Page 6 of Unreasonably Yours

Toni

“Why'd you ask me to dinner?” The words fly from my lips before Cillian can swallow his whiskey.

His visible surprise makes me want to pull the words back, throw cash on the table, thank him for a nice evening, and run. At least if I did that, I'd be in control of ending this situation. Detonating it all before it goes too far.

As if sensing my latent flight response activating, Cillian's fingers slide from where his hand rested on the table to tangle loosely with mine.

“Honestly?” he asks, almost an echo of my earlier question.

“Always.” Truth, even if it stung, was better than convoluted lies or half measures.

He looks down to where our hands touch, tightening his grip ever so slightly. When he raises his gaze, I barely breathe. “I asked because you're not the kind of woman who comes around often.”

“Are you trying to tell me there's a shortage of abrasive redheads in Boston?” I ask, desperate to downplay the way his answer is making my heart crawl up my throat .

He laughs. “Definitely not.” This man has to know his smile feels like staring into the sun, dangerous and far too inviting.

“But ones who're charming, beautiful...” his calloused fingertips brush the back of my hand, and I pray he doesn't notice the shiver that crawls through me in response, “and fully willing to throw hands with some rich prick?

I don't claim to be a smart man, but even I'm not stupid enough to let someone like that slip by.”

“Well...” It’s the only word I can muster through my surprise.

His eyes narrow, reading me far too easily. “You expected a shitty answer.”

“No,” I say far too quickly for it to be anything but a lie.

“Yes, you did.” He pulls his hand back until just our fingertips touch. My stomach drops, and I fight the urge to reach for him. “If you wanted an out, you don't need?—”

“I don't.” I blurt. “I—” Am a disaster human and I don't know how to do this anymore and you're gorgeous and kind and I think I'm beginning to understand Icarus way more than I'm comfortable with and —“I have a tendency to run from anything that has even the whiff of being too good about it.”

Honest. Not quite the full chaos in my skull, but still far more honest than I'd intended. I catch my bottom lip in my teeth, physically keeping myself from digging the hole deeper.

Cillian's expression softens. I bite harder. “We have that in common.” He reaches across the table, his thumb gently freeing my lip.

It's a small thing. A quick, intimate gesture. It shouldn't matter. Yet I feel undone.

With the immaculate timing gifted to all service industry professionals, our server interrupts the moment. “Anything else for you guys?”

I should be grateful, but I'm not.

Pulling willpower from a reserve I didn’t know I had, I shake my head and manage to extricate my hand completely from Cillian’s.

“I'll take the check,” Cillian says, eyes pinning me in place. He looks at the server to thank him, giving me a moment to finally pull in a shaky breath.

“I can pa?—”

He cuts me off, “I asked you to dinner, so I'm paying. If you ask next time, you're welcome to get the check then.”

Next time. There wouldn't be a next time. That fact doesn't stop the flutter in my gut at imagining what a next time could be.

Once outside, my stomach drops. I don't want this to end. It needs to. It has to.

Right?

“Can I give you a ride?” Cillian asks.

The hedonistic devil on my shoulder screams, God, yes, please. Your face seems like an excellent option. I'd like to say there’s an opposing response, but my better angels gave up on me years ago.

He positions himself at a friendly distance, hands in his pockets. Close enough that I could reach out and touch the broad expanse of his chest, but far enough not to crowd me.

“I don't...” Live far . That’s what I had every intention of saying. Instead, I blurt, “I don't want to go home.”

Pretty had rarely made me stupid, and when it did, a man had not been the cause. Yet here I am, experiencing a full loss of every ounce of sense I possess.

What the hell is wrong with me?

But dammit if he doesn’t look pleasantly surprised.

“We could get another drink?” he suggests.

“Do you want that?” Another drink doesn’t sound bad. More than anything, I just don’t want to say goodbye. Not yet.

“No.” He shakes his head, huffing a little laugh.

I take a step toward him. “What do you want?”

He sucks in a breath, studying me. Being the focus of his attention sets my nerves on edge with delicious anticipation.

Cillian's fingers slide between mine, his palm warm. “I wanna pull you around the corner and kiss you breathless.”

Fuck it.

“So why are we still standing here?” His surprise quickly melts into a wolfish grin, curling his full lips and crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes in a way that makes me weak.

Judging by the speed at which we round that corner, both of us are committed to outpacing any doubts we may have.

Cillian presses me gently into the brick, his body shielding me from view of the small parking lot. Cupping my jaw tenderly, his thumb traces my bottom lip.

My heart slams against my ribs.

The warmth from his body against mine, the slight whiff of cologne—something peppery and warm with just a touch of floral—rising off him, the weight of his attention. All of him. All of this. It's deliciously overwhelming.

His lips brush mine. A question. An invitation. Giving me space to change my mind.

“Kiss me,” I whisper.

That was all he needed. His hand cradles the back of my skull, protecting my head from the wall behind me, and then?—

The world falls away.

When his mouth drags down my neck and he presses a muscular thigh between my legs, I gasp, unable to care who might hear. My body takes the invitation to grind against him, all of me screaming for more.

Cillian pulls back, holding my head in place with a gentle grip on my hair as I try to chase his kiss. The heat between my legs thrums. He shifts, his knee providing the perfect place to press my need against. And I do, with more than a little shameless abandon.

“Greedy,” he says in a low voice, green eyes burning through dark lashes. I nod, biting my lip to keep from making a noise as he presses his knee up once more. My own knees threaten to buckle, but he moves his hands to my ribs, holding me steady.

I reach for the front of his jeans, stroking the hard length of him through the denim. He presses into my touch, resting his forehead on mine.

“Where?” He asks, voice rough with need.

“Take me home.” An alarm sounds in my head because I'd rather die than bring this man into my apartment. “Your home. Or we can?—”

“Mine's good.” He lowers his mouth to mine again, kissing me until I'm considering how bad it would be to let him fuck me right here. Breaking the kiss, he rests his palms on the wall flanking either side of my head. He drags in a deep breath, “Just need a second.”

An admittedly self-satisfied laugh slips from my lips.

“Don't be so smug,” he teases. His hand shoots down, cupping my very, very wet pussy. “Pretty sure you've soaked through your shorts, doll.” Before he pulls back, I grip his wrist, holding him in place. It feels too good, all of it.

He chuckles. “Impatient, too.” His fingers press against the dampness just enough to turn my spine to liquid.

In a flash, he has my wrist pinned against the wall. “But you're gonna have to wait.” He kisses my shocked expression gently. “Come on.”

I take his offered hand as we walk to where he parked behind Two Sons.

“125 Monument Ln, Charlestown,” Cillian says as he opens the passenger door for me.

“What?” I look up at him, brain still stuck in a lusty haze .

“My address. I'm a stranger and I'm taking you home, I assume you're telling someone where you're going, and if not, you should.”

Yeah. I should.

“Such a good idea,” I say.

“I have my moments.”

I pull my phone from my bag, planning to go through the motions to at least make him think I was being remotely responsible with my personal safety and not flinging myself into the sun.

As though the universe is scolding me for my reckless choices, the first notification is from the only person I would even consider texting at a time like this.

Belle

What?! Fuck no. But you tell me who did and I’ll put sugar in their gas tank.

I knew there was no way she’d been the one to tell David where I’d gone, but I wanted to be sure to cover all bases.

Isabelle Terry is the only person I still speak to from my hometown, and my best friend.

Even though we went to the same schools for years, we didn’t run in the same circles—she was the 4-H type while I leaned more toward black lipstick and drama club—but when we both started working at the diner in town, we immediately clicked.

No matter how our paths led us in different directions, we never lost touch; we always effortlessly picked up right where we left off. At least until her husband was diagnosed with cancer a few years ago. From that point forward, there hadn’t been any need to pick up because we never left off.

He’d been gone a little over a year now, and leaving her behind was the single hangup I had when the opportunity to move here arose.

Sure, while I was crashing with my brother in New Orleans, I wasn’t exactly down the road from Dripping Springs, Texas, but a few hundred miles was different than a couple thousand.

I KNEW you didn’t, but still...And once I find out who did I won’t stop you from vandalism.

Hard pivot: I promise to tell you EVERYTHING later, but tldr: I met a gorgeous man at a bar and I'm going home with him and I know it's stupid but I need a little stupid. And I need someone to know, so if I end up a statistic, I can be avenged.

“All good?” Cillian asks, starting the car.

“Mhm.” I nod.

Belle

So. Many. Questions. But yes, give me the details, and if you die, my mom will find him.

We’re pretty sure Belle’s mom was a PI in another life.

Belle

And share your location with me.