27. CHAPTER 27
MOON
Chop. Chop. Chop. The knife moved clean under my fingers. Years of fencing made every cut exact. Warm light over the counter. The smell of butter and boiling water.
“Pass the potatoes. I’ll do those too.” Cillian shoved the bowl across the counter. Our fingers grazed.
“You Irish eat potatoes with everything. We serve rice with every meal back home.”
A smirk tugged at his mouth. “Yeah. We fucking love our potatoes. Keeps us grounded.”
A twig cracked outside. My hand jerked. The blade nicked the edge of my thumb.
Cillian snatched the knife and caught my wrist. His grip was steady. “Breathe. It’s just Ashbourne men. Lorcan posted them.”
I tried to pull back, but he caught my thumb, lifted it to his mouth, and licked the blood clean. One slow, deliberate drag of his tongue.
“Are you insane?” I yanked my hand back, heart hammering. “That’s my blood, Cillian.”
He let me go, but his laugh rolled out rough, completely unbothered. “Relax.” His eyes gleamed with pure mischief as he licked his bottom lip once. “You taste good, though.”
“They’ll freeze out there all night,” I said, pulse still racing, trying to find something, anything else to focus on.
“They’re paid for worse. You’re safe. That’s all I care about.”
Cillian took over the potatoes, slicing them. I slid onto the stool at the bar. My thumb throbbed. I grabbed a paper towel and pressed it tight against the cut. Small sting. Nothing more.
“You cook often? Or does the staff handle everything while you play mafia prince?” I kept my tone light, but the edge slipped through.
Cillian dumped the potatoes into the boiling water and turned. Arms braced on the counter. Eyes locked on mine. “Mafia prince? Cute. By staff you mean Ma? She cooks for the whole damn clan every Sunday if we let her.”
“Edwin prepared every meal for me growing up. I never needed to learn.”
He leaned in. Steam rose between us. “Edwin, huh? Sounds like a proper fucking butler.” He sounded amused. “You should learn to feed yourself, Moon. Though I don’t mind cooking for you. Watching you sit there looking all spoiled and pretty.”
I met his stare, fighting the smile that wanted to break. Part of me still waited for another door to burst open. “My money isn’t going anywhere. And I manage just fine, thank you.”
“Yeah?” His grin turned sly. He reached past me for the salt, chest brushing my shoulder on purpose.
The contact lingered. “You wouldn’t survive a week without your money, Moon.
Look at you. Parked on my stool, watching me cook like it's entertainment. You’re enjoying this way too much.
I could be your new Edwin. Just hotter. And way more charming, obviously. ”
I swallowed, pulse kicking harder. “It’s the potatoes I like. Not your ego.”
Cillian laughed low, but he didn’t back off an inch. “Sure. The potatoes.”
“I’ll give you credit for breakfast,” I added, fighting a smirk. “Eight out of ten on the Irish spread. I deduct two points for personality.”
His eyes sparked with heat and something far more dangerous. He stayed close, voice dropping lower. “Funny. Real funny. But I’m still feeding you tonight. Tomorrow. Every fucking night you let me.” His gaze flicked to my mouth, then back up. “Get used to it, baby.”
The potatoes rolled in the boiling water. It felt good. That was the fucking problem. Hours ago I'd been naked on my knees with a gun against my neck. Now we were arguing about potatoes.
Cillian set our plates down. Steak, potatoes and vegetables swam in butter. It smelled ridiculous. I refused to say it out loud.
He dropped into the chair across from me. “Jal… meok-get-seum-ni-da?”
My fork stopped mid-air. “You’ve gotten better,” I said, keeping my tone even.
Cillian’s grin turned filthy. “I’d be fluent in no time if you kept motivating me the way you did last night.”
I fought the heat rising in my face and corrected him. “Jal meok-ge-sseum-ni-da. Sharper on the sseum.”
He repeated it flawlessly, eyes locked on mine. “Like that?”
“Better.” The word came out quieter than I intended. “Much better.”
He’d asked me about marriage earlier, like this could last. I still hadn’t told Father. Yet sitting here felt dangerously normal. Maybe I should learn Gaelic.
“Inside the ring,” I said, “it says A chroi. What does it mean?”
Cillian looked up, took a slow sip of wine, and leaned back in his chair. “Gaelic.”
“And?”
“My heart.” His gaze never wavered.
I swallowed hard. Throat suddenly dry. I reached for my own glass and drank.
“Ever since Saint Lucia—”
“Oh god, no.” I set the glass down harder than I meant. “We are never speaking of that night again.”
Cillian tapped his fingers on the table, his gaze pinned me in place. The asshole was enjoying this way too much. “Come on, Moon. You were so fucking cute when you were blushing—”
“I was drunk,” I cut in sharply. “And I wasn't blushing. Jesus Christ. Can we just forget that night ever happened?”
I don’t actually want to forget that night. I finished the last bites and drained my glass. “I’m going to need a lot more of this if you keep dragging Saint Lucia into this.”
He laughed and reached for the bottle, refilling both our glasses. I stood, carried mine into the common room, and sank onto the sofa. Cillian followed and dropped his head into my lap.
“You okay?” The question came out hushed. “We should get in bed. Get some real rest before we head back.”
“Yeah,” I said. “We should.”
We moved to the bedroom. I stripped down to my boxers. The second we were under the duvet Cillian pulled me in, chest to chest, legs tangled. His hand slid up my back, then down over my thighs, careful around the bruises.
I let out a shaky breath against his shoulder. “I was scared earlier,” I muttered. “When they had me on my knees… I kept thinking you weren’t coming back in time.”
Cillian’s hand paused on my hip. He pressed his forehead to mine, breath warm against my mouth.
“I’m sorry I left you alone. I shouldn’t have.
Not even for twenty minutes. That won’t happen again.
” His voice was quiet, stripped of its usual bite.
“I’ve got you now. My family has you. Nobody touches you. Not the Carricks. Not anyone.”
I swallowed hard, staring at the line of his jaw. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “We’re okay. That’s all that matters right now.”
He made a low sound in his throat and kissed me. His hand kept moving, stroking over my thigh. I did the same, fingers tracing the graze on his arm and the dark bruise on his ribs.
Eventually his hand slowed, heavy on my lower back.
My eyes drifted shut. My heartbeat finally slowed.
Another sound outside. My eyes opened. Just the Ashbourne men.
I kept telling myself that. Sleep wouldn’t come.
Cillian’s eyes were closed, his breathing steady.
He looked younger like this. My fingers kept wandering across his skin, tracing old ink.
I paused over a small tattoo on his upper thigh.
A cartoonish potato with tiny Irish flags.
“Why the fuck do you have a potato on your leg?”
His eyes opened. He grinned, completely unashamed. “Lost a bet in Dublin. Woke up the next morning with the whole clan laughing their asses off. Allegedly I thought it was the best idea I’d ever had at four in the morning.”
I tried to hold it in. A laugh slipped out anyway. Then another. Soon I was shaking against him, laughing for real.
Cillian caught my jaw and pulled me in hard. “You’d look fucking sexy with tattoos too,” he murmured. His other hand traced up my chest and neck, thumb brushing my throat.
I tried to pull back. “Cillian—”
“No.” His grip tightened. “You’re not going anywhere, Moonshine.”
He hardened against my thigh.
“Your people are right outside the house,” I muttered. “There’s no way I’m doing this now.”
He let out a frustrated growl, forehead dropping to mine. “They won’t know. Even if they do, who the fuck cares.”
I smirked, still a little breathless. “I don’t need them hearing you out there going…” I dropped into a terrible Irish accent. “Fuck, Moonshine. You’re fucking mine, prince.”
Cillian huffed a laugh against my mouth, then kissed me again, softer this time, and pulled me tighter against his chest.
I tucked my face into his neck, breathing him in.
“You’re fucking mine, though, prince,” he said into my hair.
Tomorrow, we’d go back to Evermourne. But tonight, tucked against him with his men outside and his ring on my finger, I let myself believe we could actually do this.