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 stay awake long after her breathing evens out into sleep, cataloging every detail. The way she curls into me. The little sighs she makes. The trust it took for her to ask for this.
I should feel victorious. Satisfied.
Instead, I'm terrified I'll fuck this up. That she'll wake up tomorrow and realize what a mistake she's made. That she'll run again, and this time I won't be able to stop her.
Because I meant what I said—I won't chase her again. I won't drag her back, kicking and screaming. She needs to choose this. Choose me.
Even if letting her go destroys me.
Even if letting her walk away is the hardest thing I've ever done.
But right now, in this moment, she's here, safe in my arms and choosing to stay.
And I'll take whatever she's willing to give me.
I wake before dawn, an old habit from years of training and discipline, and I know immediately I won't be going back to sleep.
She's here. Under my roof. Safe.
But for how long?
I need to work off this energy before I do something stupid, like crawl back into her bed and wake her with my mouth between her thighs.
Christ, the things I want to do to her.
I pull on shorts and trainers and head outside to the heavy bag I’ve got suspended in a clearing at the back of the cabin. The morning air is cool and sharp. Good. I need the cold to clear my head.
I start slow—jabs, crosses, working up to combinations. But within minutes, I'm going full force, imagining Crowning's face with every punch.
The bastard put his hands on her. Hurt her. Threatened her.
I should have fucking killed him. Should have beaten him until there was nothing left.
But I didn't. I couldn't. I had to stay loyal to my family, and killing him on the spot would've meant a war we're not prepared to win.
And I didn't want Bianca to see me become a complete monster.
Not yet.
The bag swings wildly under my assault. Sweat pours down my back despite the cool air.
I haven't told my family about her yet. They don't know I've potentially started a conflict we can't afford right now, not with everything else they're dealing with.
And here I am, absent when they need me, obsessed with a girl I should've let go of six years ago.
And Christ, what happens when Crowning realizes she's missing? When he figures out a McCarthy took her? I might've just painted a target on my entire family's back because I couldn't keep my fucking hands to myself.
I slam my fist into the bag harder. The chain rattles.
I should warn them. Should tell Da that trouble might be coming. Should at least give Seamus a heads-up that I've complicated things.
But then I'd have to explain why. I’d have to admit I've been watching her for years, then see the judgment in their eyes when they realize how far gone I am.
The bag sways and bulges.
I've been celibate for years. Years spent working off my obsession with her in the ring, on bags, in brutal fights, where I could channel all this need into violence.
Now she's here, sleeping in my guest room, and I can't have her.
Not yet.
Fuck.
I land a particularly brutal combination, and something in the bag gives way. Sand starts pouring out onto the ground.
Well, crap.
I step back, my chest heaving, hands on my hips. That’ll need to be fixed.
That's when I feel the weight of being watched. I turn and look at the cabin. She’s at the window… watching me.
Our eyes lock, and even from this distance, I can see the heat in her gaze. The way she's looking at me—taking in my bare chest, my sweat-slicked skin, the violence in every movement.
She wants me.
She may not be ready to admit it yet… not ready to act on it.
But she wants me.
I smirk, and she jerks away from the window, disappearing from view.
Little lass got caught watching. Adorable.
Good. Let her see what she does to me. Let her see the violence I'm capable of, that I keep leashed for her sake.
I head inside and wash the blood from my knuckles at the kitchen sink. I reopened the splits from the other night. Worth it.
“You're going to need new bandages.”
Her voice from the doorway makes every muscle in my body tense. I glance over my shoulder.
She's wearing the tee I gave her last night. It hits her mid-thigh, and her legs are bare. Her hair is messy from sleep, and she looks soft and rumpled and so fucking beautiful it hurts.
“Couldn't sleep,” I say, turning back to the sink.
“Nightmares?”
I shrug, shut off the water, and reach for a towel. “Of what could have happened if I'd been five minutes later last night.”
I feel her move closer.
“But you weren't,” she says softly.
“But I could have been.” I turn to face her, and the concern in her eyes nearly undoes me.