Page 70 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

“Eoin.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t breathe a word to him. Your secret is safe with me.”

I stare at him. The reason I mentioned Eoin is because I know the thought of Padraig and me being together right now will be tearing him apart. He’ll be thinking something is going on. I’ve stayed out all night.

Despite what Irish thinks my loving him isn’t a secret. Not to Eoin or to the rest of his family. The only person it’s ever been a secret from is him.

He stands and opens the blinds allowing the sunrise to welcome us to this new day. A day I should never have gotten to see.

My eyes drag over him. His inked skin contrasts against the glow of the morning sun, his upper body so defined it looks like he works on it all day, every day. I can’t pull my gaze away. This time, my blatant admiration causes the atmosphere to change. Maybe it’s the location? After all, I’m in his home.

In his bedroom.

On his bed.

Or maybe it’s my frank admission?

I know if I look at his face, it won’t be a smirk that I see. There’s nothing remotely funny about this moment. I slowly raise my gaze, and my eyes connect with his dark, heated expression. I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking right now.

He blinks, and the moment’s gone. I watch as he crosses the room, opens a drawer, pulls out a t-shirt, and yanks it over his head.

Wise move. It’s safer that way.

Thou shalt not give into temptation.

Easier said than done when you’re faced with a shirtless Padraig O’Connell.

“I should…” I stand, and he nods in agreement. We both know it’s best if I leave.

“Let me…”

We collide with each other on the way to the bedroom door. To steady me, his hands reach out and grab hold of my upper arms. I can feel their scorching heat the moment they connect with my skin. I stare up at him, my entire being now conscious of his.

I am him. He is me.

“Our souls have always been intertwined. You feel that too, darlin’?”

Right now, it’s all I can feel. My eyes drop to his lips.

“Jaine…” It’s a warning to us both. We can’t cross the line. No good will ever come of it.

Lust. That’s all this is, and it’s perfectly understandable. We shared a past. The lack of mutual attraction isn’t what ended us.

He cheated, but then he didn’t.

We shouldn’t have ended. We should have been forever.

The last twenty-four hours has us both seeking a release, but that can’t be with each other. It can never be with each other.

I love him. He doesn’t love me. He gave me his blessing to be with his brother.

Then stop looking at him like you want him to fuck you, as it really isn’t helping.

Lust is called a sin for a reason. If not expertly handled, it can wreck lives and destroy people. I have to nip this in the bud before this thing between us spirals out of control. Reaching my hand up, I pull his head down to connect his lips with mine.

So soft. So familiar.

It’s a closed-mouth, chaste kiss. A kiss of friendship. A kiss that says thank you. A kiss that says we can’t. A kiss that says this stops right here, right now because people will get hurt otherwise. A kiss that draws a line in the sand.

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