Page 90 of Wicked Ruin

“Don’t know. Just give me the morning, love, will you?”

“The morning,” I repeat, nodding.

I look at him for a long moment—those adorable glasses on the bridge of his nose, his scarred hands, and those eyes that would make any woman's knickers melt—and something in me settles. “And then? What about after the morning, Declan?”

He looks at me, and there's something in his eyes I don't think I've seen before. “Right now, we'll take it day by day, won't we?”

I sigh and nod. “Aye.”

This time, when he glances at his phone, I can see he has a list of obstetric hematologists—names, hospitals, and estimated waiting times. He's been working on how to take care of me since before I got up, even before I was sick. He's been sitting in that chair in his boxers with those new glasses, researching the safest way forward for me and the baby.

Both of us know this morning has to end, but we make the most of it as he sits with me and we talk about doctors. He helps me into the kitchen, and we eat breakfast. Me—dry toast and a bit of egg. Him—everything I don't eat, a pile of more eggs, and three cups of coffee.

He works quietly, answering texts and emails. Then he finally sighs.

“I need to go,” he says. “I'm sorry.”

“There's nothing to apologize for. Just don’t kiss me until I’ve brushed my teeth first.”

“For fuck's sake,” he says, slapping my arse and dragging me over to him. He holds my chin in his hands the way he does and kisses me long and deep and slow. “I love you,” he murmurs in my ear. Warmth floods my chest, and with it an ache. He loves me. But is it enough?

“No matter what happens, Bridget, you need to remember that, won't you?”

I open my mouth to tell him the truth, that I love him back, that I love him more than anything, that I’ll never love anyone else like this ever again.

But I can’t. The words are clogged in my throat. I love him, but he’s engaged to another woman.

So I only nod. “Of course. I know.”

His phone vibrates with a text. I watch a shadow pass over his face. “What is it?”

“Work stuff. I need to manage this.”

He dresses in yesterday's clothes, the hood pulled over his face. I watch him from the kitchen and don't say what I'm thinking, which is that I'm already waiting for him to come back.

He catches me looking, and something moves across his face.

“Don't,” he says.

“Don't what?”

“Look at me like that when I'm trying to leave because I won’t be able to.”

I say nothing. He leans down and kisses me once, brief and certain, and then he's gone.

He's back by two o'clock. I know it's him before I even open the door, by the sound of his knock, certain and unhurried, like he has every right to be here.

I didn't meet with Erin today, so I'm still in my ratty shorts and faded tee, my hair loose, with a cold cup of tea on the counter. I've been sitting at the table, looking at the names of the doctors he researched for me for two hours, but when he comes back in, I'm on my feet and at the door.

“You're back.”

“Aye. Supposed to meet up with Seamus, but he got called away. Uncle Keenan’s doctors have him in a vise grip.”

I nod.

Again, he's got the hood up. He looks furtively from side to side before stepping back in. He shrugs out of his hoodie, throws it on a chair, then reaches for me, cups my face, and kisses me.

“Tell me you've eaten somethin’, love,” he says.