any of your old friends where you are. Kavanagh is still stripping the city apart in his quest to find you.’
‘I don’t have many friends,’ I admit. ‘I’ve always struggled to make them. Most of the girls I went to school with were more interested in scoring boys and booze than studying.’
‘What about the girl you used to go to the cinema with?’
I can’t believe he remembered that.
‘I’ll call her at some point, but I don’t want to put her in danger.’
‘Fair enough.’ His gaze shifts to my mouth, then back to my eyes. ‘One more thing, Aoife.’ The way my name rolls from his full lips is positively pornographic.
‘What?’ I wet my lips.
‘You need to book us a honeymoon.’
‘Honeymoon?’ My jaw swings open.
He can’t be serious.
But the steely glint in his eyes assures me he is. Deadly serious.
Surprise swoops through me. ‘But why?’
‘I told you, it’s imperative we convince my family that our union is real.’ His tone is nonchalant, like he’s said we need to go to the grocery store. ‘It’s non-negotiable.’
Fuck.
At least the past few days he’s been in and out of the house. Now I’m going to have to spend twenty-four hours a day with him, somewhere fucking romantic.
Shit.
The prospect sets an inappropriate wave of arousal through my stomach—and lower.
He drains his coffee and strides across to the sink. My focus falls to his impossibly firm ass again. He places his cup in the sink and spins to face me. I avert my gaze, but not quickly enough.
‘Will you miss me?’ He drawls in that low, teasing tone.
‘No,’ I lie, the memory of his hand on my arm last night looping around my mind like a newsflash.
‘Liar.’ He closes the distance between us.
I hold my breath as he towers over me. His now familiar scent fills my senses as he lowers his face to mine. I standlike a rabbit caught in the headlights. ‘I think you liked having a big bad man beside you in bed last night.’
I don’t speak because I’m physically unable to, which is probably a blessing given I’m liable to blurt anything.
He lowers his face to mine. His sheer proximity sucks the air straight from my lungs. His lips inch closer, finally grazing my cheek in a tiny fleeting gesture that sets my heart rate soaring.
‘I’ll call you,’ he says, before stalking out of the room.
And I don’t know if it’s a threat or a promise.
I press my fingers to my face, to the spot where his lips just touched.
My skin is on fire.
15
