Page 181 of Flirting with Darkness

He still wore those shorts, and although I couldn’t smell his desire as he had mine, they did nothing to hide his interest. I indulged, letting myself nestle against him, tilting my head to give him better access to my neck.

Last night, he’d held back because of the outside influence that had turned me on so much, but right now the tension pulling my thighs together was all thanks to him. All he’d done last night. The strength and vulnerability I’d seen in Faolán the protector and Faolán the man who’d been attacked by a mob. The care he’d shown me in those little ways between his gruff exterior, and the way he helped me train even if he didn’t know what it was for.

If I asked him now, would he deny me?

Except…

All those things that made me want to ask again? They were him. Not just the crooked charm of his handsome face or the solid muscle of his impressive physique, buthim.

His personality; his spirit. Hisself.

And that was a far more dangerous thing than a quick fuck with an attractive man.

Shit.

Iwas the one being complicated.

Shit!

I tugged on his hand, even though part of me wanted nothing more than to put it between my legs and arch back into him. But it was that part of me that was the problem.

He released me, and I wriggled away, making the excuse that I wanted to go for a run before breakfast.

Problem was, I could run all morning, all afternoon, and all night, but I couldn’t outrun my feelings.

24

THROUGH A DOOR DARKLY

Faolán stood waiting at the end of my route, ready for training. And much as I’d feared it would be awkward or that he’d try to turn things sexual, it was the same as every morning—professional even. Albeit, I caught myself staring at his mouth a couple of times as he explained an exercise, and once or twice, I was sure his usually appraising gaze softened as he sawmerather than just the imperfections in my technique.

But we said nothing about last night. Clearly, he was happy to leave it as a husband satisfying his wife.

I just needed to remember that was all I wanted.

However incredible it had been, I couldn’t afford to want something with him. I had to keep my head so I could go after Ari once we were free of here.

Breakfast with Granny and lunch—the day went as normal. Granny excused herself from dinner, as she often did, and we ate in our room; the little table for two by the fire was far cosier than the cavernous dining room. Maybe because it was the two of us or maybe because it understood what we’d done last night, House sent us a rather delicious bottle of wine with our supper.

I snorted to myself as I poured a second glass. Maybe it was an apology for threatening Faolán.

He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. House’s dreams had to be taking a toll on him. “What’s that for?”

I cleared my throat and took a sip of wine to delay replying. For all that the day hadn’t been awkward, we hadn’t spoken about last night and the line we’d crossed. I bathed my tongue in the wine’s flavour, rich and fruity like brandy-soaked cherries, but that only brought to mindhistongue upon me, inside me, reaching places it shouldn’t have been able to reach.

I shifted in my seat and squeezed my thighs together.Not thinking about that. Not thinking about that. Not thinking about that.

Faolán’s gaze stayed on me, the remnants of his supper, which had been a whole chicken with roasted veg and thick gravy, forgotten. He lifted his chin, chest rising.

Oh, shit. Could he smell what that one thought had done to me? That was how it had all started last night. I cleared my throat and fixed my gaze on the wine glass.

“I was laughing at House.” I glanced at the fireplace, as though there were a third person in our conversation—that would make it safer, right? Make it feel much less like it was just me and him in our shared room, a few feet away from the chair where he’d fucked me with his tongue, and a few yards from the bed he’d taken me to after. “House, why do you keep sending us such horrible memories, but then you threaten Faolán with a poker and decidethatwarrants sending the best wine I’ve ever tasted by way of apology?”

“Hmm.” He swirled his wine. “Itisgood wine.”

And this was where he’d joke about it not being the best thing he’d tasted in this house. That was what my tavern conquests would say—one of them had made almost that exact joke. I’d laughed like it was funny and didn’t make my entire body cringe.

But when Faolán said it, my cringing would be tempered by the memory of his mouth on my nipples and his head between my legs as he tasted me. I squirmed in my seat.

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