Page 20 of Killian

Thoughts of him spanking my ass red causes my skin to flush. He winks as he pulls the door shut behind me.

Fuck.

Shaking off the sexual thoughts in my head, I turn back to my computer. Hacking isn’t as easy as they make it seem in the movies. Typing a few lines of code on a screen doesn’t always break the key, letting the heroes save the day at the last minute.

A lot of times it’s long hours sitting at the computer, figuring out the connections or finding a back door.

I won’t lie. Sometimes it really is easy, but not because hacking is easy. No. It’s because those who are easily hackable have minimal security. I already knew the Irish had their own security, but whoever’s cooking the books is doing a hell of a job covering their tracks.

My eyes narrow as I look at a particular line of code. Something about it stands out to me. To others it’s gibberish, but to me, it’s a bread crumb. The first piece of evidence I have against this unknown foe.

As I follow the bread crumb, warning flags start popping up in my head.

Carefully, I dig into the thread, wondering where it will pull. As soon as I do, a warning pops up on the screen.

Warning. Foreign user detected.

Immediately I pull out the internet hotspot, typing furiously to block their access. Within seconds, the warning stops.

I let out the breath I was holding.

Killian walks through the door, making me jump.

He has two bowls of food in his hand as he smiles at me. His smile falls when he sees my face.

Rushing forward, he sets the bowls down before crowding into my space.

“What happened?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. I fell for a trap. I need to wipe this computer clean and start again. I think today is going to be a bust.”

He reaches out, brushing his hand across my cheek.

“Okay. We can stop. Before you rush off, eat your stew.”

Moving back around the desk, he grabs a bowl, setting it in front of me.

It feels oddly comfortable sitting here with him. As if eating stew in his office is an everyday occurrence and not a recent development.

“Do you remember when we went to Cefalu?”

He looks up from his bowl, meeting my eye. I see the flash of heat in his eyes.

“I remember every second with you,a ghrá.”

My body shivers.

“That was a perfect trip,” I whisper before taking a bite of my stew.

He sets his bowl down, standing to lean over the desk toward me. I swallow my food, but otherwise freeze, gazing into his eyes.

He comes closer, his lips only a breath away.

“Every day, even the bad ones, are perfect when you are with me.”

My breath catches as he presses his lips to mine in a firm but chaste kiss. Then he sits back, grabbing his bowl and taking a bite as if he did not just make my heart stutter.

“Tonight, I want to take you someplace.”

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