Page 33 of Ciaran

“It is. But it’s also very rewarding. Same with the charity I set up. Helping people makes me feel good. It’s what I was born to do. Although, in fairness, I leave the running of the charity to the experts. I just provided the initial cash injection, and I occasionally get involved with fundraising when required.”

This guy. I’ve never met anyone so philanthropic. I turn on my side and prop my head up on my hand. “Never wanted to make detective?”

He wrinkles his nose, his gaze firmly on the blue sky above. “No. I’m content where I am. I like being on the streets with the people, where I can make an immediate difference. If I ever settle down, have a family, maybe things will change. Maybe I’ll want to leave the force and do something completely different. But as a family isn’t on the horizon, it’s a moot point.”

My chest tightens, and a feeling close to disappointment sweeps through me.

“Well, whoever finally captures your heart will be a very lucky lady.”

He twists toward me then, and something unreadable flashes in his eyes before his gaze shutters. “Thanks,” he mumbles, clambering to his feet. “We’d better get going.”

He gathers the leftover food and drinks, and stuffs them into the bag while I watch him with a frown. Somewhere, I’ve screwed up, but hell if I can figure out what I said to upset him. Perhaps I shouldn’t have questioned him about his career. He might have taken it to mean I think he’s some sort of failure because he isn’t a high-flying business exec like his brothers. If he does think that, he’s way off the mark. To me, Ciaran is worth ten of his brothers. Not that I think they’re bad people, but both are driven by money, whereas the man before me gets his kicks out of helping others.

We sail back to the mooring in virtual silence, apart from the odd instruction from Ciaran. He isn’t rude—far from it—but the lighthearted teasing and atmosphere has vanished.

I shouldn’t have kissed him. Sure, he kissed me back, but he could have done that out of politeness. It wasn’t like he’d been overcome with passion, unable to keep his hands to himself.

On the subway ride home, he stares into the blackness while we pass station after station. I sit quietly beside him, chewing on my thumbnail until it bleeds before I end up stuffing my hands beneath my thighs to stop any further damage.

“Would you be willing to come sailing with me again?” he asks as we climb the steps back onto the street.

I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s talking to me. “I’d love to. I’m a sailing convert.”

My enthusiastic response seems to further drag him out of whatever snit he’d been in, and he offers me a broad grin. “Great. I don’t have a weekend day off for a while, but next time I do, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds good to me.”

When we reach the hotel, I feign tiredness and go straight to my room. I need to try to process the events of the day, but I also want to give Ciaran and his brothers some privacy.

I settle on the sofa positioned at the end of the bed with a book, but despite trying to read, I find I can’t concentrate. One thought keeps swimming around my head.

That kiss…

Chapter 13

Ciaran

It’s two weeks later when I walk into our usual bar to meet Draven, who’s been in New Jersey visiting his family. I’ve missed him. He’s a good sounding board, even if he can be a dick a lot of the time, and this is the first chance I’ve had to talk to him about Millie.

Since our sailing trip, I’ve kept my distance. When she kissed me, I dared to hope that, finally, I could tell her how I really feel. Then she’d trotted out that soul-crushing line about whoever I end up with being lucky to have me. If that didn’t send a message that she doesn’t see herself fulfilling that role, I don’t know what would. The kiss had meant nothing, at least to her—a way of thanking me for giving her a place to stay, for seeing off Tanner, and for taking her sailing, maybe. Who the fuck knows? I sure as hell don’t.

Keeping my distance from her hasn’t stopped the deep ache in my chest, or the whirring inside my head that stops me from sleeping at night as I strain to hear her breathing on the other side of the wall. It hasn’t stopped my thoughts from straying far too often to what it would be like to have her in my bed, lying beneath me, her face flushed with desire and hair fanned over the pillows.

I’ve just taken a seat at the bar and ordered two beers when a large hand claps me on the back.

“Sup, dickhead,” Draven booms. Several people nearby glance over. One look at the bearded, tattooed giant, though, and they can’t avert their gazes fast enough.

“My fucking dinner if you whack me like that again,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face as we bump fists. “How did the vacay go?”

Draven shrugs out of his leather jacket, dumps it on the floor, then picks up a bottle and swings it by the neck in my direction.

“It went. Cheers.” He takes a long swig, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Needed that.”

“Relatives, huh?”

Another swig, a swallow. A sigh. “Erika’s knocked up.”

I jerk my head back. “Erika? As in your sixteen-year-old sister, Erika?”

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