My office door opens, pulling me from the memory. “A ghrá,” I say as I take my first real look at her in a year.
“Killian O’Reilly,” she scolds, folding her arms across her chest.
“What did I do this time for you to full name me, love?”
“What did you tell him?”
“Tell who?” I ask, playing oblivious.
“Bash,” she says, stomping her foot.
“You look a little flustered,” I say as I stand, rounding my desk as I roll up the sleeves on my shirt.
“I don’t know what it is about your forearms, Kill, but I love them.”
“Stop!” she demands, waving her pointer finger at me.
“Stop what?”
“Kill, be serious,” she says, deflating, watching me approach.
“Oh, trust me,a ghrá, I am being serious,” I tell her as I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, cupping her chin. “It’s been too long since I’ve touched you, held you,” I rasp as I pull her body into mine. “Kissed you,” I murmur, ghosting my lips over hers before finally kissing her.
One year.
One year since I kissed these lips, held her in my arms.
Everything feels right as she runs her hands up my chest, linking her arms behind my neck. The harder she presses against me, the more frantic our kisses become. I break away, nibbling on her lip, making her whimper as I rest my forehead against hers.
“You promised,” she whispers.
“I did no such thing. I found a solution to our problem and a way for us to be together.”
“Kill, we talked about this. There is no future for us. We’ve had a great run, but it’s time for it to stop. Bash will kill you if he finds out.”
“We didn’t decide anything. You ended this, sending me away. You decided you weren’t willing to fight us. I gave you a year to come to your senses. One year. Now I’m making the decisions.”
She shakes her head. “You had a life to get back to. As much as I loved our time together, you knew we were living on borrowed time. You need to stop this before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what? You’re already mine, even if you won’t admit it.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m not anyone’s. I’m my own independent woman and I can take care of myself. I’m sick and tired of the men in my life trying to control me.”
I smirk at her. “So you admit I’m a man in your life.”
“Jesus,” she says under her breath, melting into me. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you more than you know,” I say, kissing her forehead, holding her tight. “Have you had dinner?”
“No.” She reluctantly pulls away.
“Come.” I link our hands, pulling her down the hall toward the kitchen. “What sounds good?”
“Surprise me,” she says as she breaks away, hopping onto a stool at the island.
I walk around the island and open the fridge, grabbing everything I need to make nachos with all the fixings. Dropping the fresh ingredients on the counter, I get the meat started. As that cooks down, I wash the lettuce and a tomato before cutting it.
“I love watching you cook,” Greer says, watching my forearms flex.
