Page 16 of Ciaran

“You won’t. It’d worry me more if you weren’t nervous. Show me someone who didn’t have that horrible cramping on their first day in a new role, and I’ll show you a liar, or someone who doesn’t give a shit.”

He winks. It’s so fast, I almost miss it, but it sets off a swarm of butterflies in my stomach, and I relax into a smile. “Thank you. I needed that.”

While sweeping a hand over his beard, Ciaran studies my face. “I know it’s been ten years, but the Millie I went to school with wasn’t so reserved and polite. You’re a New Yorker after all.”

Oh no. Have I made a mistake? I’m so used to watching every word, to picking my way through a multitude of possible landmines, that civility is my go-to coping mechanism these days. Keep the peace. Keep things calm. Be nice. Don’t get him all riled up. Show your gratitude. Thank you, Tanner. You’re a wonderful husband, Tanner. I’m lucky to have you, Tanner.

Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. There was no telling with him.

“I’m not a bratty teenager anymore,” I say. “My mom always used to say manners cost nothing.”

“I don’t remember you being a bratty teenager, either.” He grins. “Now, Callum…he was a bratty teenager.”

At the mention of his twin, I glance around. “Where is Callum?”

“At work.” Ciaran must see something in my face because he adds, “Don’t worry about him. He’s fine.”

I angle my head to one side. “Is he really?”

He fidgets, palming the back of his neck, then blows out his cheeks. “He wasn’t at first, but he is now.”

“Why? What changed his mind?”

Ciaran cracks a smile that lights up his whole face. The butterflies vanish, and a great big knot forms in my stomach. Those eyes, emerald green, with flecks of gold in the irises, are the most absorbing sight of soft, warm, tender.

“Laurella,” Ciaran says. “She’s got him by the balls, and she’s not afraid to squeeze.”

I grin. “She sounds amazing.”

He nods. “She is. You’ll meet her later. I think you two will get along.”

“I hope so. It would be nice to have another woman to chat with. I lost touch with all my high school girlfriends, and you, of course.”

A flash of something akin to compassion crosses his face. It’s gone in no time, but nonetheless, it irks me. I don’t want or need his pity. I give him a hard stare and snap, “I’m not a charity case. There’s no need to look at me as though I am.”

His eyes widen, and he holds his hands in the air. “Whoa. Where did that come from?”

My spark of temper disappears as quickly as it arrived. It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to show any kind of negative emotion, I’d almost forgotten what irritation feels like.

Liberating. Honest. Wonderful.

Nevertheless, I scramble for an apology. “I’m sorry. Ignore me. I didn’t get much sleep last night, too busy worrying about today.”

He chews the corner of his bottom lip, his gaze roving over my face. Oh, God. He’s going to ask. I steel myself.

“Are you okay?”

There it is.

The question comes out so gently, with a tenderness I’d long given up hope of hearing from any man, and a rush of emotion swells within me. My vision blurs, and I blink a few times to clear it.

“I will be,” I whisper, tucking my chin into my chest and looking at the floor.

“What did he do to you, Millie?”

My heart almost stops. He knows. Of course he knows. He’s a cop, intuitive, inquisitive, used to reading people, especially those hiding something. I scramble through the files in my brain, searching for the right response—one that won’t invite further inquiry—and all I can come up with is, “Don’t ask me, please.”

Painful seconds scrape by, and it’s only when I finally lift my head that I realize he’s been waiting for me to face him. His eyes latch onto mine, and his fingertips skim down my arm. He barely touches me, but that doesn’t stop my body from reacting with a needy tremor of bliss. I crave tenderness, and that one brief touch provided more affection than I ever got in ten years with Tanner.

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