Page 40 of Shameless Royalty

I scoff. “Sure. Just pop down to the pharmacy and tell them it’s for your hostage. That’ll go well.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smirk. “I’ll get them,” he says again, and there’s something final about it.

I swallow hard, caught off guard by the certainty in his voice. “Why?”

His jaw flexes. “Because you need them.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It’s the only fuckin’ reason that matters.”

I shake my head, looking away. “You don’t get to care, Connor. You don’t get to make me think you give a shite.”

“Too late,” he says, standing up. “I already do.”

My breath hitches when he gets on the bed, his body blocking out the rest of the room, caging me in without ever actually touching me. He’s so close I can see the faint freckles dusting his nose, the sharp lines of his jaw, the warmth in his green eyes.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice a whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilts his head, studying me with a look that makes my chest feel too tight.Then, slowly, he reaches out, his hand brushing against my jaw. His fingers are rough and calloused, but his touch is so gentle it makes me freeze.

Connor cups my chin, his thumb brushing against the edge of my jaw. I should push him away, or make some sarcastic comment to break the tension, but I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

“Tá brón orm, Mo stóirín,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion.

I freeze, his words hitting me like a jolt of electricity. The Gaelic rolls off his tongue like it belongs to him, but I don’t understand a word of it. Fuck, why didn’t I pay attention during those stupid lessons my father forced on me?

“What… what did you just say?” I manage to ask, my voice shaking.

Connor’s gaze dips to my lips before he drags it back up to my eyes, and for a moment, he looks like he’s struggling to hold himself together. There’s pain etched across his face, the kind that makes my chest tighten for reasons I don’t want to examine.

“You don’t need to know,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. The touch is light, almost reverent, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

I don’t know what to say. My mind is blank, my thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. All I can focus on is the way he’s looking at me like I’m something fragile, something he’s afraid of breaking. It’s too much, but I can’t look away. I don’t want to look away.

His thumb lingers for a moment longer, then he pulls back slightly, his hand dropping to his side. The loss of contact leaves me feeling untethered, like the air’s been sucked out of the room.

“Connor,” I say again, my voice steadier now, though my heart is still racing. “What are you doing?”

He offers me a small, lopsided smile, the kind that’s almost more infuriating than his usual smirk.

“Whatever I want,” he says, his tone light.

I should say something—tell him to stop, to leave, to give me space—but the words stick in my throat. Instead, I just lie there, staring at him like an idiot, trying to ignore the way my heart is pounding against my ribs.

“Why are you doin’ this?” I whisper.

His smile softens, his head tilting just slightly. “Doin’ what, Malachi?”

“This,” I say, motioning vaguely to the space between us—or lack of it. “You’re too close.”

“Am I?” he asks, his tone teasing, but there’s a rawness beneath it. His eyes search mine, like he’s looking for something I don’t understand. “You don’t look like you mind.”

I don’t answer, because I don’t trust my voice. My heart is pounding so hard I swear he can hear it, and the worst part is, he’s not wrong. I don’t mind, but I should—I should be telling him to back off, to get out of my space, but I can’t seem to make myself say the words.

I suck in a sharp breath when Connor leans in just a fraction, his face so close now that I can see the tiny scar near his eyebrow. His breath ghosts across my skin, warm and minty, and I hate how much I notice it.

“You’re quiet,” he says softly. “That’s not like you.”

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