Page 140 of Carnal Wagers

“We’re not.”

“Why not?”

I jerked my gaze down to her neck. She reached up and stopped halfway.

“No, I’m fine. I want to go.” On the bed, she shuffled on her knees toward me. “We have to. One more perfect date. We need it.”

“Do we?”

“I need it. With you. Us, together.” She clasped my hands. “I’m up for whatever you have planned. Absolutely anything. Please.” With one hand, she air-patted her throat, then turned her neck left, then right. “See. This is nothing. I’m fine. Some quality time with you will make it all better.”

The desperation practically steamed off her, but why?

“Take your pills. Get dressed.”

“Wait.” She squeezed my wrist. “Are you okay?”

“I wasn’t the one almost strangled.”

“I-I know. It’s just…you’re a little…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Bizarre? Cold? Did something else happen while I was sleeping? Is it your brother? Are you…Will everything be alright between you two?”

I pinched my lips together.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Despite the jabbing cuts she kept scoring into my heart, I bent down and kissed the top of her head. Slight remains of her perfume suffused my lungs, a spiced tartness under the cheeriness of roses, just like her. Exactly what I fell for, a trap made just for me.

“I’ll get you a new perfume. This one doesn’t suit you.”

A hurt expression flickered across her brows.

“I made this one.”

“Right.” I scratched my beard and tongued the front of my teeth, exhausted with whatever the bleeding hell this conversation was turning into. “Just get dressed. Warm clothes. Let me know if you need anything for…” I gestured to her neck. “I’ll wait for you by the door.”

Chapter 34

Something was off with Cillian. It was more than his regular mood swings, when his desire to do anything at all waned to lifelessness the longer he stayed still. Those days, I gently coaxed him out of his shell with tender care until he begrudgingly forced himself to put one foot in front of the other and trudged off to his office for a bit of work or took me out to fulfill an item on my list. That usually helped pull him out of his funk. Not this time, apparently.

At his first avoidance of a kiss, an edgy nervousness settled over me. The longer we spent the day together, the worse that feeling niggled at me. There were no affectionate, lingering touches, no conversation other than small talk.

Whenever I looked his way, he turned away from me. When I suggested an Irish bakery for breakfast after he shared weeks ago that scones were his favorite pastries, he reacted with as much enthusiasm as he would to a spam caller. When we boarded a helicopter, he sat as far away as possible and responded with clipped answers to any questions about the scenery and our destination. I tried to convince myself his silence was an attempt to help preserve my voice and avoid irritating my throat. Yet the more I tried to catch his attention, joke, or beguile him with my brand of charm, the more his jaw clenched and his cheeks twitched with strain.

Where were last night’s confessions? The sweet kisses? The fuck-me looks? The care that made me feel precious? He was pulling away, and it made no sense, definitely not after promising a mind-blowing romantic date. If that wasn’t enough, the mix of evasive and somber looks our tagalong guards, Paulie and Devin, dealt out as they sat facing us in the helicopter made my shoulders prickle with pins and needles.

Half an hour in the air, I finally snapped.

“Are you ever going to talk to me?” I burst out through the headset over the muffled whoops of the helicopter blades. “Or explain to me why you got a personality transplant?”

“We’re not doing this now.”

“No, we should, because so far your idea of romantic needs improvement. Nothing about any of this screams love or passion.”

“Not. Now,” he bit out between his teeth, tapping an earcup of his headset. “We have company.”