Page 97 of Shameless Royalty

I blink. “What?”

He nods toward the empty space beside me, his voice lower now, softer. “Move over.”

My heart kicks up, and I should make a sarcastic remark, should tell him to fuck off, that I don’t need his pity, that I don’t—can’t—let myself have this.

But I don’t.

Instead, I shift carefully, biting down a wince as my body protest. Connor follows, easing himself onto the bed beside me.

The second he’s close, I feel his warmth pressing against the edges of the space between us like he’s always meant to be here.I let out a slow breath, my body tense, unsure of what to do with this, unsure if I should even be letting this happen.

But then he moves, shifting onto his side, lifting his arm just slightly—a silent invitation.

I hesitate, my breath catching in my throat.

Then I curl into him before I can stop myself, my body pressing against his, my head tucking under his chin. His arms come around me, firm and steady, pulling me in like this is nothing to him.

I exhale and wince, and I wait for the self-loathing to come, for the panic, for the need to push him away before I let this go too far.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, there’s just warmth.

Just Connor.

His breath moves through my hair, slow and steady, and his fingers trace lazy patterns against my back, grounding me, holding me in place like he knows I need it—like he knows I need him.

I close my eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs, and Connor adjusts his hold on me, his voice low against my ear. “So,” he starts, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “mó chroí?”

I blush and hide my face in his chest. “It’s the only Gaelic endearment I know, okay?” I say, my voice muffled against his chest. “Don’t make it weird.”

He chuckles low and pulls me closer, kissing the side of my head. “I meant it too, you know.”

I swallow hard. “Meant what?”

He sighs, his fingers brushing over my ribs, carefully, too carefully. “I missed you.”

My chest tightens, and I have to bite down on my lip to keep my emotions in check.

Becauseit’stoo much.

Becausehe’stoo much.

BecauseI want thistoo much.

I take a slow breath, my grip on his shirt tightening. “This isn’t normal,” I mutter, my voice weak, my words muffled against his chest.

Connor huffs out a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “No, it’s not.”

I close my eyes again, breathing him in, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. “Then why does it feel like it is?”

His hand stills on my back, his breathing turning just slightly uneven, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, so quietly I almost don’t hear it, he murmurs, “Because maybe it should be.”

The words hit something deep inside me, something I didn’t even know was there. Before I can stop myself, I bury my face farther against his chest, hiding.

I feel his chuckle rumble beneath my cheek, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t tease. He just holds me. And I let myself be held by my kidnapper, who has come to be my safe space. “I hate that I need you.”

Connor exhales sharply, his grip on me tightening. “I know.”

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