Page 50 of Fearless

“I’m sure it did, princess, but I need to talk to you.”

“Then you’ll have to come inside,” I say. “Because it sounds serious and I’m sure you want to do it face to face.”

I clap a hand over my mouth. Why am I struggling to keep back hysterical giggles? God, I’m really losing my shit.

Maybe it’s the image of giant, serious-as-fuck Cillian crawling into my blanket fort. But he doesn’t sound all that serious. Especially when he lets out a low chuckle.

I shiver when his hand presses down into the roof of my fort, his fingertips making dents in the fabric.

“This thing’s flimsy as fuck,” he says. “I made better forts than this when I was five.”

“So come show me how it’s done.”

His fingertips disappear.

I strain to hear him moving, but I think he’s just standing there. I guess Mr. Serious is back. I pout a little at the thought.

What the fuck were you expecting, Meisie? Or did you forget that he fucking kidnapped you?

He’s lied to you.

He’s hurt you.

He’s…

Kissed me.

Respected my boundaries.

And he’s spoken to me like I was a real person, not just some girl living in her mother’s shadow.

But the kiss was probably just him blowing off some steam. Who’s to say he’s not waiting to pounce on me when I least—

Cillian appears at the mouth of my fort like a fucking assassin. One minute I’m staring drearily out at the drapes on the far side of the room through the narrow tunnel of bed sheets and blankets, the next he fills that space.

He tears toward me, and I burst into a fit of shrieking giggles as I try to evade the hand reaching for me.

“Come here, princess,” he growls, but there’s a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“You have to catch me fir—” I cut off with a hoarse yell when he somehow grabs hold of my ankle. I fall onto my stomach, wriggling furiously to try and get away from him. But a wave of debilitating giggles overwhelms me, leaving me too weak to fight him when he crashes into my fort and tugs me closer.

There’s barely enough space for both of us—he’s on his side, still gripping my ankle, and I’m on my belly, leopard crawling for the exit as I squeal like a pig.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” he demands.

I can’t answer—I’m laughing too hard.

So he bites into my calf. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough that I yelp in surprise and fall onto my back, kicking out at him.

“Get over here.” He grabs my other ankle and yanks me to his side with one pull of his strong arms.

I try and scramble away, but the pillows are all covered with satin sleeves.

“Are you done?” he asks, but with one eyebrow quirked and a faint curve to his lips.

“Because if you’re not—”

I don’t wait to find out what he says. I’ve had like twenty naps today, so I can go all night. I flip over onto my tummy and wriggle for the exit again.

---