Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
I'm about to hit him again when—
“Mercy, brother! Mercy.”
I let him up, breathing heavily, and he scowls at me. “Jesus, Ash, you'd think I fucking ran over your dog.” He winces, dragging a hand across his chest to support his bruised ribs. Seamus would kick my goddamn arse.
“Save it,” Cav says, shaking his head. “For a fight that matters.”
Christ, I've got to get a grip. I have to.
I reach for my phone on instinct, checking the notifications again. Bianca’s at the bookstore.
Okay, good. I can do this. I have to go to the bookstore anyway because my mother's birthday is coming up, and I want to buy her a book. This will make things easier.
Pragmatic or something.
I park the car a good distance from the entrance, making sure I'm nowhere near Bianca's little blue hatchback. She's probably at the back, with her—
And then Bianca's right there in front of me, her eyes wide when she accidentally steps into my space. Her perfume hits me before I can brace for it, roses and something warm underneath, something that short-circuits every rational thought I have.
I’m dizzy with the knowledge that she's here… in front of me.
My heart slams against my ribs. I feel as tongue-tied as a lad as I shake my head and gesture for her to go ahead of me. My hands are shaking. I never fuckin' shake.
Roses.
I can see the individual dark lashes framing those eyes, the way her lips part slightly in surprise, the delicate pulse at her throat.
Christ, I want to put my mouth there.
“Oh! I'm so sorry. Excuse me.”
She has the voice of an angel.
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “Oh, nothing at all. Go on, then,” I manage, the words coming out rougher than I intended. I gesture stiffly for her to go ahead of me, my hand trembling slightly before I shove it into my pocket.
Fuck, I sound like an eejit.
She grins at me. Actually grins.
And my heart—my fucking heart—comes to a standstill for a fraction of a second. Long enough that I forget how to breathe, forget my own name, forget everything except the way her smile transforms her entire face. It's the real smile, the one I've cataloged and memorized. The one that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners and shows the tiny gap between her front teeth.
“Thanks,” she says, her voice soft and warm. Christ, I've heard that voice through cameras and from a distance, but never directed at me. Never this close.
She slips past me, close enough that her shoulder brushes my arm, and I have to lock my knees to keep from reaching for her. From touching her. From doing something completely fucking absurd, like pulling her against me just to see if she fits as perfectly as I've imagined.
The spot where we touched burns like a brand.
I stand there like a useless gobshite, watching her walk toward the history section—of course she's going to the history section—her dark hair swaying with each step. She's wearing a cream-colored jumper that's too big for her, slipping off one shoulder, and those goddamn jeans that hug her curves in a way that makes my mouth go dry.
Get a fucking grip.
I force myself to move, to head toward a completely different section, putting distance between us before I do something I can't take back. Before she notices the way I'm looking at her.
Before she realizes I'm not some random stranger in a bookstore, but the man who's been… watching her… for nine months.
My hands are still shaking.
I clench them into fists, feeling the familiar ache in my scarred knuckles, and try to remember why I came here in the first place.
Right. A book for Mam.
But all I can think about is the way Bianca smiled at me.
This is wrong. So fucking wrong.
She doesn't know me at all, yet I could recite every intricate line and detail of her life to her.
But I'm not a stalker.
I'm a protector.
Chapter Four
Two years later…
Ashland
I am hopelessly in love with a woman I’ve never touched, who doesn’t even know I exist.
I’ve watched her grow from an eighteen-year-old into a woman, and I… there’s no other word for it… I love her.
I haven’t touched a woman since that night I saved her in the alley. Not one fucking time.
My cousin Declan started calling me The Priest until I gave the lad such a thorough beating that he laid off. The subject of my celibacy is none of his fucking business.
Still, they mock me.
“Uptight as fuck. When’s the last time you got laid, Ash?”
“Come with us to the club.”
“Half of Ballyhock would drop their knickers for you.”
And once, out of nothing but concern, my cousin Seamus, the head of the McCarthy clan, came to me to assure me that it was alright if I were of a different persuasion, that it’s not the Dark Ages anymore, and if I was into lads, I was into lads.