Page 60 of The Shadows We Keep

“Are you drunk?” He doesn’t sound too pleased at the possibility, actually he sounds rather irritated. I can’t help the giggle bubbling up in my throat.

“Maybe.... I needed a distraction.”From you, from me.

“Let me come get you.”

“Mmm, you’re too far away. And I’m too sleepy.”

“Then sleep, sweetness. I’ll see you in the morning.” My languid limbs refuse to move to end the call, so I leave it, he’ll hang up eventually or not. It doesn’t matter as sleep pulls me under and the world around me fades to black.

* * *

My head achesbefore my eyes peel open. My mouth is sticky, coated in syrupy spit. And my stomach threatens to revolt when I roll on my side. Something solid blocks my efforts to get off the couch. A cool hand brushes loose strands of my messy hair behind my ear, and I sigh in contentedness.

“How are you feeling?” His honeyed tone melts away the discomfort.

But my answer still comes out as a groan.

A glass of icy water meets my lips, the wetness clearing away the lingering nastiness of cotton mouth. When he demands I open for him, he drops little white pills on my tongue, forcing me to swallow them back as his strong hand follows the movement down my throat.

I want to push him away, question why he’s here, how he found me, but for once in my life the fight in me that’s always at the surface doesn’t have the strength. Plus, the gentleness in which he’s caressing my face as I find my equilibrium stops my inner sass from shining through.

Pushing myself up to a seated position, I tug the blanket into my lap, covering up my naked legs. Not because I’m feeling shy. No; because one heated look from him as he peruses my skin will trigger a spark and kindle the fire that burns inside me for him. I need my wits about me when he’s sitting so close that I can smell his clean, earthy wood-like scent.

I lift my gaze to meet his, but his eyes are already on me, burrowing deep into my soul. His ocean eyes are dark, like a storm brewing in the middle of the sea.

Steeling my emotions, I have to ask, “How’d you find me Harkin? I know it wasn’t my phone.” He takes that opportunity to drop it in my lap and I thank the Gods above because I don’t have the money to replace it. I was in such a state last night, wanting my space from him. I knew I couldn’t take it with me. Ditching James was one thing, but I knew to truly disappear, I’d need to leave it behind.

“It’s not important.” He brushes my question off, standing to pace in front of the couch.

“Like hell it isn’t.” My irritation rises, and he must hear it in my tone, because he stops dead in front of me, crouching down. His large hands drop to my knees, squeezing, I’m momentarily distracted by the thick veins running up his forearms.

Focus woman.

“Why couldn’t you have just stayed, Keira? We could have talked it through. You keep running from me. And I’ll tell you now, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how many times you do it, or where you go, I’ll find you.”

What. The. Fuck.

I’m stunned into silence. What’s that even supposed to mean? His intensity level just rocketed through the damn roof and I’m not sure how to respond. It’s one thing to keep tabs on someone from a distance over the years like I’d done to him—especially when that someone’s attached at the hip with your long-lost twin. But this man has known me for two-point-five seconds, and he thinks he has some claim on me.

“Answer my question.” I finally pull my spinning thoughts together.

His shoulders droop with a drastic sigh. “You told me you were in Manhattan.” He pauses at my eye roll, squeezing against my thighs in a silent warning. I knew it would get to him, but if he won’t be honest, why should I show any respect?

“Robert texted me. Stacey mentioned you were here and upset. He had a feeling I might want to know after we left the club together last time,” he finishes.

“That fucking club,” I whisper under my breath. Stace and I are going to have a serious conversation regarding girl code. What the hell happened to sisters before misters?

“I would have done the same for him,” he says with no uncertainty.

“What do you want from me, Harkin? I need to get my stuff and figure out where I’m going to live. I know what you said, but I don’t think it’s a smart idea. It’s obvious we have too much baggage between us—and we’re not even together.”

Uttering that statement breaks my heart. I’ve wanted him for all these years. Yearned to be near him and a part of his life. Now he’s offering me my deepest desires and I’m still too scared to trust him fully. I lean back, forgetting how deep Stace’s couch is, the tips of my shoulders hit the back pillows and now I’m reclined in an uncompromising position with him between my legs. He takes advantage of the shift crawling on top of me, caging me in but holding his weight off my frame.

“We have enough baggage to fill a 747, but you’re sadly mistaken if you think we’re not together.” His weight drops on to me, trapping me under his hard body. There’s no way for me to get free, but when his lips ghost against my chin, drawing up my jawline and to my ear that thought flies out the window.

“James and I moved the rest of your stuff over to my place last night. Come home,” he whispers.

My resolve falters at that one word, home.

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