17. Cian
Chapter 17
Cian
Mrs. Mahoney. Mrs. Mahoney. Mrs. Mahoney.
I haven’t heard that name since my mom died. That phrase used to tear me up inside, thinking about my mother and her misfortunate role as my father’s bride. But hearing the term applied to Harper does something to me I never saw coming.
Like a bullet to my fucking heart.
The name continues to echo in the back of my mind as I usher Harper into Room 415. Artwork crafted from disassembled ukuleles decorates one wall. A tiny television set with a VCR underneath rests on a scarred dresser. Queen-sized bed with a blue comforter. A wicker couch with blue cushions that even grandparents from the eighties wouldn’t want.
One bathroom.
Lots and lots of blue.
My heart heaves. More than an hour’s passed, but the organ continues slamming against my ribs like I’m still watching armed foot soldiers ambush the place where Harper works.
I don’t start to calm down until I’ve locked the motel room door, barricaded it, and checked all the windows and ventilation systems for security failures.
Harper watches me the whole time with wide-eyed alarm. The moment I stop moving, I know she’s going to ask me a hundred questions.
Not that she doesn’t deserve answers. It’s just that an hour ago, I didn’t believe I’d be alone in a bedroom with her ever again. Now that I am and I’m certain this is our last night together, my body aches with desperation to fuck her.
Who cares about anything else? Nothing else matters when her skin touches mine. That’s today’s lesson. I can wallow in my rage over my own weakness for this woman some other time. For the rest of my life, in fact.
Harper will return to a normal life that holds no place for me, leaving me behind with only anger for company.
When I return to the main room after splashing scalding hot water on my face and washing the cut on my arm, she’s standing beside the bed with her arms folded, like she hasn’t decided whether she’s staying the night with me or not. She probably hasn’t. This is my chance to convince her.
“The De Lucas have a grudge against Finn. They think he conspired to get their heir thrown in jail. Matteo De Luca, the last don…had Finn’s first wife killed.”
Harper listens intently. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
I utter the words the same way I would when giving a report back home. “Your dad had Riley step in and pretend to marry Finn, to save Shane and the rest of the family from embarrassment. So the De Lucas were after Riley since, as his alleged wife, they also want you.”
Harper’s hands fly over her mouth, her eyes rounding. “No, no, no, no. Not Riley.” She glances around the room like she’s lost before snapping to attention. “Where are Riley and Finn now? What happened? Did my dad force her to marry him?”
“No. They’re still in New York. Everything is okay now. But about a month ago, the De Lucas did come after them.” I was up close and personal for that particular clusterfuck. “They fucked up Finn’s arm pretty bad.”
Horror paints her face. “And Riley?”
I don’t think Harper needs to hear that these motherfuckers car-bombed her sister. Morale is already rough around here. “Riley’s fine. But Enzo knows you’re missing, and he wants to find you so he can use you as leverage.”
Harper’s huge sigh of relief fills the entire room with carbon dioxide.
The tension in my body won’t release. Not until Harper and I are back to okay. Or whatever fucking setting makes her thread her arms around my neck while I tongue her.
I’m hoping we’ve concluded this conversation, but I know that’s just wishful, lustful thinking when Harper’s brows pinch together.
“This doesn’t make any sense.” She shoves both her hands through her hair. “If the De Lucas are after me, why are you trying to take me back to Finn? The safest I can be is far away from him.”
She’s not wrong. But that doesn’t change the plan.
“I’m not trying to take you back to him.”
“You liar! I heard you on the phone with him, plotting to have me home in time. Admit it.” Her voice shakes. “My dad sent you here to drag me back to marry Finn for real.”
“No.” I force out a hard breath. “There are no wedding plans. Not for you, as far as I know.”
“What does that mean?”
All of a sudden, I’m hit with a severe case of cottonmouth. Based on how this conversation has gone, plus her actions over the past two months, Harper has no interest in marrying Finn.
I don’t think, anyway.
If I read her wrong and she bursts into tears when I tell her that she won’t she be marrying him, I’m going to lose my shit.
“It’s about Riley.”
She inhales. “What about Riley?”
“Your sister and Finn fell in love or some shit while covering for your ass. They’re a thing now. I don’t know all the details, but…” I shrug.
Harper blinks. I brace myself for a barrage of questions, but instead, Harper flies to the bedside table left of the mattress.
“I’m calling my sister.”
Shit. “You can’t.” I clear my throat. “Don’t, I mean.”
Harper ignores me, grabbing the motel phone out of the cradle. I snatch the phone from her hand, praying I don’t come off as desperate as I feel.
As her blue eyes search my face, my mouth dries out even more.
If she calls Riley, Finn and everyone else will know I’ve found her. They’ll expect an ETA on our arrival. And they’ll get that soon enough, so why rush?
I don’t want to share Harper just yet, and reality can wait. Anything that requires us to separate sooner can cool its heels.
I want her right here, in my space. Close enough to kiss.
And I almost do kiss her, but my nerve fails in the face of Harper’s suspicion.
She still doesn’t trust me worth a damn.
Not that I blame her.
“Come on.” I force my voice to sound normal.
“Where?”
I wrap my fingers around her upper arm. “Shower.”
“What?”
Steering us both into the cobalt-tiled bathroom with turtle wallpaper, I give her a little sniff. “You could use one.”
Outrage suffuses her beautiful features. “Fuck you.”
For some reason, I love it when she says that. I almost laugh. “Are you going to wash yourself, or do you want me to do that part?”
“Get out.”
“So you can sneak off?” I nod at the casement window set high into the blue shower wall. “I don’t think so. Now get in before I change my mind and give you a sponge bath.”
It’s just business. So why does the thought of supervising Harper while she showers make my chest all fizzy?
What’s the word? Intimate.
Which is so fucking sappy and unlike the shit I’m used to doing with women I spend the night with that I almost disgust myself.
But this bizarre moment might be the only salve for the hurt that appeared when Harper tried to ditch me by the side of the road without a second thought.
I spent the past thirty minutes avoiding the truth.
Harper will abandon me the first chance she gets.
I also push away the disturbing certainty that if anything happens to her, it could wreck me for good.