Page 61 of Shattered Hearts
That’s what happens when you tell the housekeeping staff to come once a month instead of every week.
I eat and exercise elsewhere in the mansion. I do my work in the field or in the Interrogation Unit in the basement. My apartment doesn’t need to be cozy.
Dark combat boots lay strewn in the doorway, since I’m normally too lazy to put them in the shoe cabinet a foot away. I toss them in there and then calculate every single area in this place and what needs to happen before Riley arrives.
My suite is open concept. A giant, spacious square separated by furniture and appliances that designate the purpose of each space. The far wall is entirely windows. I start there and drag the stage-sized curtain back to show off my view. It’s not much, but treetops, a bit of skyline, and the occasional star on a clear night is better than a massive black curtain.
After making quick work of putting fresh sheets on the bed, I head to the living area. I grab a wadded navy blanket on the leather couch and start folding.
I’m going to make you come…over and over again. On my fingers. On my cock. On my tongue.
How thefuckcould I say that to her?
Just because Riley has reawakened every sexual cell in my body doesn’t mean I can have her. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I deserve her. I don’t deserveanyof what happened earlier. Not her sweet mouth against mine, not her full, soft breasts in my hands, not her muted sighs of pleasure stifled against my ear.
With a frustrated groan, I clear all the memories away.
I don’t want to admit this, but today was a huge mistake. One that cannot happen again, so I can stop tidying up like a housewife under duress.
I shift gears, my brain shunting back to Troy Sullivan, safe for now, locked away beneath the house in cell block one.
I should have killed him.
I would have killed him. He broke into Riley’s apartment and attacked her. Did I need another reason? When I thought he did so to get to me, I was furious. But when Riley told me he’d abused her in the past, I wanted to obliterate the fucker and send his ashes back to the Sullivan brothers with a Gallagher greeting card.
However, if I add Red Hill’s heir to my resume—especially given pastevents—I could start a war between the Kings and Red Hill, and war is the last thing any of us needs?—
“Knock knock.” Riley’s hesitant voice washes over me as she pushes the door open.
“Hey.” I give the area a once-over, hoping again that Riley will feel comfortable here. “Make yourself at home.”
She opens the door all the way and takes a few hesitant steps inside while I close the distance between us.
Of course, she’s nervous. You told her to come here without a plan. You told her you were going to fuck her, to her face, even though you’re very much engaged to her sister.
Riley stops in my foyer and politely takes off her shoes. She doesn’t move, though, as if she’s waiting for me to invite her farther in.
I make a sweeping motion toward the living area. “Got you some peas.”
Get a fucking grip, Finn.
She scrunches her forehead. “For…dinner?”
“For your hand.” I spin on my heel. “Come on.”
I’ve been tortured twice in my life, and somehow, this is more painful. Like a robot, I lead Riley to the space containing a couch and two recliners I call my living room, then grab the bag from the freezer.
Careful not to get too close, I sit about half a foot away from her on the couch, settling the frozen veggies over Riley’s swollen knuckles.
The sudden cold temperature makes her jump. I’m a little twitchy myself, but it has nothing to do with the peas.
“How’d the interrogation go?” Riley repositions the bag with her other hand.
I shake my head. “He’s still unconscious.”
I chose to leave him that way because I’d rather spend time with you.
Where the fuck did that thought come from?