25. Harper
Chapter 25
Harper
I’m staring out at the Pacific Ocean, soaking in the bright blue view for what may be the last time. Cian sits beside me, his fingers laced with mine.
That’s right.
Cian Mahoney and I are holding hands. In an airport. Like a real couple.
The situation is bringing up so many emotions that I can’t focus on it. Instead, my eyes stay glued to the scene unfolding outside the windows.
The sun leans lower and lower in the sky, bowing toward the horizon, while pinks, purples, and periwinkles contour the heavens like a watercolor painting. This might be the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen in my life.
And experiencing it with Cian, for some reason, means so much to me.
I’m still jumpy. I’ve worked to keep myself distracted ever since I agreed to return to New York. Luckily, Cian’s been helping with that.
One or both of his hands have remained in contact with me every single second since my meltdown in the parking lot. I know he’s doing it so he can grab me if I change my mind and attempt to run, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.
All through the airport—from buying our tickets at the kiosks, through security and the indoor-outdoor hallways advertising authentic Hawaiian souvenirs—Cian’s threaded his fingers through mine. Or his palm has warmed the small of my back.
When we grabbed some food, he sat beside me instead of across from me, balancing one of his hands on my thigh the whole time.
Honestly, his behavior has me so switched around, I don’t know which way is up.
Just touching Cian for an extended period of time like this would create its own effect, but the way he gazes at me amplifies the experience. When I glance up and our eyes meet, he simply stares. Openly and unabashed. No shame. If I don’t look away or move, neither will he.
If the intensity of our connection didn’t warm me up inside, I’d question whether I remained among the living. As it is, I’m trying to enjoy these moments before the panic returns.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We’d like to begin the boarding process for flight 8937 to New York City. At this time, we invite…”
Cian brushes my shoulder with his giant one.
“Hmm?” I shift toward him, not realizing how close our faces are.
“That’s…” Cian’s voice trails off. The weight of his stare falls to my lips, inches from his. “Our flight’s boarding.”
We should both pull away and stand up, so why am I tempted to kiss him instead? In broad daylight, in front of all these strangers?
Cian’s the sort of man who only allows women close under the cover of night.
At least, he was. Or I guess that’s just what I always assumed.
I promise that I will never, ever let anyone hurt you like that again.
His words from earlier trip my heart up like a jump rope. Warmth blooms in my belly.
Except for the night he saved me from a rapist, I never pictured Cian as good boyfriend material. Not with his tendency to cycle through women.
Not that I’m fantasizing about the idea of Cian as my boyfriend.
My cheeks start burning, so I drop my gaze to where our intertwined fingers rest in my lap. “Okay.”
After dragging my free hand through my hair a few times, I soothe myself enough to stand.
Cian rises with me.
Ten minutes later, we settle into the cushy four-grand-a-pop, super-ultra first-class cabin. We have two seats in the very front row, right behind two spacious, fancy bathrooms and the pilots.
I’m glad he bought first-class tickets. Not just because of the eight-hour flight, but because first class means the booze will keep coming, and boy do I need a few gallons of that .
I can’t stop thinking about everything Cian said in the back of that Porsche.
The promises he made moved me. A three-ton boulder squatted on my chest, and Cian pushed it aside with a few sentences. Every time I glance at his perfect face, I’m struck by it all over again.
Him? Mr. Sexy over here is the one who said all that?
To me? Of all people?
I’m still dying to know how Cian could assure me with so much sincerity and so little hesitation. He’d kill my father or Shane or anyone who tries to lay a hand on me? No man has ever given me such a vow.
Certainly no one like Cian.
If I let myself stare at him too long, the word why rises to my lips. But then I remember the answer he offered in the car.
That kiss is going to screw me up forever.
I fidget, crossing my legs one way, then the other. I’m finally starting to settle when Cian releases my hand and places his palm on my thigh.
“You all right?” He’s close to my ear, his warm breath fanning the side of my neck.
“Mmhmm.” I adjust a little more as a shiver zips down my spine at Cian’s proximity. “Doing great.”
Cian rubs his hand down my thigh to my knee and back again. “You seem nervous.”
“Aren’t you?” The question escapes before I can recall it.
When Cian’s lips press a soft kiss to my cheek, surprise pulls me toward him. Whatever’s on my face makes him chuckle.
“Maybe a little.”
“Really?”
My voice sounds strange to my ears. But it’s not as strange as the idea of Cian being nervous.
I can’t imagine anything throwing him off his game.
He shrugs. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“I just thought that…”
“Enforcers have the emotional capacity of a sandwich.” Cian finishes my thought with an unhappy smirk. “Am I right?”
A small smile props up my lips. “I was going to say potato, but sandwich works too.”
He huffs as the first-class flight attendant—we get our own private staff up here—comes by to grab our pre-flight alcohol orders. I order a glass of vodka large enough to fill a gas tank, which Cian downgrades to a regular glass of white wine. The only reason I don’t correct him is because I’m shocked he knows what I like.
He notices my attention. “What?”
“How did you know I like white wine?”
Something shifts on Cian’s face. He almost seems a little…awkward. “Don’t all women?”
He’s hedging.
“ No , they don’t.” I sit back in my captain’s chair and pin him down with my stare. “How did you know I do?”
Cian gazes straight ahead. “Lucky guess.”
“Look me in the eye and say that.”
When he removes his hand from my thigh, I grab it with both of mine. The sensation that hits when all ten of my fingers connect with his palm prompts us to look at each other.
My cheeks itch, which must mean they’re pink. I barely remember what we were just talking about.
“Um…”
I’m the awkward one now. I attempt to release Cian’s hand, but he doesn’t let me pull away. He intertwines our fingers for the hundredth time today, holding my gaze steady with his own.
“I remembered.” His expression is a blank slate, neutral, real. No mask. No arrogance. No phony, playboy charm. “That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it?”
I can only nod, because he’s so exquisite to me in this moment that my mouth refuses to function.
“I remember everything about that night.” Cian’s words spur my pulse into a gallop. “How could I forget the night I almost had you?”
Okay, how in the world am I supposed to respond to that?
I know he’s probably only talking about the sex we missed out on, so I don’t allow myself to get too swept up in his words. Then again, knowing what sex with Cian is like and that he was looking forward to it that night…hearing him talk about it like I’m precious to him…
It’s having an impact on my underwear that probably violates some obscure FAA law.
“Tell me about your mother,” I blurt. I regret the question when the light in his eyes dims but it’s too late now, so I tack on a plea. “Please.”
With a huge sigh, he sinks back in the seat and studies his hands. “My mother was a kind soul. She used to read me stories at night, the same ones over and over because otherwise, I’d throw a fit. She cooked soup when I was sick, helped me pick out my clothes on the first day of class.” The softness of his voice forces me to lean closer to hear. “She took care of me the best she could, but sometimes she hurt too much by the time he finished with her to do more than lie in bed.”
Now I understand why he lowered his voice. “Cian, it’s okay, forget I asked. You don’t have to?—”
“I hated my dad. Hated that I couldn’t protect her. Spent years of my life anticipating the day when I’d finally be big and strong enough to stand my ground and force him to stop.”
“And did you?”
He hesitates, his fists tightening around the armrests as he steals a quick glance at me. “Eventually.”
My ribs ache as I squeeze his shoulder, my head filled with visions of a younger Cian, distressed and inconsolable as he watches the man who sired him beat his mother. “Good. I’d glad.”
“Yeah.” He dips his chin to his chest and clears his throat. “Enough of that depressing topic.”
“Okay.” I cup his chin in my hand, tipping his face up so I can press my lips to his cheek. “I wish I could go back in time and give that little boy a kiss and tell him everything will be okay.”
Cian shudders. “Harper…” The way he breathes my name, it’s like he slipped a finger inside me.
“Yes?”
“Kiss me.” His eyelids turn hooded as he leans toward ne.
Trying not to moan, I grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him the rest of the distance to my mouth. His big hand slides to the back of my head, holding me to him as much as I’m holding him to me.
Oh, god, I want him so much. The more I touch him, the more I realize my desire for him isn’t purely sexual.
It’s more expansive, more profound than that.
I want to kiss him for forty-eight hours straight. Kiss him. That’s all.
I want him to pull me into his lap and promise me all kinds of things, like he did in the back of that car a few hours ago.
The way I’m kissing him in this moment isn’t because I want to fuck him, even though I do and probably will until my dying day.
No, I’m kissing him like this because…I want him to love me.
Why though? Why do I want his love so badly?
Why does knowing that there’s no universe where Cian and I could ever be together inspire me to kiss him harder? The thought might’ve even made me cry, if not for the flight attendant clearing her throat beside us.
I notice her first. When I push away from him, he tugs me closer, his mouth trailing to my neck like we’re at home in bed .
“ Cian .” Giving the flight attendant an apologetic smile, I try to mask the lust in my voice as I gently tap him on the back.
“What?” he mumbles into my neck, teeth grazing me.
“The drinks are here.”
Reluctantly, he pulls back. Who knows how long the poor woman waited? With any other person, in this situation, I would have been absolutely mortified. But somehow, because it’s Cian, I’m barely sorry.
Any crumb of remorse still inside me is vanquished when I catch the flight attendant’s expression.
All envy. She’s gazing at Cian the way dieting women stare at a cake display.
I sip my wine to keep from barking a laugh. I’m not sure why it’s so funny. Maybe it’s the irony? Women take one glimpse of Cian and lust after a piece of him, but none of them experience the sweet, awkward side he just showed me.
People desire Cian for his body, but the joke is that his heart might be the most alluring thing about him.
I’m still smiling to myself after the flight attendant leaves and the plane takes off.
Cian could have been callous and cruel back in the car and played off my trauma in defense of his boss. He could have acted entirely apathetic to my plight.
But he didn’t do any of that. Instead, he listened and believed me and held me close. He promised that everything would be okay. They don’t teach that at mafia man school. That’s the kind of response only someone with a good heart is capable of. He revealed a sliver of what he’s like on the inside today. He let me in.
And in the few hours since I told him my truth, he’s been sweet, kind, attentive, and gentle with me in ways I didn’t think a man could be. It’s absurd. Too wonderful to be real. To necessary to live without.
But that’s probably the wine talking. I’m on glass number three.
As the night stretches on, things with Cian somehow get cozier. My legs end up in his lap. He tells me to pick a movie, and I choose When Harry Met Sally because Riley and I love this one. I just never expected a rom-com where Meg Ryan fakes an orgasm to remind me so much of Cian and me. Long car rides. Bickering nonstop.
Honestly, I have a whole new appreciation for these characters.
And for us.