Page 82 of Crush (Deadly Hearts 1)

My eyebrows shoot up. “You do?” I ask.

“Yep. I promised I would never leave you and I won’t. So it’s tough shit if you don’t like it. And before you get your knickers in a twist…I’m not moving into your bedroom. I’ve unpacked my bag in the servant’s quarters.” He juts his thumb over his shoulder to signify the small but comfortable room off the utility room.

“That’s for a live-in nanny,” I splutter.

“Consider me your babysitter, then, Princess. I’m not going anywhere.”

I sigh. What’s the point in arguing with him? Besides, the fact that he took the live-in room means a lot. He could’ve just taken one of the two guest rooms or my room even.

“What about when you go to Ireland?” I ask.

“You’re coming with me,” he says confidently.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I reply quietly.

“Well, then. Mam will have to come here, and she’ll be taking one of your guest rooms and making it her own… and don’t get me started on this kitchen…”

I narrow my eyes at him. His baby blues are twinkling, and he knows he’s winning this hands down.

“Fine,” I grouse. “You win. Now can we go to work? I’ve got an appointment in an hour.”

“Sure,” he says and picks up his keys from the counter.

As we head outside, my phone rings and I answer straight away.

“Banker,” I say. “What’s up?”

“Our friend has paid his subscription,” he replies.

“Very good. Please add him back to the newsletter.”

“Will do.”

“Also, don’t forget to make a stop at Homebase. I need some fish food.”

“On my way,” he says and hangs up.

Declan opens my door for me, and I climb into the car.

“Fish food?” he asks.

“You’ll see,” I murmur, not trusting that his car isn’t being bugged. Code is imperative when discussing things over unsecure lines.

He accepts that and we set off in silence. It’s a good fifteen minutes later when he asks, “Are you okay? With the Giselle thing? I’m happy to take care of it. In fact, I want to.”

“Don’t,” I say instantly. “I don’t want any of you near this. Just let my guy handle it.”

He nods slowly and then swears under his breath.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Checkpoint,” he mutters. “The explosion yesterday must’ve spooked them.”

“I’m not surprised,” I murmur. “Let me do the talking, yeah?”

He glares at me, but I wave my hand dismissively. “No offense, Irish, but do you really want to open your mouth at a time like this?”

He growls. “That’s not fair…”

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