Page 32 of Intimately Faithful

He snorted a laugh at her mouthy, snapped reply. She curled a leg underneath her and looked over finally. Her eyes so stormy and readable with her emotions on the surface, made him take a gulp of air and ignore every roaring instinct to lift her up and place her on his lap.

That wasn’t him anymore. It couldn’t be him.

The old Danny would have soothed her bad mood with his mouth latched onto the side of her neck.

“Why did you yank your shirt off, Danny? Earlier in the kitchen.” She clarified as if he’d needed the reminded he’d crawled into her mouth and nearly dragged her to the floor.

His stomach muscles tightened. A twisting, thrashing inferno was burning his chest until even after five swallows he could barely breathe without feeling like he was on fire and it only worsened when he looked at her.

This was not good.

In fact it was downright problematic.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, holding her gaze. “It felt like the thing to do.”

“Exactly.” She said quietly, pointing an accusing finger at him. “It was natural to you because we always needed to be as close together as possible. Do you remember?”

He’d forgotten nothing. That was his problem.

“You’re angry at me, so you are. But that means you care, Danny. And I want you to give me the chance to exonerate myself from all these years of anger. You have to give me that chance.”

There was a time that this spunky, ginger haired girl with her sharp tongue and strong personality made the whole world disappear for him.

Now she was giving him fucking heartburn.

Danny looked anywhere but at Aoife. Over her shoulder, her eyebrow, the bridge of her nose but never directly in the eye, because there was a possibility he would forget who he was now and become who he was then.

I’m starving for her.

“I care about everyone, Aoife. It’s in the job description.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but it was the only answer he could give without further putting himself in the line of fire for just what he was willing to do for her.

Rather than being put off by his pithy retort, she laughed and stepped down from the high raised bed, she handed the baby to him before he had a word in the matter.

Not that he would have refused. The little one was cute, and she looked up at him curiously as if weighing up his worth for her ma.

“That’s a good one. I think I can eat now.”

Danny grinned and moved out of the doorway. “That hunger strike lasted about the same time as the one when you were ten years old.”

“I got what I wanted didn’t I?” She boasted. And the brat knew she had. She’d waged a war on eleven-year-old Danny that day, declaring if he didn’t take her with him when he went to the Tribesmen football match, she wouldn’t eat again in her whole life.

Threats meant so much more to a kid and he’d threatened to wallop her arse if she dared to skip dinner.

She ate that night and went to the game holding his hand.

Little brat, then and now.

“We need to discuss how we get you both out of the country. I take it you don’t have your passport?”

“I don’t even have my own underwear. I left everything back at the house. Besides,” she trailed after him as he made the way down the stairs to the kitchen. The scene of their earlier crime. “I don’t want to leave the country. How can I make things right with you if I’m far away?”

The earth stalled beneath Danny’s feet and he turned to look at her. A muscle went nuts in his jaw. “I don’t think that needs to be a priority. Do you have anyone you trust that you can lie low with?”

“Yes, you.”

She took the baby from him and sat at the table. “If you don’t want me here just say so, Daniel Murphy. God forbid I wear out my welcome.”

---