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)
“But they don't know me—”
“They know enough.” His grip tightens just a bit. “They know you're mine and that I love you, and that's all that matters.”
It’s hard to imagine a world in which that’s… enough.
I turn in his arms, looking up at his scarred, beautiful face that has become the center of my world. “Ash—”
He kisses me, one hand threaded through my hair to tilt my head exactly how he wants it, deep, possessive, thorough. When he pulls away, my cheeks are hot, and I'm breathless.
“No more fussing now,” he says firmly, tapping my chin with his index finger. “Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper. The words are automatic and natural now, clicking something into place between us that I crave.
I love the dark hunger that flashes in his eyes. “Keep that up, and we'll be having a very different kind of dinner party of our own, love.”
Before I can respond, gravel crunches outside. Ashland's body tenses, his hand automatically going to his waistband before he forces himself to relax.
“It's just them,” I whisper, pressing closer. “Just your parents.”
He exhales and nods, but he doesn't fully relax until he looks out the window and confirms it himself. Always vigilant, always protecting, even when it's his own family arriving.
Nolan McCarthy is an older, slimmer version of his son, with blondish-silver hair and silver eyes touched with blue. He has the same aura of barely contained violence wrapped in Irish charm.
His mam is softer, with gray hair pulled into a practical bun, but I can see the steel beneath her kind exterior. Ashland tells me she was an investigative reporter in her day.
“Bianca,” she says warmly, pulling me into a hug before I can even tense. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
“It's so nice to meet you,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I've heard so much about you. I'm sorry it's been so long—I know things have been complicated.”
“Aye, complicated,” she says with a knowing smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes. “That's one word for it.”
These dinners have become a lifeline, proof that this isn't just captivity or possession, but something we're building. Something real.
Nolan clasps his son's shoulder, the gesture brief but weighted with unspoken pride. “Ash.”
“Da.”
We settle around the table that I set with actual care. Candles, pretty dishes Caitlin procured, food I'd spent hours preparing because I wanted to, not because I had to. They have a chef, but I needed this—needed to show them I can be part of this family.
“This is grand,” his mam says, looking genuinely pleased.
“Never thought I'd see the day you'd settle,” his da says, a hint of amusement in his gravelly voice.
The meal passes in easy conversation. Stories about Ashland as a boy that make me laugh and make him scowl, but I notice how he keeps touching me—my hair, my back, my knee—little points of contact that say mine without words.
“More wine?” he asks, reaching for the bottle.
“I've got it—”
His eyes meet mine with that look that makes my stomach flip. “Let me take care of you.”
“Thank you.” I watch the satisfaction flicker across his face at my acceptance.
His parents exchange a look of surprise. Ashland really hasn’t ever had another woman, has he?
We're finishing dessert when we hear tires outside again. Ashland is on his feet before I can blink, positioning himself between me and the door, his hand on his weapon.
“Easy, lad,” Nolan says quietly, calm in the face of his son's razor-sharp instincts. “That'll be Seamus and the lot, I'd wager.”
The rest of the McCarthys went out to dinner to give Ashland and me the privacy we both wanted, but he doesn't put his weapon away until he confirms it himself.
“They're all alike, aren't they?” his mam whispers to me with fond exasperation. “Ever vigilant.”
“Aye,” I whisper back, then stand and walk to Ashland. I press my hand to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart. “It's alright. Relax.”
“I know.” But his heart still beats hard under my palm.
Seamus lets himself in, his wife Zoya at his side. Another impossible pairing that somehow works.
“Sorry—didn't mean to come home so early,” Seamus says, though his tone doesn't suggest he really cares if he's interrupting anything. “But the babysitter says one of the kids has a fever.”
“It's all good. We're just finished,” Ashland says, his hand finding the small of my back. “Da, Mam—coffee?”
“Aye, in a bit.”
“I'll be right back,” Zoya says, giving me a wink before heading upstairs.
We move to the living room, Ashland pulling me down onto the couch beside him, his arm automatically going around my shoulders. I fit against him perfectly, my body knowing exactly how to curve into his.
“You've been hiding out here for weeks,” Seamus says, his eyes serious as he settles into the chair across from us. “Keeping Bianca safe, staying off the grid.”