Page 13 of Legacy Of Ashes

I'd ground against him, desperate for friction, for more. His mouth moved to my neck, sucking hard enough to mark while his fingers worked my bra open.

"I've wanted you for years," he'd confessed against my throat, one hand sliding up my thigh, under my skirt.

When his fingers found the edge of my underwear, I'd nearly sobbed with need. Then footsteps echoed in the hallway.

We'd sprung apart, both breathing hard, my body aching for what we'd almost done.

"This can't happen," he'd whispered, eyes dark with want.

"Why not?"

"You know why."

I'd left for Oxford the next morning, wet and wanting, taking the memory with me.

Now he watches me with that same hunger, but sharper. Darker.

"Make the call," I say.

He reaches for his phone, eyes never leaving mine. "You understand the consequences?"

"Do you think I'm afraid of consequences?"

His mouth curves in something that isn't quite a smile. "No. I think you're exactly your father's daughter."

The way he says it makes heat race through my veins. Not an insult. A recognition.

He dials, voice calm as he orders the warehouse burned. Professional. Efficient. Deadly. When he hangs up, the space between us hums with electricity.

"It's done."

"Good."

We stand inches apart, the weight of violence and want crackling between us. His gaze drops to my mouth, lingers, then returns to my eyes.

"Twenty years I've watched you grow up," he says. "Twenty years of keeping my distance."

"And now?"

He steps closer, close enough that I feel his body heat. "Now you're ordering warehouse hits like you were born to it."

"Does that bother you?"

"It should." His hand lifts, fingers grazing my cheek. "It doesn't."

My pulse hammers against my throat. "What does that make you?"

"Fucked." His thumb traces my lower lip. "Completely fucked."

The admission hangs between us, raw and honest. Twenty years of loyalty warring with desire, duty battling need.

"Conall."

"Your father trusted me to protect you. To keep you safe." His voice turns rough. "Not to want you like this."

"My father isn't here."

"When he returns?—"