Chapter Four
“Let go,” I hissed at Cillian as he tugged me to face him, the sparks his touch ignited wholly unwelcome.
“No! Not until you’ve heard me out properly. I hadn’t finished saying what I came here to say.”
I tried to yank my wrist back, but the movement proved fruitless, Cillian’s fingers like an iron band. Not tight enough to hurt or leave bruises, but tight enough to send the message that he had no intention of letting go until he was good and ready. “Whatever you’ve got to say won’t make any difference, so you may as well save your breath. I appreciate I owed you an explanation. I’ve given you one, so now it’s time for us both to act like adults and move on.”
Cillian shook his head, his expression as serious as I’d ever seen it. “I messed up and I take full responsibility for that. I didn’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated, and I’m sorry.” There was some satisfaction in hearing him own his mistakes, and I knew I’d replay those words later and feel a little less guilty for how badly I’d mangled ending things. Anticipating that was what he’d needed to say, I gave my wrist another experimental tug. It seemed he still wasn’t done, though.
He came a step closer and all my senses went into overdrive, the scent of his cologne hauntingly familiar. Cillian was close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him. Close enough that his lips were only a few inches away and all I could think about was how good a kisser he was.
“Let me go,” I pleaded. “It took me too long to get over you.”
Something like triumph flashed in Cillian’s eyes and I realized my mistake too late: that I’d just admitted how into him I’d been.
“The problem,” Cillian said quietly, his brown eyes boring into mine, “Is that I’m not over you.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re—”
“I know exactly what I’m saying. Ask me why I came here.”
“Why did you come here?”
“To get you back,” Cillian said with a smile. “To put right whatever went wrong between us.”
“That’s crazy!”
“Is it?” When I didn’t answer, he searched my face. “Maybe. But I have to try. And I’m prepared to do whatever it takes.”
His words sent a shaft of pure emotion through me difficult to identify. Part of it was fear that all the careful safeguarding of my heart was about to unravel. But beneath that, there was excitement, too. And I hated myself for it. Because I wanted to believe Cillian. I wanted it to be true, and that was dangerous.
Cillian’s hand slid lower, his fingers interlocking with mine as he maintained eye contact. “Come for a drink with me. A proper drink. We’ll talk some more. You can call me all the names under the sun if it makes you feel better.”
“I don’t need to call you names.”
His smile was blinding in its intensity, his hand squeezing mine. “There we go. I feel like we’ve made progress already.”
Whereas, I felt like I was staring directly into the sun. Say no. Tell him to get on the first available flight back to London. Tell him he had his chance and that you’re not a big enough mug to give him a second one. “Okay. One drink.”
Despite Cillian’s choice of restaurant/bar being busy, he’d found a quietish corner. An empty table had materialized soon after our entrance, as things had a habit of doing for him—like even the universe recognized there was no point in arguing. Getting drinks proved equally straightforward for Cillian, people parting like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea when he arrived at the bar, and the bartender immediately serving him, even though there were people who’d been waiting longer.
“Do you speak French?” I asked him as he deposited a bottle of beer in front of me. I picked it up to check the label, surprised to find he’d remembered my tastes well enough to order San Miguel without having to ask. He pushed a glass toward me and I waved it off, preferring to drink from the bottle. First coffee and now beer. I really wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, but that was probably the least of my problems.
“Passably,” Cillian offered in response to my question.
“I didn’t know that.”
He shrugged as if it was of no consequence. “We holidayed a lot in France when I was a kid. And I’ve been here on business a few times.”
“Do you speak any other languages?”
“A bit of Spanish. Even less German.”
So that was a yes, Cillian just trying to be modest. “Why didn’t I know that about you?”
The question seemed to confuse him. “I guess it never came up.”
I took a long swallow of my beer before fixing him with a stare. “I want to make it clear that me coming here with you isn’t agreement of anything.”
Cillian raised his glass in a toast. He was drinking his usual whiskey and soda. “Don’t worry. It’s clear. I just wanted to talk.”
“So talk.”
He laughed. “It takes two people. Or it’s just me talking at you.”
“Did you really come to Paris just to see me?”
“Yes.” No hesitation, his gaze steady on mine. “It was only a short flight. I didn’t cross the Andes on foot or anything.”
Despite my best efforts not to let it happen, my lips twitched. “Well, that’s disappointing.”
“If you wanted me to cross the Andes, you should have moved to South America.”
“You could have done the Alps instead.”
“They’re not that close to Paris, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Excuses, excuses.”
Cillian’s grin had warmth spreading through my body. Agreeing to this was a terrible idea. All it was doing was reminding me of all the things I’d liked about him, while all the things that had slowly driven me crazy seemed a million miles away.
“Duly noted that next time I want to impress you,” he said, “I need to find a mountain range.”
I focused on a small group a few tables away, afraid of what I might see on Cillian’s face if I looked his way. And even more scared of how I might react to it. They were a group of five, three women and two men, the entire group talking excitedly in quick-fire French.
“Do you know them?” Cillian asked.
I shook my head, but continued to watch them. “Finlay?” Not Finn, which is what he’d always called me, even from our first meeting. The softness in his voice had me reluctantly turning back to him. “I meant what I said before, about doing anything to get you back. Just tell me what I need to do?”
My heart was thrumming so hard I could feel it in my throat, that same intensity shimmering between us that had always been there. Maybe it would be different now that I’d been honest about what hadn’t worked for me. Everyone deserved a second chance, right? After all, it wasn’t like he’d been abusive, or cheated on me. “You need—”
Cillian cursed as a familiar ringtone started up. And then he answered it. “Hi, Dan, yes… I know I said I’d call you. I was going to.” A pause. “…Really? What’s the problem? Did they say that? Have you spoken to Jonathan about it? I’d start there if I were you. Ask him what he thinks about it and then get back to me.”
I sat in stunned silence as Cillian conversed without even so much as a glance my way. Every time I thought he’d make his apologies and bring the discussion to an end, they’d embark on a new topic.
One minute passed.
And then two, still with no sign of Cillian ending the call.
When two minutes rolled over into three, I grabbed my jacket and stood, walking away from the table without looking back.
What had just happened was good, I told myself as my feet carried me toward the Seine. It was proof, that for all his words about understanding where I was coming from, he either couldn’t or wouldn’t change. It was justification that I’d been right to walk away. The first time, and now.
“FINN?”
I walked faster. If he grabbed me again, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. He could take his second chance and he could shove it up his arse. “Go away,” I shouted once he got close. “Leave me alone.”
“I know you’re annoyed at me.”
“You think?”
“And you’re right to be. I know that what I just did was exactly what you were talking about.”
“Nothing gets past you, does it?” I’d reached the river now. I hooked my elbows over the railing and stared out at the murky water. “The sad thing is, you almost had me convinced.”
Cillian joined me at the railing, his expression one of defeat. Him knowing how badly he’d fucked up didn’t make me feel any better. Nothing could make me feel better about being so gullible. “You should go home,” I said. “Back to London, I mean. Not just wherever you’re staying.”
“A hotel,” Cillian said. “A nice one.”
“Good for you.”
His phone rang again—the sound jarring so close to the silent river—and I laughed. And then something dark flew through the air, the noise going with it. There was a plop as it hit the water, and then silence. I leaned over the railing, staring down at the spot where the object had disappeared into the water. “Did you just…?”
“Yeah!” There was surprise in Cillian’s voice. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t look.”
“It might have been important.”
“Maybe.”
I turned to face him. “Was throwing your phone in the Seine supposed to impress me?”
“I don’t know what it was supposed to do. Just that I feared for my life if I answered it.” The ridiculousness of his answer brought a reluctant smile to my face. “Now, I don’t have a boyfriend or a phone,” he said sadly.
“Easy enough to buy one.”
“I really hope you’re talking about a phone.”
“You know they’ve been trying to get this river clean for years? And then you chuck your phone in it with zero regard for pollution.”
“Whoops.”
“Yeah, whoops,” I echoed. I stifled a yawn, the coffee and beer doing nothing to stop the late hour from catching up with me. Maybe I’d sleep after all.
“Come on,” Cillian said with a jerk of his head in the direction we’d come. “Let’s get you home. I’m assuming you’ve got work tomorrow.”