Page 42 of Shameless Royalty

Those blue eyes.Christ, those fucking eyes.

Those damn blue eyes won’t leave my head, wide and soft and so goddamn sad it felt like they were cutting me in two. I hate it. I hate the way it made me feel—like I’d do anything to take his sadness away, to see those eyes light up instead of dim.

I let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through my hair.What the fuck are you doing, Connor?

The answer’s clear, even if I don’t want to admit it. I crossed a line. Hell, I obliterated the line. The moment I touched him, murmured those words in Gaelic, kissed his neck… there’s nocoming back from that. Not for me, anyway. And I don’t regret it. Not a single fucking second of it.

I push off the door, pacing down the hall as I try to shake the images flashing through my mind. Malachi, leaning into my touch like he belonged there. The way he gasped when my lips brushed his neck, the sound shooting straight through me like a bullet.

The flush on his cheeks when I called himmo stóirín.

Fuck. I rake my hands through my hair, gripping tight like I can rip the thoughts right out of my head. He hasn’t taken his meds since I kidnapped him and that’s on me.

I’m not supposed to care. Not supposed to feel this tightness in my chest, this guilt gnawing at me like a fucking infection. But I do. And now, I’ve made it worse. I promised to get him his script like I actually give a shit beyond what’s necessary. Like it fucking matters.

I press a fist against the wall, trying to ground myself. Malachi Dawson is not my problem.

Except he is.

I took him. His life is in my hands. I have enough blood on them already; I don’t need his too.

But it’s more than that, isn’t it? If it were just about the job, just about the fucking war we’re in, I wouldn’t be standing here spiraling like some lovesick idiot. I wouldn’t be thinking about the way he looked at me when I touched him like he wanted it, like he needed it just as much as I did.

I shake my head, trying to walk this feeling off, but it doesn’t budge. It’s lodged deep in my ribs, twisting and pulling, making it hard to breathe. I shouldn’t have let him hear my voice like that—soft, not a threat, not a demand. Just him and me, standing too close, breathing the same air, feeling the same fucking heat.

I should’ve walked away before it ever got to this. But I didn’t. And now I’m stuck, trapped between duty and this unbearable pull toward him.

I need a drink. Something to burn this feeling out of my chest. Something to remind me who the fuck I am and what I’m supposed to be doing here. Because if I don’t, I might just go back into that room, sit on that bed, and make another fucking mistake.

I glance at my father’s study as I pass it, the door shut tight. For half a second, I think about going in. Da always knows what to do—always has the answers, the plan, the path forward. But this? No way. I can already imagine his face if I told him I’d been feeling up Malachi Dawson, our hostage and the son of the man who tried to ruin us.

Disappointment. That’s what it would be. A sharp, cold weight between us that I can’t afford right now.

So I keep walking, heading upstairs to check on Cat instead.

Her door’s ajar, so I knock lightly before stepping in. She’s curled up on the bed, her hair spilling over her pillow, but she’s awake, scrolling through something on her phone.

“Hey,” I say, leaning against the doorframe.

She glances up as I enter and I notice there’s a softness to her face now that wasn’t there a few months ago, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Connor.”

I step inside, closing the door quietly behind me. “How’s my favorite sister?”

“I’m your only sister,” she says, setting her phone down.

“Still counts,” I reply, grinning as I sit on the edge of the bed.

She shifts to sit up, tucking her legs under her. “I’m okay,” she says, her voice quiet but steady. “Tired, but better.”

I nod, stepping closer. “You’re lookin’ stronger.”

“Thanks,” she says, her smile widening just slightly. “I feel stronger. Ma’s been helping.”

I sit on the edge of the bed, watching her carefully. “You know I’m proud of you, right? For pushin’ through all this.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a faint blush on her cheeks. “You’ve been telling me that a lot lately.”

“Because it’s true,” I say, nudging her lightly. “You’re a fighter, Cat. Always have been.”

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