Half an hour later I’ve got a bag of essentials slung over my back, my phone in my pocket, and I’m heading to Boston on the private jet. I have to do this. I fucking have to.
The minutes turn into hours as we fly west, but I stay in touch with Tiernan the whole time. He’s made it to her hotel room. She’s alright. But no one’s found her guard.
When I’m an hour away from landing, Tiernan sends me a text.
We need to check on Aisling, but I won’t leave Fiona to do it.
He bloody well won’t.
Aisling’s not our concern.
I know exactly who she is. Since she’s best friends with Fiona, I know every detail of her life. I’ve tracked her and her family for years.
Tiernan texts back. She is if she’s affiliated with us and someone took down our guard.
She isn’t our first priority.
Of course not. Bloody hell, I wish we had the brotherhood closer.
I know what he means. We’ve spent years surrounded in a sort of bubble, the protection of the Clan at our backs at all times. If one brother’s endangered, we sound the warning call. I’ve had an army of trained men at my back since I was a teen. It’s disconcerting not having that.
My eyes are sandy with lack of sleep, but my body is tense when we finally land in a safe zone just minutes away from the Boston Harbor. I text Keenan.
Landed. Going to get a ride to her hotel. Any word on the guard?
Keenan: Nothing yet. I’ll let you know soon as I find out.
This isn’t good. I know it. If a guard goes missing without any response to his superior, he’s likely dead. No guard would let more than five minutes pass between communicating with his boss. Any guard who made such an error without death as an excuse would be severely punished or summarily fired. Maybe both.
Adrenaline courses through me when I see the hotel where she’s staying. I glance again at the tracker on my phone, blessedly relieved that the little dot showing her whereabouts is still right here, thank God.
I take my bag, careful to conceal the bevy of weapons I’ve brought. I wear a jacket to cover up my tats, not wanting to reveal myself as Irish mob seconds after landing on American soil.
I haven’t given much thought to my arrival, to seeing her, but as I draw nearer, my heartbeat races. God, I’ve missed her. The last phone conversation we had buried old wounds and brought us together again.
Will she be angry I’ve come trailing after her? She hates when I’m overbearing, and nearly every fight we’ve ever had was for just that reason.
Tiernan’s standing guard outside her room when I arrive.
“Why are you out here?” I ask, frowning at him. He’s too far from her.
“Gives me a better vantage point, and I didn’t want to wake her.”
“Did you check in on her?”
“Aye, of course. She’s fine. How’d you get here so fast?”
“Private jet.”
He raises his brows but doesn’t say anything in response.
I nod, take the flat key he hands me to the door, and slide it against the locking mechanism. It clicks open, and I give him a nod. “I’ll take it from here.”
He jerks his chin up in farewell. “Good to see you, brother,” he says with a smile, and I wonder if his choice of calling me brother right now is a reminder that she’s still his sister, and I better keep my fucking hands to myself. He’s younger than I am but nonetheless would attempt to kick my arse if I hurt his baby sister.
“Good to see you, too,” I tell him. “Stay in touch.”
I open the door to her room quietly, so I don’t wake her, and slowly click it shut behind me. I glance at the large bed, and my heart gives a great lurch in my chest.
She isn’t wrapped up in the blankets. She’s wrapped up in my hoodie.
I close my eyes for a moment, imprinting the image in my mind. I don’t ever want to forget how she looks, so innocent and gorgeous, my oversized hoodie dwarfing her small frame.
Tiernan’s swept the place. I’ll do it myself again after I see her.
I walk slowly to her and call her name as gently as I can. I don’t want to scare her.
“Fiona.”
She doesn’t stir. Is she okay? My heartbeat quickens.
“Fiona?” I raise my voice, and this time she moves a little.
Her eyelids flutter open, but she doesn’t startle. She just looks at me with her wide, beautiful eyes, then blinks and pushes herself up.
“Lachlan?” she whispers. “Am I dreaming?”
Bloody hell, I’m the one that’s dreaming. Relief floods me so fiercely when I see her safe, when I see her right here in front of me, I sit on the edge of the bed and reach out to her. The other night was the first time I’ve touched her, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind since.
I gather her in my arms and draw her to my chest. I close my eyes and hold her to me. Wordlessly, she lays her head on my chest and places her hand over my heart. It feels as if our heartbeats sync seamlessly, the pounding of one heart now, as I hold her.
It isn’t awkward like it should be, two people intimately wrapped in each other’s arms who’ve never touched each other like this before. Maybe there’s something about the magic of early morning, or maybe somehow we know. We’re meant to be just like this.
“Lachlan,” she says, so softly her voice is barely above a whisper. “When we spoke last night, where were you?”
“Home.”
She nods slowly. “I thought you were on an international mission.”
“I was. Just got back from Madrid.”
She raises her face to mine, her eyes lustrous and beautiful. “Oh,” she whispers. “And now… you’re here? How?”
“I took the Clan private jet.”
She blinks once, then twice, then closes her eyes and places her head back on my chest.
“You came for me. You knew I might be in danger and you flew over an ocean for me.”
“Well… when you put it that way…”
She laughs, the most beautiful melodic sound, and it stirs my heart. How I’ve wanted to hold her like this.
The clumsy bulk of the hoodie falls to the side, and I realize she’s dressed in only a t-shirt and thin cotton panties. I quickly look away.
“You okay?” she asks. Of course, she’s oblivious to the fact that she’s nearly naked and I can’t look at her. Oh, God, if I look at her…
I’m looking at her. I’m staring at her hungrily, with unabashed need and want, at the thin t-shirt that’s falling off her shoulder, and the tiny scrap of panties that barely covers the gorgeous fullness of her perfect bottom.
Without a word, I bend and brush my lips to her shoulder. She shivers and sighs, then giggles.
“Ack, Lach, that tickles.”
“Tickles?”
I roll her onto the bed and tweak her little button nose. Her t-shirt rides up and bares her belly, revealing a tiny silver navel ring. Now this I haven’t seen before.
She likely sees the look on my face, because she reaches for her t-shirt and tries to yank it down. “Go away,” she says. “Lachlan…”
But I easily push her hand away, then restrain her by capturing her wrists in my hand while I yank her t-shirt back up with the other.