Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Another tear slides down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and my voice breaks on the words. “I’m so fucking sorry, Erin. For every cruel word. Every time I made you feel small. Every time I—”
She kisses me.
It’s sudden, desperate, and for a second, I’m too stunned to respond. Her hands cup my face, and her lips meet mine, silencing me.
Then my hands tighten on her face, and I’m kissing her back, pouring every apology I don’t have words for into the press of my mouth against hers.
She tastes like salty tears. Her hands fist in my shirt, and I pull her closer, carefully, like she might break or disappear if I hold too tight.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I don’t forgive you,” she whispers against my mouth.
“I know.”
“But I want to.” Her eyes search mine, vulnerable and fierce all at once. “I want to believe you mean it.”
“I do.” I rest my forehead against hers. “I swear to you, Erin, I mean every word.”
She nods slowly. “Then prove it.”
I press another kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her lips again, softer this time, a vow.
“Cavin!” Declan’s voice cuts through the moment. “The Quinn boy’s asking for you!”
Garrett appears behind Declan, that perpetual smirk back in place. “Jaysus, brother, you should see your face. All moony-eyed over the lass.” He winks at me. “Never thought I'd see the day Cavin McCarthy went soft.”
“Piss off, Garrett.”
“Can't. Seamus has me running messages tonight. Speaking of—” He pulls out his phone, frowning at the screen. “Got a text from an unknown number. Probably nothing, but…” He shows it to me. It's an address, nothing else.
“Shite, that's near the docks,” Declan mutters. Garrett shrugs. “Probably a wrong number. I'll delete it.”
“Forward it to me first,” I tell him. I pull back reluctantly. “I need to—”
“I know.” She straightens, wiping her eyes. The eye makeup is smudged, but she’s still so fucking beautiful, all curves and dimples and flushed pink cheeks. “Go handle it.”
“You sure?”
She nods. “I’ll wait here.”
“No.” I take her hand. “Come with me. I want you to see—” I stop, trying to find the words. “I want you to see me handle this right. Not like before. Not like the bastard I was.”
Her eyes soften. “Okay.”
Twenty minutes later, the situation’s sorted. The Quinn boy’s calmed down, his da’s been called, and everyone’s shaken hands. I handled it the way Seamus taught me—firm but fair, no ego, just problem-solving.
The whole time, Erin stood to the side, watching.
Maybe she’s starting to see I’m not just the cruel boy I was. That I can be better.
That I am better… with her.
Before we leave, I pull Declan aside. “You get a chance to figure this out?” I ask quietly. I show him the one with Erin’s license picture and the nasty comments.
He shakes his head. “Not yet, Cav.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Fine, then. Work with Kyla. She’s good at this. Find out the real identity of every nasty arsehole in the comments. I’m going to pay them a visit. And make bloody sure we find out who’s posting these.”
Declan grins. “On it.”
When we’re back in the car, the atmosphere’s different—lighter somehow. Like something heavy has been lifted, even if just a little.
“You were good in there,” she says quietly.
I glance at her. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You could have been harsh. But you weren’t.”
“Trying to prove I’m not a complete bastard.” I reach over and lace my fingers through hers.
She squeezes my hand. “It’s working.”
My chest does something warm and uncomfortable.
“So,” I say, needing to lighten the mood. “About that date.”
She glances at me, a small smile playing at her lips. “The one that’s been thoroughly derailed?”
“Aye, that one.” I grin. “What if we skip the fancy restaurant, get those comfortable clothes, and order that takeaway?”
“Really?”
“Really.” I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You said you like simple things. Let’s keep it simple.”
Her smile widens, genuine this time. “Okay. Yeah. I’d like that.”
“Good.” I pull back onto the road. “Because I’d like to actually get to know you, Erin. The real you. Not the version I made up in my head when I was a cruel little shite. So I’m asking you, love. What do you want?”
Her cheeks flush pink, spreading down her neck. “I—” She bites her lip. “I want to be comfortable. I want to not worry about saying the wrong thing or using the wrong fork or—”
“Done.” I squeeze her hand. “Let’s get you some comfortable clothes. What would you wear right now if you could?”
“Besides taking off this damn bra?” she says, then immediately looks mortified. “Oh god, I shouldn’t have said that.”
I nearly swerve the car. My grip tightens on the wheel as blood rushes south. Christ, the image of her stripping out of that dress, reaching back to unhook—I have to shift in my seat. “Don’t worry about that, lass,” I manage, my voice rougher than I intended. “I’ll be taking it off soon enough.”