Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
His heart landed somewhere near his toes.
Ciaran wanted to reach for her, but her eyes were filled with such anguish, and yes, panic, that he didn’t dare.
He let his arms drop into his lap. She stood only a few feet away, but it could have been miles.
Her chest heaved like she had just sprinted to the finish line only to be met by the grim reaper himself.
Without another word, she turned and fled into the bedroom, locking the door behind her. Ciaran remained where he was, feeling as if a knife had been plunged into his stomach, one long enough to scrape his heart from the inside.
He could hear her moving through the room, presumably locating her belongings from where they had been hastily discarded the night before. When the door opened, she looked like Cinderella leaving the ball as the clock struck midnight. After having one wild night.
The sun struck sparks off the clutch and hair combs bundled in her arms. She hurried through the room, pausing only long enough to retrieve her shoes and wrap.
In her haste, she fumbled with the locks, but then disappeared into the hallway without even a glance in his direction.
Her feet thundered down the stairs at a near run.
The slamming of the door to the street finally jolted him free as if some invisible force had released its grasp, Ciaran dashed to his room, kicking the doorframe in his haste. He yelped and half-hopped across the floor to grab the first shirt, and pair of shoes he could find.
He shrugged into the sweatshirt he’d snared on the way out as he descended the stairs and narrowly avoided tripping on his untied shoelaces. Skidding to a halt on the street to tie them, he looked both ways, spotting her most of the way back to Fifth Avenue. Even barefoot, she was fast.
He took off after her, heart pounding more from the fear and confusion in her pained expression just before she had bolted than from the actual effort.
He closed to within a half-block and called her name.
It was hard to tell from this distance, with her hair spreading out like a cloud around her, but he thought she shook her head in response.
She didn’t slow as she crossed the street and headed in the direction of the park.
He poured on a bit more speed, calling her name. As she crossed into the shadow of the arch, he called again. “Jal, please stop!”
She drew to a sudden halt, her hands and cheek pressed to the cool marble. Ciaran skidded to a stop a few feet away and watched her carefully. The next move, whatever it was, would be hers.
Finally, she took a deep breath and the muscles in her shoulders bunched before she turned to face him. “Please Ciaran,” she begged in a choked whisper so faint that he had to take a step closer to hear her. “If you do love me, turn around and go back home.”
“Never,” he told her. “You can keep running for the rest of your life, but I swear this to you, I will never stop following.”
“Why?” she asked. A single tear slid down her cheek. “Why would you do that?”
He brushed it away with his thumb. “Because despite how hard you’ve tried, I see you for what you are.” He waved her off when she opened her mouth to protest. “I see a woman who has always been independent, strong-willed, and capable. But you are also someone who does not know who she is.”
“I’m a thief, Ciaran.” she replied. “That’s who I am.”
“Aye, you are that.” he agreed. “But you are also a woman, one who has seen too much of the horrors of the world, I think. You have never really had the life you deserve, full of warmth, safety, and yes, even love. It’s about time that ended.”
She started to turn away so that he couldn’t see the tears his words brought to her eyes, but he took hold of her shoulder and pulled her back. Ciaran brought his hand up to brush away the tears that clung to her eyelashes. “You know that you don’t want to be a thief for the rest of your life.”
Her temper began to flash in her eyes. “I don’t need charity, Ciaran.”
“I’m not offering you charity.”
“Then what are you offering?”
As if you didn’t already know. He thought as he caressed her cheek. “Something that you have had almost since the first moment I met you.” He brushed his thumb gently across her lips. They parted under his touch and released a trembling breath.
“What would that be?”
Ciaran leaned so close that their lips were only a breath apart. She watched him closely, but didn’t pull back. “My heart.” He brushed his lips across hers, barely a kiss, and breathed his next words between her parted lips. “You have it, whether you want it or not.”
“Haven’t you heard me, Ciaran?” She pulled her head back even as the rest of her body swayed against him. “I can’t return your feelings.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
That stung, he could tell, but there was no apology coming.
She took a step back and pushed his hand gently aside. “Won’t.” she said. “My heart won’t survive another breaking. I’m cursed when it comes to love.”
The words of reassurance in his mind had almost made it to his lips when Jal looked over his shoulder and her whole body went rigid, her eyes wider than he had ever seen them.
Ciaran turned slowly. The man who stood on the sidewalk a few feet away was equally frozen in surprise.
His dark brown hair was long enough that it flopped over into sharp hazel eyes, which were currently fixed on Jal, but the look on his face was one of wonder or triumph.
His shoulders stretched his flannel shirt wide over a white t-shirt, the muscles bulky enough to strain the collar almost to bursting.
A colorful tattoo started just below one ear and emerged from under the rolled-up sleeves.
“Sam?” he asked, taking a step forward. “Samantha, is that you?”
Jal retreated, and Ciaran instinctively put himself between them. The man narrowed his eyes at him, then craned his neck to try to see around to the woman pressed tightly to his back. He smiled, and his eyes lit with excitement, even relief. It made Ciaran’s blood run cold. “I know that’s you.”
“I think you must be mistaken.” Ciaran told him.
The man’s lip curled, his expression saying that he thought Ciaran was an idiot. “Oh no, I know my Sam.”
Ciaran was just about to speak when he felt Jal’s feather soft touch at his shoulder and her terrified whisper in his ear. “He’s not wrong, Ciaran,” she murmured. “That’s Andy.”