Page 80 of Ciaran

I hold on to her tightly and make a silent promise.

Whatever happens, I’ll never let her go again.

Chapter 31

Millie

I look up from my book and smile at the sound of Ciaran’s boots on the stairs. We’ve been back in New York for a few days, and the horror of thinking I’d lost him forever is finally fading, although I still wake on occasion, panicking and drenched in sweat, my brain playing tricks on me. Every time Ciaran tries to talk to me about what happened during those few days, I shut him out. Not because I don’t want to talk to him—I do—but because I can’t find the right words.

He hasn’t pushed me to talk, but he has encouraged me to start counseling, not just to work through Tanner blackmailing me, but to start to deal with the ten years of abuse I suffered at his hands. I have my first session on Monday, and I’m dreading it, even though the sensible part of me knows it’s for the best. It’s time to begin the long road of working through the feelings eating me up inside before they cause irreversible damage.

“Pack a bag,” Ciaran says, stripping off his duty belt. “I’m taking you away for the weekend.”

“Where to?”

He bends over the back of the sofa and kisses me. “The sooner you get your fine ass up and out of that chair and pack, the sooner you’ll find out.”

He saunters into our bedroom, and I scamper after him. “Are you sure you can take more time off work?”

Going away for the weekend means space, and space means time, and time means talking. He’ll want me to go through what happened in the days we were apart, and I’m dreading it.

“No,” Ciaran says, interrupting my thoughts as he hangs his duty belt in the closet. “I’m playing hooky.”

I gape at him. “You’re not?”

“No.” He laughs. “I’m not. I happen to have a very understanding superior officer. The truth is, though, if he’d refused, I’d have resigned.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He pulls me into his arms, nuzzling my neck. “I would. You’re more important than any job. You’re everything to me.”

My stomach twists with need. Three days we’ve been back in New York, and we haven’t slept together once. I know Ciaran is giving me space, and I love him for it, but I crave our intense sexual connection.

I slip my hands around his waist, drop them to his ass, and squeeze. His eyes flare, the vivid green darkening with desire. What’s the saying? The eyes are the windows to the soul. Well, right now, I can see into Ciaran’s, and what I see has my heart beating faster.

“I don’t want to rush you.”

I stand on tiptoes and brush my lips over his. “You’re not,” I say. “I’m rushing you.”

His smile lights up my heart. “Then, let’s get out of here.”

Ciaran stops the car outside a cute wooden cottage. On the front porch there’s a swing, and off to the side under a canopy, I spy a hot tub. All around us are trees and mountains, and it’s quiet enough to hear the birds tweeting—something you don’t hear all that often in Manhattan.

“I’ve never been to the Catskills,” I say, grinning. “I thought you were going to take me sailing.”

“I thought about it,” he says, removing our luggage from the trunk of the rental car. “But sailing is hard work, and I wanted somewhere we could relax. Plus, it’s freezing out on the river in the dead of winter.”

He captures my hand and leads me inside. The interior layout is open plan: a country kitchen kitted out with pine cabinets, a lounge area with a comfy-looking couch and a squishy chair, and a real fire burning in the fireplace. There’s also a pine dining table with four red-cushioned chairs, and a single doorway leading into a bedroom with a king-size bed and small bathroom. It’s rustic, private, and absolutely perfect.

“I love it,” I say.

“You do?” He presses a hand to his chest. “Thank Christ for that.”

It doesn’t take us very long to unpack and put our things away. As it’s only mid- afternoon, we put on warm coats, boots, and scarves, and go for a walk to get our bearings. The snow crunches beneath my feet, and a smile inches across my face as an idea comes to me.

Snowball fight.

I bend down, pretending to tie my shoelace, and quickly make a snowball. Ciaran doesn’t see it coming. My aim is true, and the snowball explodes on the back of his head.

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