Page 25 of Sins of the Father

I press a kiss to her forehead as she drifts off. Whatever game we're playing, whatever secrets she is keeping, I know one truth with absolute certainty—Orla Kelly is not a woman I will ever be done with.

CHAPTER 11

ORLA

Iwake to sunlight pouring through unfamiliar curtains and a warm body pressed against mine. For a moment, everything feels warm, comfortable—that fuzzy glow after a late night.

Then reality crashes into me like tsunami on my island vacation.

I slept with Cillian Kavanagh. The heir to the empire that murdered my father. The fucking enemy.

I watch him sleep. His face lacks its usual coldness, a bruise darkens his jaw from last night's fight, and a cut marks his eyebrow.

What the fucking-fuck have I done?

I slip from the bed trying not to wake him. The hotel suite is massive. I gather my scattered clothes, and get dressed in privacy of the bathroom. Avoiding the mirror. I can't face myself right now, I feel like a traitor, like my father must be turning in his grave.

When I open the door, Cillian stays asleep. His phone buzzes from the nightstand. I pad over to the bed, I pause, but hedoesn't move. The screen shows three missed calls from "E" – Eamon.

Next to the phone is his wallet, watch, and room key card. My eyes wander to his suitcase in the corner, only half-unpacked.

This is my chance.

I check that Cillian is still asleep, then go to his luggage. I search through clothes, check all the inner pockets, run my fingers along the lining.

Nothing.

His laptop bag is leaning against the desk, but I'd need a password or his fucking gorgeous face. The safe in the closet is locked.

I turn to his suit jacket draped over a chair. The pockets are empty except for a pen and business cards. I almost give up when my fingers run over thickness in the lining.

A hidden pocket.

I feel the nearly invisible zipper and open it. Hidden inside is a flash drive.

My pulse races. This could be the evidence I need. But how to access it?

His phone buzzes again. He stirs.Fuck!

I slip the drive into my bra and go stand at the window, pretending to admire Manhattan.

"Morning," he says, his voice rough.

I turn, forcing a smile. "Morning." I feel like the worst person on earth, I have betrayed my father and stolen from Kavanagh. What is wrong with me?

He sits up, sheet falling to his waist, showing the muscled torso that has scratch marks from my nails on it. A Celtic tattoo decorates his ribs, it was hidden in last night's darkness.

"What time is it?" he asks.

"Just past seven."

He checks his phone and frowns. "I need to call Eamon."

I nod. "I'll order us coffee."

He stands up naked, grabs pants from the floor. I can’t stop myself from looking at him, at his cock— and thinking about all the ways it felt so good inside me. "Order breakfast too. The meeting has been moved to eleven."

As he goes to the bathroom, phone in hand, I exhale when he shuts the door between us. The drive burns a hole in my bra.

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