Page 131 of Dublin Beast

And maybe a rug.

Possibly curtains.

Fuck me.

If Sean finds out I spent half an hour debating the merits of a velvet ottoman versus a leather one, he’ll never let me live it down.

Brendan will just ask if I’m dying.

And Tag—Tag’ll smile like the smug bastard he is, already nesting with Laine and the soon-to-arrive Baby Q like a king preparing for the next generation.

But I don’t care. Because Harper? She’ssmiling.

She’s still got an intensity simmering just beneath the surface—I think that’s just her—but the steel in her spine has softened a little.

Since handing off her research to the anti-crime task force a couple of weeks ago, she’s been on a quiet emotional rollercoaster. Trusting others is hard for her. Letting go of control? Even harder.

But she did it. And something in her shifted.

The woman beside me now, dressed in a fleece hoodie, tight jeans, and her combat boots, holds a pair of pale blue pillows up to study. She is fierce and radiant and lighter than I’ve ever seen her.

“This color would look amazing against the charcoal walls,” she says, spinning to face me. “It will bring a little softness to the chrome and leather.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re saying my room has a biker fetish?”

She grins. “I love the whole biker bad boy edge, but yes.”

“Noted.” I take the pillows from her and pretend to examine them critically. “I mean, these are nice… soft but still manly… much like myself.”

Harper snorts. “Oh my God. You’re impossible.”

I lean in. “Yet strangely, you keep kissing me anyway.”

Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she drifts over to a display of vintage candle holders shaped like twisted Celtic knots. I follow her, admiring the way her fingers skim the surfaces like she’s imagining them in our space.

Ourspace.

It still catches me in the chest every damn time.

I used to think of my suite in the Quinn castle as my cave—dark, brooding, mine. But now? Now I want Harper’s personal touch in every corner. I want her vanilla and jasmine shampoo in my shower. I want her clothes in my drawers and her hair in my sink. I want a home that smells like her, looks like her,feelslike her.

“You like those?” I ask, nodding toward the candleholders.

She hesitates. “Are they too much? They’re kind of bold.”

“So are you.”

That earns me a real smile. She sets two into the cart, then turns to survey the shop with a hand on her hip. “What else are we missing?”

“Throws. Something soft,” I say, eyeing a faux fur blanket that looks like it was made for winter seduction.

Harper eyes it too, then raises a brow. “That looks like a trap.”

I grin. “A very comfortable, highly effective trap.”

She laughs and tosses it into the cart. “Fine. But if you expect sex every time I get cold?—”

“Ialwaysexpect sex.”

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