Page 128 of Go Luck Yourself
That smile goes hard, though, and his grip on my hand tightens.
“But first,” he says, “there’s something I need to show you.”
Tomorrow.
Tell me tomorrow.
Please.
The scone sits in my stomach like a rock. In too short a time, I’ve gotten used to giving in to what I want over what I need, and all I want right now is to tell him no, he doesn’t need to show or tell me anything. If he doesn’t, then I don’t have to decide what to do with the truth and I can keep pretending this is simple.
But I bob my head in agreement.
And then feel the paint all over me again, the mess that is my hair. “I, uh—we should clean up first, maybe.”
Loch’s face transforms, a quick slip back into that feral possessiveness that ribbons through my body.
“Not yet,” he says.
I pull at my paint-caked hair. “You’d make me walk around the castle looking like—well, looking very much like we had at each other in your studio?”
“It’s only Colm here now, anyway, and he will na be about. I told you, Kris; I’m na ready to share you with anyone yet. And that includes washing my marks off you.” He hesitates with a heavy breath. “I’ll understand though if you’d rather—”
“Yes. I mean, it’s fine. I can shower later.”
His eyes brighten with relief, but his energy is off, a wall erecting.
I know why. I do.
But I hate it, hate reality moving in so swiftly, hate the loss of an ease we only had for a few short hours.
He helps me to my feet and his gaze dips away respectfully and I hate that too. I hunt down my shirt, boxers, and jeans; they’re balled against the door and I pull them on—
Only to stop with a wheeze.
Loch glances over. “Hm?”
“You asshole.” I yank up my boxers and glare over my shoulder at him.
He frowns.
“There’s paint everywhere.Ev-ery-where,Loch.” I wave at my crotch. “You turned my dick into abstract impressionism.”
A pause in which the only sound is the jangle of my belt.
He breaks first with a splutter but scrambles to cover it by clearing his throat.
I laugh too, and then we’re both falling apart in a new way, clinging to laughter as a bridge through the conversation we know is coming.
I cross the room and kiss him over that bridge.
Chapter Sixteen
For once, it’s a good thing that this castle is mostly empty—I’m a mess in my rumpled T-shirt and jeans, and Loch’s half-dressed, and we make it about five feet up the hall before I’m kissing him again. His hesitancy is back, but he returns the kiss, hands plunging into my hair.
We pass the library and he’s kissing me up against the door in an anxious rush and I throw my arms around his neck. This is how we’re keeping warm in a castle in March, it’s science.
We make it up to his office.
