Page 31 of Legacy Of Ashes
Rest. As if I could sleep knowing Conall lies just down the hall, probably hard and aching for me even while recovering from a gunshot wound.
Someone just declared war on the Kavanagh family. But all I can think about is Conall's filthy promises and the heat between my thighs that only he can satisfy.
Tomorrow brings enemies and consequences.
Tonight, I learned what it means to almost lose the man I belong to—and exactly what I'm going to do to him when he's mine.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
"If you thinkyou can fuck me over, Murphy, think again. I'll cut your balls off and feed them to you."
The threat rolls off Saoirse's tongue like honey while she paces beside my hospital bed, phone pressed to her ear. Even through the morphine haze, my dick hardens at the venom in her voice. Christ, when did sweet little Saoirse learn to castrate men with words?
"The Dublin route is blown. Use Cork or I'll find someone who can follow simple fucking instructions." She ends the call, tosses the phone aside, then notices me watching her.
"About time you woke up." She moves closer, close enough that I catch her scent—expensive perfume mixed with gunpowder and dried blood. My blood, staining the front of her blue dress. "You've been unconscious for eighteen hours."
"Feel like I got hit by a truck."
"You got shot. Because you threw yourself in front of a gun like an idiot." Her fingers brush mine, sending heat racing up my arm despite the pain. "Don't ever scare me like that again."
The raw emotion in her voice makes my pulse spike. I want to pull her down to this bed, bury my face in her neck, feel her heart beating against mine to prove we're both alive.
Instead, I rasp, "Your father?"
"Locked away, screaming about security failures." She picks up a stack of papers, all business again. "Which leaves me running this shitshow while you recover."
Through the drug fog, I study her. The bloodstained dress hugs every curve, the fabric pulling tight across her breasts when she leans over the bedside table. Her dark hair falls loose around her shoulders—silk I've fantasized about wrapping around my fist while I fuck her senseless.
Fuck. I'm injured, drugged, and still want to bend her over this hospital bed.
"You've been here the whole time?" I ask.
"Someone had to handle the crisis." She sorts through documents, ignoring how her dress rides up her thighs. "The organization doesn't stop because one man gets hurt."
One man. Like I'm just another employee instead of the bastard who's been half in love with her since she was fifteen.
"The Belfast contact?"
"Handled. Paid in full with a twenty percent bonus for the rush job." She shows me the transfer confirmation, our fingers touching as she passes the phone. The contact burns through my skin like fire. "McBride's moving the shipment tomorrow night."
"Smart girl."
"I'm not a girl anymore, Conall."
No. She's a woman. All dangerous curves and sharp edges, commanding million-pound deals while blood stains her clothes. The combination of violence and beauty makes my cock throb against the hospital sheets.
My phone buzzes. She reaches for it, leaning across my body. Her breast brushes my arm, and I bite back a groan. Twenty years of wanting what I can't have, and she's close enough to taste.
"When you threw yourself in front of that gun," she whispers, voice dropping low, "I thought I'd lost you."
"Part of the job."
"Bullshit." Her hand covers mine, fingers intertwining. "I can't lose you. Not when I've just found you."
The words hang between us, loaded with meaning that makes my blood burn. I want to pull her into this bed, strip that ruined dress off her body, show her exactly how alive I am.
