Chasing River (Burying Water #3) (33 page)

Looking like she just saw a ghost.

I’m on my feet in a second. “What’s wrong?”

Her green eyes, full of disbelief, dart from me to my chest to Ivy, then finally to the floor, with the slightest head shake. “Nothing. I just . . .” Her words trail as she staggers into the kitchen, Ivy watching as closely as I am.

Ivy pokes me, then nods toward her. “Okay . . . Next up.” She rolls her eyes at Rowen, who’s already got his shirt off, revealing his bare canvas. “That’s right. You’re a virgin.” She begins dismantling her machine to change out the needle and clean up. “I haven’t had one of you in a while.”

“Then you’re in luck tonight.”

I leave them to their banter and head over to the darkened kitchen, where Amber stares listlessly out the window, mimicking me from not long ago. “Everything okay?”

She sips from her tall glass of water, emptying half of it before setting the glass on the counter. “It looks good.” Her eyes are on the stag, veering to the phoenix for a short moment. “Did it hurt?”

“Not at all.” No man ever admits to the pain.

She drifts back to the window, but with a smirk now. “Liar.”

At least she can smile. Sort of. “You should get one.”

“Yeah? Where?”

I can’t help myself. I step closer, drawing a circle on the back of her shoulder, over that blue dress that’s been teasing me all day, so short. “Right here.”

She shivers but doesn’t pull away. “What would I get?”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” She sighs. “I just don’t know anymore. . . .”

Something tells me this isn’t about a tattoo. “Is everything okay back home?”

“Yes. And no.” A deep frown mars her forehead, and that line in between her eyes creases.

“Ivy said you had a sister-in-law?”

“You could say that. She and my brother aren’t married, but they’re forever.”

“What’s she like? Do you two get along?”

“Yeah. She’s great.” She smiles. “I think you’d like her.” The smiles fall off. Because she’s remembering that I won’t ever meet her. Not unless it’s here, in Ireland.

“Look, Amber—”

“She told me things about my dad,” Amber interrupts me. “Things that he did, to protect my brother, and Alex. Illegal things that could have gotten him into so much trouble. I had no idea.”

That’s why she looks so shocked.

I tug on her shoulder until her lithe body turns to face me. I want more than anything to pull her into my chest, but Ivy’s work won’t allow that for that. Maybe Amber won’t allow for that. I can’t tell, the way she’s peering up at my face. Has she forgiven me?

Ivy’s snap of “Stop staring at me like that” pulls both our attention to the dining room table, where she’s already working on Rowen, having positioned herself between his outstretched legs.

He winks at us. “I can’t help it.”

“It’s creepy.”

“Maybe
you’re
creepy.” He grits his teeth as if in pain, and I’m guessing he is based on how her little fingers are digging into his bicep. He quickly adds, “In a hot way. Hold on a sec, Ivy . . . I need to get this.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the display screen. His eyes race to mine. “Hello, Fern. How are you?” His tone climbs five octaves to altar-boy status. “No way . . . Really?” He listens intently as the old woman talks. The longer it stretches, the more certain I am that this is about gardai showing up. “Thank you for letting me know, Fern . . . No, I’m good. Just at a friend’s . . . I know. That Aengus, he’s a problem . . . Okay, well, I’ll stop by tomorrow to carry your rubbish out, just like always. See ya, Fern.”

He hangs up and melts into his chair with a heavy groan, followed by a huge smile. “Gardai arrested two suspicious-looking fellas parked outside her house. She says it looks like they found guns on them, too.”

My shoulders sag in relief.

“See? I told you!” Amber pinches my arm, her own beautiful face stretched into a satisfied smile. And, for a quick moment, everything is back to what it was before.

Fuck the new ink. I coil my arm around her waist and pull her into me, gritting against the sting of the touch as I rest my chin on the top of her head. It fits so perfectly in the crook of my neck. Her body tenses but then relaxes, sinking against me. I’ll stand exactly like this for the rest of the night if it means keeping her here.

“I still need to dress that for you,” Ivy reminds me over the buzz of her needle, back at her design on Rowen.

“I guess you can go home now,” Amber murmurs, her breath skating against my bare collarbone, sending shivers down my back.

“I guess I can.” I don’t want to. I want to spend tonight with her, and tomorrow. I want to spend every second with Amber until she leaves.

I don’t want her to leave.

Do I tell her that, though?

I don’t let go of her and she doesn’t pull away. I know she still has feelings for me. But are they enough? I need to find out. “Do you think you could take my stitches out for me?”

“Of course. Let me just get ready.” She pulls away to dig a compact kit out of her purse, leaving me cold. Throwing the kettle on, she says, “Why don’t you go wait for me in my bathroom upstairs. The lighting there’s the best in the house.”

“Okay.” Her bathroom, attached to her bedroom. Where we can be alone and I can beg her to stay in Ireland. Perfect. Grabbing my T-shirt, I head for the stairs. “Let me know what I owe ya, Ivy.” I catch Ivy’s penetrating gaze on me as I pass by. A warning, maybe? Or just curiosity. I can’t tell.

Five minutes later, Amber finds me sitting on the edge of the toilet, my mind playing out a dozen possible ways for this conversation to go. “I’m going to leave the butterfly clip on, where you tore those stitches,” she warns, scrubbing her hands with soap under the running tap. “That’ll need a few more days to heal.”

“I can peel that off easily enough.”
If you’re not here to do it for me.

“Okay, hold still.” I close my eyes, savoring the feel of her fingertips on my skin, even as she tugs the threads out of my flesh. “You really should have a doctor doing this.”

“Aengus was always the one removing my stitches before. Trust me, this is a treat.”

“Why him?”

“Because he’s usually the reason why I needed them in the first place.”

She’s silent for another long moment. “You and Rowen could have been hurt tonight, because of him.”

I sigh. “I know.”

She’s finished in minutes, sweeping the tiny bits of thread from her hand and into the rubbish. “I’ve only ever seen shrapnel wounds in textbooks, but they looked a lot worse than these. I think you’ll heal nicely.” She traces the scars with her fingertips, so lightly that it sends shivers through my body. Her voice thick with emotion, she whispers, “I haven’t forgotten what you did for me, River. I’ll never forget.”

“I’d do it again. A thousand times over.”

Suddenly her touch is gone and she’s washing her hands again, her head bowed.

I stand and angle myself so I can see the reflection of my back in the mirror. The three lines are puffy and pink, but they’re not too bad. “I was really lucky. You should see my da’s leg. It’s something else. He had pieces of metal coming out of it for years after.”

She’s quiet as she shuts the tap, then dries her hands. “What happened to him, exactly?”

“A bomber attacked at a funeral.” I recount the story I’ve heard countless times.

“That’s just . . . crazy.” She turns around, leaning against the counter, the bottom of her dress hiking even higher, until I see more thigh than not. She peers up at me, not with that awestruck look that I loved so much, but with the beginnings of some new level of understanding. Or maybe just acceptance of what I am, I dare to hope. “I can’t imagine things like that happening to anyone in my family.”

“It’s happened to mine. A lot.” God knows my brother will be added to the death toll if he keeps this up. It might have happened tonight, had Amber not intervened, offering a smarter solution than the one I naturally reached. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a big deal. They needed to come out.”

“Not about that.” I step in until I can smell the floral scent of her hair, feel the wisp of air from her exhales and the warmth of her body. Until I can sense her heart rate begin to race, see her throat bob up and down in a hard swallow. I slide a finger beneath her chin and pull her face up to meet mine. “Please stay.” It just slips out. I hadn’t intended to say it so bluntly, but now that I’ve said it, I don’t care. I want to be only completely honest with her. “Stay in Ireland. Stay with me.
Please
, stay.”

Her eyes turn glassy. “I’ve known you for a week and you want me to just drop everything? Drop my entire life?”

“No, I just want you to . . .” I press my forehead against hers. What exactly do I want? Because when she says it like that, I feel stupid for even suggesting it. “I want you to look at me the way you used to. I want you to think that I’m good. I want you to still want me.” I hesitate, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “Do you?”

A stream of tears slips down her cheeks. “We’re so different, River. We don’t make sense—this doesn’t make sense to me.”

“It doesn’t have to.” My insides clench with dread.

She hesitates for a long moment before admitting in a whisper, “I shouldn’t. I can’t. But I do. I still want you.”

Relief overwhelms me. I feel like I’ve passed some monumental hurdle.

Until she shakes her head. “This can never go anywhere, River.” She says it so convincingly. Is she trying to persuade me, or herself?

A painful spike settles into my throat. I know what I’m about to say is crazy, but I don’t care. “It can. You can stay in Ireland, you could get a nursing job, live with me.”

“Never bring you home with me, spend every holiday apart . . .” She’s been thinking about it too, at least. “No, River. What you’re saying . . .” Glossy eyes beg me to understand. “This isn’t me. I know we’ve had an incredible connection but if I were back home, in my everyday life, this would never have happened. You and I would
never
have happened. Do you not see that?”

I curl my arms around her and pull her close to me, letting her face rest against my newly etched skin. The sting from that contact, the burn from the salt as she cries, is a welcome distraction from the deep throb inside my chest right now.

I’ve never regretted going to that bunker with Aengus more than I do right now.

Her cool fingers dance over my skin, contradicting her words, sending my own heartbeat into a frenzy. Dipping my head down, I coax her mouth with mine, tentatively at first to make sure it’s okay. The smallest gasp from her, the way she trails her tongue along the seam of my lips, tells me it is. I can’t help but groan in relief. But now it’s like I’m in a race to see exactly how far I can get, how many kisses she’ll give me, before she remembers herself and pushes me away.

She doesn’t seem willing to do that just yet.

Amber’s hands wander, grazing my cheeks, my throat, carefully bypassing the right side of my chest in their exploration. Slowly at first, but then more fervently, skating over my ridges, toying with my belt. I wrap my hands around her slender waist and hoist her onto the counter, fitting myself closely between her thighs. She squeezes them tight around me, pressing her hips into me.

I groan again. If she keeps doing that, I’ll come right here, standing in the bathroom.

Her hands push against my chest, forcing our lips apart. She gazes up at me with heated eyes, her breathing ragged. And I wait for her to say that we’re done, that this is over. That she “can’t.”

And then she pulls that tiny blue dress up and over her head, tossing it to the tile floor beside us. Her lacy white bra follows closely, leaving her in nothing but a pair of stringy knickers that, if I turned her around right now, would show off that incredible arse.

“You’re just so . . .” My mouth finds hers again, and I can’t keep my hands off her body anymore—her tits perfect handfuls, her nipples hard against my thumbs, the thin lace between her legs damp. She grinds herself against my fingers once, twice . . . and then her hands quickly find my belt buckle, unfastening it and reaching in to take a surprisingly firm grasp around me. As if she can’t wait either. The very possibility sends my need for Amber into overdrive.

Grabbing my wallet out of my jeans, I slide one hand under her and lift her up, carrying her with her legs wrapped around my body to her bed, laying her down so gently, peeling the last of her clothing off. She reaches for me, grabs my hips, pulls me down with surprising strength. Tempting me to slide into her. I would. I know I’m clean, and don’t doubt for a second that she is, too, and I’d do anything to feel her bare, just once.

But I also know Amber.

She nuzzles her face in the crook of my neck while I put a condom on, her tongue darting out to run along my skin, making my cock jump in my hand.

“Christ, Amber,” I mutter, grabbing her by the back of one thigh, pushing it up and out.

I sink into her and she moans, the sound stealing my lungs.

“Stay.
Please
, stay.”

She clasps either side of my face and holds it firm for a moment, peering up into my eyes, her mouth parted as if words hang at the tip of her tongue. But whatever it is she’s thinking, she doesn’t say. Finally, she reaches around and, seizing the back of my head firmly, she pulls my mouth down to hers.

The sound of the door shutting downstairs wakes me. I assume it’s either Rowen or Ivy who just left. A quick glance next to me finds River sprawled out on his back, his naked body tangled in the sheets, his face so boyish in sleep.

I’m not entirely sure what happened last night. I called Alex, looking for advice from her. Or maybe I just wanted her to give me an excuse for this jumble of feelings I still hold for River. But she left me in a cloud of confusion when we hung up.

Now that I’ve had time to process our conversation, a few things are clearer. For one, I truly understand why my father retired.

It’s because he broke the law. He
was
the law, and he went against everything he has always stood for, has always preached. It wasn’t simply one quick mistake—one quick, wrong yes-or-no answer. He made a series of choices, took several actions, told many lies, which would, if anyone ever discovered it, tarnish his exemplary reputation forever.