Page 59 of Fearless Sinner

I’ve never been anyone’s lass. I’ve never had an Irish boyfriend—I still don’t. I just like the sound of it.

I didn’t even realize how much I missed him calling me that until just now. But I must be crazy because I’ve only known him for a little over a week. That’s not long enough to be able to say that about someone.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Remember what I said about throwing you over me shoulder?”

I do but I never took him seriously. He looks serious as fuck now, and I wouldn’t want to test him in front of so many people. I already look bad enough.

Reluctantly, I stand. My head has a buzz but I know I’m not drunk because I can still move. If I were drunk, I’d be staggering all over the place.

With his hand at the small of my back, Cillian ushers me away from the bar.

We head to the VIP room and when we sit, it’s like we never left.

The only differences are our clothing, his beard has grown fuller, and I have no hope left.

The bartender from the other night walks in with our drinks. He sets them down and is about to ask Cillian a question, but he waves him away.

He leaves and I reach for the wine but Cillian takes it from me and pours me some water instead.

“What happened to you?” He hands me the water.

I take it and drink because it’s something to do instead of feeling the weight of his stare. “Nothing.”

I can lie to him. I should. Of everyone I know, he’s the only one I’ll lie to in this circumstance because he just released me from a debt of a quarter million dollars.

There’s such a thing as asking for too much, so I can’t ask him for anything more.

I just need tonight to freak out, then I’ll figure out how to tackle the next thing, whether that might be applying for another loan or selling my liver or a kidney. Or giving my mother my own heart.

“You don’t look like nothing is wrong with you.” He observes me.

“I’m worried about my mother.”

“Has she woken up?”

“Yes, but she’s very sick.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.” I pour some more water. “Why did you order wine if you’re not going to let me drink it?”

“Because I don’t know how much you’ve had to drink.”

“One glass.”

He narrows his eyes. “You look like you had more than one glass to me, lass.”

“It was a vodka martini. Vodka is always strong for me.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No. Are we playing again?” I give him a thin smile.

“Alright. Let’s play. Let’s do alternate questions instead of making assumptions.”

“Okay. Me first. Why are you following me? That’s creepy.”

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