Page 34 of Ciaran

Draven nods. “Yup. That’s her.”

“Fuck… Is the guy still alive?”

My attempt at a joke works because Draven’s lips twitch. “Fucking little madam won’t tell us who the father is. Ma is working on her.”

“I’m not surprised she won’t fess up. She’s trying to save a life.”

“I wouldn’t actually kill him.” His lips twist to the side. “I’d rip his fucking dick off, though, then make him eat it.”

I laugh. “And you wonder why she’s keeping her mouth shut.”

Draven gives a gruff laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, enough of my fucking troubles. What’s going on with you? Managed to get into the lovely Millie’s panties yet?”

I lace my fingers together and rest them on the bar. “It’s complicated.”

Draven rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you, man. Think of your dick like a muscle. You don’t use that fucker, it’ll shrivel up and die.”

“I do use my dick.”

“Yeah, to piss out of. That doesn’t count.”

“Fuck off.”

Draven throws back his head and guffaws. “Round one to me. Seriously, though, have you made any inroads, or are the goods still strictly off limits?”

I bring Draven up to speed about Tanner’s unwelcome appearance, Millie confessing the years of abuse, her moving into the hotel, the sailing trip, and the kiss.

Then the brush-off.

By the time I finish, there’s one good outcome: Draven has stopped ribbing me about my underused cock.

“That’s a lot of shit to go down. Christ, I was only away for two weeks.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Has the husband been around since?”

“No. At least not that I’m aware of, and I think she’d tell me.”

“And like a complete pussy, you’ve avoided talking to her about why she kissed you.”

“I’ve given her space.”

Draven coughs out a “Bullshit.”

“Okay, Casanova. How would you handle it?”

Draven plays with his beard while he considers my question. “I’d ask her straight up why she kissed you. No point in fucking about.”

I could do that, but what if I broach the subject and open myself up to a world of hurt because she admits it had been a fucking big mistake? Then again, the uncertainty of not knowing is driving me crazy. The big bastard is right—not that I enjoy admitting it too readily.

I let out a sigh. “Okay, I’ll talk to her. Tomorrow.”

I wake on Saturday morning with a slight hangover and a firm resolve. I’ve decided to ask Millie if she wants to go out for breakfast. I can’t exactly have this conversation here. There are too many potential interruptions, especially as it’s the weekend, meaning Callum and Laurella will be hanging around. I’d rather have waited until the evening to take her out for dinner, but I have a twelve-hour shift beginning at seven o’clock.

After I shower and dress, I open my bedroom door and find the living room unusually empty. With a hope we could escape before the rest of my family descends, I tap on Nate’s bedroom door.

“Millie, you in there?”

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