Page 94 of Three Irish Kings

I don’t know why I said it. I don’t want to spend time with her. I don’t want to feel like I feel around her any more than I have to, but after a stressful day like today...

Some part of me wants to be with her.

Some foolish, idealistic part, some stupid impulse to want comfort that I thought I eradicated long ago.

“All right.” Cillian sounds calm, but I can tell he’s surprised by the stiff set of his shoulders.

I unlock the front door,bracing myself to see them cuddled up on the couch or worse, in bed with Isla’s brunette curls tousled.

Instead, though, Dare is lounging on the couch, and Isla is in the kitchen, cooking what appears to be pork chops.

“You’re letting her cook?” It’s my attempt at a tease, and Dare laughs.

“She's gotta learn somehow.”

“I’m here to relieve you.”

Dare startles. “What do you mean? I thought I was staying tonight.”

“You're exhausted. You need sleep. And if you fall asleep here, I don’t trust her not to escape.”

He frowns. “Aren’t we past that?”

“Maybe you are.”

I stare him down, and Dare looks like he might want to fight about it, but in the end he turns and leaves me there.

He goes into the kitchen.

Slap.

Isla squeals, and I can imagine he spanked her on the ass.

He’s grinning ear-to-ear when he walks back into the living room, and I want to hit him.

But I contain myself and plop down on the couch, scrolling through my emails.

“I made dinner.” She sounds proud of herself as she sets down an only slightly burned pork chop and what appears to be boxed mashed potatoes in front of me.

“I’m sure it’s edible.”

“Ooh, such high praise, coming from you.” She sits down next to me, socking her thigh right up against mine.

It’s been weeks, and I’m still not used to her casual affection.

It’s worse with Dare. Drives me crazy, the way they’re all over each other.

It does bring me a small amount of comfort that she’s touching me, and I hate myself for it.

Women have been nothing more than a stress reliever, someone to warm my bed in the odd nights my body demanded release. I’m always in control of my body and my feelings and was always able to keep those encounters few and far between. I don’t need a woman, any woman, in my life.

Women are more work than they are worth, and I have too much on my plate already. I cannot be worried about spoiled brats, about someone who will follow the shiny things in life and turn on me for the next best thing.

And yet, the more I spend time with Isla, the more I realize she is different.

We have been sharing her, sure, but when it’s just the two of us, and I can refrain from being a total asshole, she is pretty damned good to be around. The few talks we had about books actually left me wanting to get to know her better, to spend time with her. Left me feeling like there might be something there if I let it.

But I don’t feel. Ever. I pride myself on my numbness, my lack of weakness when it comes to attachments. I am a cold-hearted son of a bitch.