Page 33 of Surrender
“I can’t explain this,” he whispered. “It feels like I’ve waited lifetimes.”
“So have I,” she whispered back.
They moved together, rising and falling like the tide. Breathless. Tangled. Her nails marked his back. His arms held her tight, as if letting go would unravel the world.
She cried out, trembling beneath him as she came. He followed, groaning low in her ear, shuddering in her arms.
Afterward, he kissed her temple. Her cheek. The damp skin beneath her jaw. They stayed tangled—limbs knotted, hearts pounding.
What began as urgency had become something else.
Something older. Undeniable.
Old souls.
New fire.
And no going back.
Chapter 10
Sunlight filtered through the curtains in soft golden streaks, warming the room in a quiet, lazy glow. Outside, birds sang and bees hummed, enjoying a morning that felt impossibly still—sacred in its simplicity. Gwen stirred, tangled in the sheets and in Keefe, her cheek resting against the rise and fall of his chest.
For a moment, she just listened—to the steady rhythm of his heart, to the whisper of his breath—and let herself believe this was forever. That this moment, this man, could be hers beyond the golden hush of morning after a night that had changed everything.
“Good morning. You’re still here,” Keefe murmured, his voice thick with sleep as his hand traced slow, lazy circles on her bare back.
“Where else would I be?” Gwen whispered. She tilted her face up to kiss the center of his chest, then trailed soft kisses across his skin.
Even as she melted into his warmth, a hollow ache bloomed in her chest.
She hadn’t meant for this to happen. Hadn’t meant to fall for someone—much less a man who felt more right, more like home, than anyone or any place she’d ever known.
And she hadn’t told him the truth.
Every perfect kiss, every whispered word they’d shared, was built on a lie. When she walked into that pub, she’d been someone else entirely. A woman with secrets. A woman who never planned to stay long enough for anything to matter.
Now she couldn’t imagine leaving. Couldn’t imagine losing him.
“You’re quiet,” Keefe said, lifting his head to study her face.
“Just tired,” she replied softly. “And enjoying the birdsong. In the city, all I ever hear is traffic.”
“Do you miss it? Dublin?”
Not in the least.
“I used to think Dublin was home,” she said, then glanced toward the window. “But now... I’m not so sure. I can’t imagine going back.”
Now was her opportunity to tell him the truth. But when it came to it, the words lodged in her throat. She would have to tell him. The longer she waited, the worse it would be.
Just a few more quiet moments.
She slid out from under the covers, padding softly across the room. Dressed in nothing but his oversized T-shirt that brushed the tops of her thighs, Gwen moved like a whisper—her hair mussed from sleep... and from him. Her bare legs still ached in the best possible way.
She paused at his dresser. Her gaze landed on a small silver frame nestled among a few scattered coins and a worn leather wallet. She picked it up and let out a quiet laugh.
Inside the frame was a black-and-white photo strip—the old-school kind you only got from a photo booth. Four snapshots of two small children, both dark-haired and grinning like maniacs. In the first, the girl was mid-shove and the boy looked indignant, caught mid-protest. In the second, they both appeared to be trying to sit on the same tiny stool. Third frame: the boy—Keefe, unmistakably—was giving the girl bunny ears. And in the final one, both of them had their fingers up behind each other’s heads, laughing like loons.
