‘Where would you like to go?’ He leans back against the kitchen counter casually, but there’s nothing casual about the chemistry coursing between us. ‘I’ll take you anywhere you want.’ His lips tip up. He’s toying with me again.
‘Can we go to Magheramore?’
‘The beach?’ He cocks his head to the right.
‘Yes. It has a quiet stretch of untouched sand that few people know about.’ I quirk an eyebrow. ‘Or are you too big and bad for the beach?’
‘I told you, your wish is my command.’ He stares at me for a long beat. ‘Pack that bikini. I’ll throw a picnic together.’
Murderer or not… a picnic on the beach sounds suspiciously romantic.
I’m beginning to get the impression my fiancé is a romantic psycho.
And what’s worse?
It only serves to make me want him more.
21
DOMINIC
Of all the locations I thought Aoife might suggest, the beach wasn’t one of them. Yet, I shouldn’t be surprised. My fiancée appears to favour the simple things in life. I gave her free rein with my credit card, and the only things she finally caved and bought were the bare necessities in some label free online boutique. So, she was hardly going to ask me to take her shopping and then on to Nobu, was she?
By the time I’m ready to go, she’s already waiting for me in the kitchen, looking understated and utterly stunning in a denim dress and a cream cardigan. An oversized tan coloured tote hangs from her shoulder. I hope to fuck she has the bikini on, or packed at least. Even though it’s probably better for my balls if she doesn’t.
She points to the square, black cool bag I packed our picnic into—a selection of cheese, crackers, Italian cured meat, grapes, two bottles of water, and some orange juice. As an afterthought, I threw in a bottle of champagne from the fridge and carefully wrapped two crystal flutes in some oversized beach towels.
‘You have a cool bag,’ she states with surprise.
‘It’s great for transporting body parts round the city.’ I deadpan. Her full lips fall open. ‘Ah, relax, I’m just joking.’ I beam at her. ‘That thing would be useless! You’d need a portable freezer.’ I toss her a wink.
‘I hope you’re joking,’ she pulls her cream cardigan tighter around herself.
‘Of course, I’m joking,’ I grab the bag from the counter.
Body parts are Ciaran’s domain. I don’t deal in mess. I deal in ending it. Though sometimes one equates to the other, like in the cellar in Dom’s bar the day Aoife burst into my life.
‘Speaking of body parts, I’d prefer mine to remain intact.’ She frowns. ‘Are we taking security with us?’
‘I am your security today, sweetheart.’ I tip my head to hers. ‘Magheramore is dead. I haven’t so much seen a dog walker down there in years, though that could change if you packed that red bikini.’
She laughs, and the sound seeps beneath my skin, all the way into my heart. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’
I stride out of the kitchen, through the bright, open hallway to the front door.
‘I love this house.’ Aoife says quietly, touching the elaborate foliage as we pass through.
‘Me too. It offers something the rest of my life doesn’t—space, light, solitude—things that most people take for granted.’ I open the front door. ‘I’m not most people.’
‘I’m starting to get that impression,’ she admits, following me out into the sunshine.
‘Running The Syndicate poses the same risk—prison time or death—both end in darkness and suffocation. That’s why here at home, I bask in the light every damn day I get.’
‘It makes sense.’ She nods.
‘The second I saw this place, I needed to have it.’ A bit like when she ran smack bang into my chest. I knew then, fate threw her into my path for a reason.
‘I’m sensing that’s a common theme with you,’ she says wryly. ‘See something. Want it. Take it.’ She motions to herself.
