Page 9 of Where We Bloom

He’severywhere.And because he’s my best friend’s brother, it’s not exactly possible toneversee him, but I can be an adult when he’s around.

I can be civil.

I can keep my hands and my lips to myself.

Because as much as Connor makes it clear that he’s attracted to me sexually, he’sneverindicated that there’s anything else there. I don’t even have the jerk’s phone number, for God’s sake. And I’m through with meaningless sex. When I’m with Connor, I lose myself to him, but in a good way. I feel safe. I feel …content.God, I slept the best I have in years when he took me to bed with him that night, and I haven’t slept that well since. But the lasttime, when he kissed the hell out of me in that closet, I told him he didn’t get to do that to me anymore because I feel used. Even if Ilovethe way he towers over me, making me feel petite, something I’ve never felt before. And even if Ilovehow he treats Skyla, knowing that’s the extraordinary way he’d treat his partner.

I don’tjustwant sex with him. There, I admitted it. He intrigues me, and I know he’s a good man.

I want more. Just like Dani and Skyla have recently found with my brothers. I want that for myself. I deserve more.

And he won’t give me more.

If he wanted more, he’d have asked for my goddamn phone number. I’m done feeling used by that ridiculously sexy Irishman.

Chapter Two

CONNOR

Iswear to Christ, I’m seeing things because it’s impossible that the bane of my existence, the one woman in this world who can make me hard just by breathing in her scent, is sitting in my restaurant.

I’m so fucking gone over her, I’m conjuring her everywhere I go now.

Except I’d bet the deed of this hotel that it’s her. No one’s that beautiful except for my angel. No one sets me on fire like she does.

“Mr. Gallagher, we’d like to show you the projections…” The manager of my Big Sky property drones on about business, but I can’t take my eyes off the woman sitting by the window. Her dark hair is pulled up into a messy knot on her head, showing the long lines of her neck and shoulders.

Her long dress is flowy around her perfect curves, and to my surprise, she’s in sandals.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in anything other thanheels, and I’ve seen Billie Blackwell often over the past nine months or so. This is as casual as it gets for her, and I want to leave these arseholes and join her.

What is she doing here?

The server approaches her, and as she smiles up at him, I want to growl. Once she places her order, she checks her phone, sips her tea, and watches the people outside.

I don’t hear a thing that happens in this meeting.

But I know every move that my angel makes.

“How do you feel about that, Mr. Gallagher?”

I turn back to whatever this idiot is pointing at on a piece of paper and nod. “Fine.”

“Excellent, now?—”

He continues, but I turn back to watch my girl. It’s fucking intoxicating to watch her eat. She’s not shy at all about her love of food, and I wish I was sitting with her so I could share her meal the way we did that first night at the Italian place. I want to hear the way she hums with approval. I want to see her face when she closes her eyes and savors the flavors on her tongue.

I sit back and watch her make her way through each course of her meal. With each plate set in front of her, she does a little dance in her seat.

I’ve never met anyone who exuded so much joy over something as simple as a meal.

I’m not surprised when the server delivers dessert to the table, and Billie claps with happiness, her whole face lighting up. It’s a punch to the gut.

Christ, she’s beautiful.

I flag the server down.

“Yes, sir?”

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