Page 61 of Broken Blood Ties

“It’s nothing. I wouldn’t want to involve you, especially Aoife.”

I raise my eyebrows. Well, that definitely piques my interest.

To Summer I’m a restaurateur. Her student’s father. She may have a vague idea that with my money I might have connections, but she doesn’t want me involved for safety reasons. My chest expands.

“Summer.” I inch my fingers closer to hers, wanting to interlace them. “Let me help ye.”

Her gaze softens, and she sighs. “L-Let me think about it, please. I don’t want to drag you into my mess.”

Pride swells in my chest, and I shove down the satisfying smirk I almost give her. She doesn’t know who I am or what I can do in this city. I could be her life raft. She may need me, and I want her to.

Chapter20

Summer

The stateroom I’m in is another example as to why I shouldn’t be here. It’s a world of pure luxury I haven’t seen in a long time.

A king-size bed, draped in nautical blue linens, sits positioned in the center of the room while panoramic windows curve around the space, offering water views, and I can make out the tiny speck that is the marina in the distance.

This yacht is definitely not a boat. A frisson of fear rings the tiny bell in the echoes of my mind—I didn’t realize a restaurant owner was this … well, to put it bluntly, rich.

While his brownstone in Beacon Hill is absolutely beautiful and something I could never afford on my teacher’s salary, it’s still common with the wealthy. This yacht—a whole other level. I’d know. I know this kind of money.

I shake my head and comb my freshly washed hair, setting my brush on the marble bathroom counter. Right now, whether or not I want to admit it, this is the best place I can be. In the middle of the water, with only a handful of people.

Kieran was right. I’m able to take a minute, gather myself.

I pad over the teakwood flooring which carries from the multiple decks throughout the yacht, and out of the ensuite into the bedroom. Dropping my towel, I pull on the fresh pair of black leggings and oversized sweater kept in my bag. The other outfit I have is definitely more suited for summer, so I’m pleased I packed clothes for both seasons.

Deuce meows as he wraps around my legs in a figure eight. The crew were nice enough to bring me a pan with some newspapers and sand for him to use as a litter box while on board, and I’m already praying he doesn’t ruin any of the high-priced items in this room. The gold lamps on either side of the bedhaveto be thousands alone.

With most of my items put away in my backpack, I open what looks to be a closet door and find a walk-in where I can shove the bag.

Shutting the door, I back up, heels hitting the foot of the bed before I sink down into the most comfortable comforter I’ve ever sat on. A zip tingles up my spine and I shudder. Then, I release a breath. It feels like I’ve been holding it since yesterday at the bakery—and only now can I finally let it go.

My thoughts drift to Kieran and Aoife. About how convenient it was that they were there at the harbor around the exact time I was panicking over my passport and extra cash. Or that Kieran’s hand, placed gently on the dip of my back while boarding the yacht, was more reassuring in that moment than anything else. It took everything in me not to lean into his touch.

“Let me helpye.”

Those were the last words out of his mouth, and I’d be lying if I didn’t want to snatch them out of the air and put them in my pocket. But I could never do that. Involve someone else in my problems, expect someone to come save me. Not this time.

Not with Aoife.

There will never be a time I willingly bring her into something like this.

I’ll take Kieran up on his offer to lie low for a night and then continue on with the plan tomorrow.

But …

But what if he could offer me protection? There’s something that makes me trust Kieran, and it’s deeper than feeling comfortable enough to crash on his boat for the night.

He’s older than me, sure, but there’s a tenderness in his eyes, a connection, and I’m held frozen by the possibility he might feel it, too.

I fall back against the soft bed.

He looked good.

Wearing dark washed jeans and a green Henley that heightened his intense stare with scruff trimmed tight to his sharp jawline. In my attempt to avoid looking at him with tears in my eyes, I caught sight of his sand-colored boat shoes he probably only wore because of the warmer than average weather.

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