Page 66 of Lucky Strike

I nod slowly, trying to understand the complexity of his situation. Generations of Kellys have been about this life. Conlan and his siblings were raised with the same codes, his place as the heir apparent to his father's throne all but cemented.

"Do you ever question it?" I ask, hoping to draw out more from him.

He runs a hand through his hair and leans back against the couch. "Of course. But this is who I am, Bria. Who my family is. It's not like I can just walk away from it."

I watch as he fidgets, obviously uncomfortable with where this conversation is heading. Still, I push a little more. "So, what's the plan then? Take over and continue on the same path as your father?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. When your family’s built something to this level, you don’t just burn it down."

“I—I know. I’m not suggesting you do that.” I put my wine down and take a deep breath, wanting to express myself properly. I thought I knew what I was getting myself into when I agreed to stay on for Liam’s sake, but I didn’t. Not really.

“You can leave anytime you want,” he says, like he knows what I’m thinking. “I know this isn’t for everyone. I don’t want you to do anything you’re conflicted about.”

“Of course, I’m conflicted. Nothing’s that simple,” I say. “But I won’t leave Liam. I can’t.”

He sets his glass aside and slides closer, tapping his index finger on my knee. “I’m going to flip this around. Can I askyoua question?”

“Of course.”

“Is Liam the only reason you stayed?”

If he’s asking, he already knows the answer. But telling Conlan how I feel has consequences, ones I’m not sure I’m ready for. I love the Kellys—they’re like family. But I’m also scared of what families like that are capable of, and what being involved with them means for my future. Scared, too, of my feelings for this man. We’ve done this before, and it didn’t last. What makes this time different?

Yet,despite all that, I seem to be as hooked on him as I ever was. “No,” I murmur.

The rest of his fingers follow until his whole hand is resting on my knee. “Did you stay for me?”

My heartbeat goes wild, a swirling tempest of anxiety and desire, and I stand up. It’s too warm in here, too cozy. Conlan stands up, too, watching as I bend to collect my wine glass. He follows me into the kitchen, plucking the glass from my hands and setting it in the sink before turning me around. “Bria.”

I stare at his mouth … those lips … before raising my eyes to meet his. A minute passes, the words hanging from the tip of my tongue before finally dripping off. “You know why I stayed.”

His body sways toward mine like it can’t help it. “Tell me.”

We haven’t been this close to each other since the summer he went to college. He came to see me in New York, and at the end of his visit we kissed goodbye at Penn Station. He flew out to Belfast a few days later. “When we were at boarding school, I wanted to be around you all the time,” I say instead.

“I wanted to be around you, too,” he says, and now he’s the one staring at my mouth. “All the time. I still do. I meant it when I said I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” I whisper, but I’m afraid to bring it to the present tense. There’s so much more at stake this time around.

Swaying toward me again, he ghosts a kiss over my lips. I pause, and then I rise to my toes and kiss him back.I remember this. The way his nose brushes against mine, his hand sliding into my hair as he holds me close, all the scattered fragments of memories and feelings melting into something aching and bright and real andnow. His tongue glides over mine in a sweet, hot push and pull that makes my insides flutter. I sigh softly against his mouth, and he kisses me deeper, pressing me against the counter. I meet his hunger, stroke for stroke, releasing my fears and the need I have to keep some distance between us. I'm as lost in him as I ever was.

He pulls back, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For all of it. For dragging you back into my life like this.” He swallows. “For pushing you away and for hurting you.”

And despite how conflicted I am, I know a genuine confession of emotion when I hear one, even one lubricated by wine. “Well, which is it?” I tease, biting his bottom lip. “Are you sorry for pushing me away or for dragging me back?”

His eyes darken. “Both.” Lifting me onto the counter, he wedges his body between my thighs and kisses me again, chasing my tongue and sucking it. When I come up for air, he bites a trail down my neck, and I can feel myself getting wet from the heat of his tongue on my skin.

“Hey,” I breathe. “We should probably stop.”

“Why?” His voice is low, velvety, his breath warm against my ear. Despite what I just said, I pull him in for another kiss, all that repressed desire bubbling to the surface like lava.

A door closes somewhere in the house, breaking the spell. It’s one of the guys, most likely, using the bathroom down the hall, but it’s enough of a warning that we stop. Conlan presses one more kiss to my mouth before pulling me down from the counter, not letting an inch of space between us.

“It’s late.”

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