Page 43 of Where We Bloom (The Blackwells of Montana #3)

Chapter Twenty-Four

BILLIE

I t was dark when we arrived in Galway last evening, so I didn’t get to see the view from Connor’s mansion. But I could hear the water crashing against the cliffs, and the air was heavy with salt and sea, so it made me long to take in the view.

Connor’s still sleeping beside me when I wake and discover that the sun is just starting to come up. His arm is wrapped around my shoulders, holding me against his side, but he lets go when I gently move away.

After quickly using the bathroom, where he was true to his word, and all my toiletries were waiting, I make my way into the closet that rivals the size of the ones in New York and Montana, and tug on some leggings, a T-shirt, and because the air was so chilly last night, I borrow one of Connor’s hoodies.

The material is well-worn and soft, so it’s obviously one he’s had for a long time, and when I pull it over my head, I’m surrounded by his cedarwood scent .

God, he smells good.

I wonder if he went to Cambridge? Or was this a souvenir?

Something tells me he wouldn’t buy a hoodie like this unless it was his school.

With a shrug, I slip into sneakers and head downstairs, where I brew myself a cup of coffee, then slip out the sliding glass doors off the massive kitchen onto the expansive grassy area that leads to a path overlooking the sea.

When I reach the end of the path, roughly twenty yards from the side of the cliffs, I take a long, deep breath and stare out at the ocean.

It’s fucking gorgeous here.

Birds fly overhead, floating on the wind. The water crashes on the rocks below, sending up a symphony of sound that drowns out everything else. For the first time since I can remember, there’s no traffic in my head. The white noise from the ocean drowns it out, and I can just … be.

The sun has barely crested over the green hills, casting the sky in light pink, and I take another long, deep breath, pulling it all in.

I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful. I’ve heard stories of Ireland being green, but it’s … green. As if it invented the word. And it’s the same color as my man’s eyes.

I turn to look at the enormous stone mansion and see Connor walking toward me in black joggers and a hoodie similar to the one I’m wearing, holding his own mug of coffee, those Irish eyes smiling at me over the rim.

He’s happy here.

“I needed to come see it,” I say when he reaches me and wraps his arm around me to pull me into his side. “I couldn’t wait.”

“You should have woken me, angel.”

I wrinkle my nose at him and sip my coffee. “Did you grow up in this house?”

“No. Ma and Da still own that house. It’s about fifteen kilometers from here. Unless you have objections, we’ll be going there this evening for dinner.”

“I don’t have any objections. I like your parents.”

I was able to spend some time with them in London when we were there for Skyla and Mik’s performance, and Connor’s parents have been to Montana several times.

They’ve been nothing but nice to me. Of course, that was before their son and I were a couple. I wonder if they’ll be as welcoming, knowing that we’re in a relationship.

“Don’t overthink it.” He kisses my head, and we turn back to the ocean. “It’s going to be fine. What do you think of the view?”

“Meh, it’s fine.”

I feel him staring down at me, and I can’t hold back the laughter.

“Are you kidding me? Holy shit, Connor, this is gorgeous. ”

He grins, and his eyes drift down to the hoodie, and they narrow. “I like that.”

I sip my coffee. “The fact that I stole your sweatshirt?”

“You wrapped up in my alma mater,” he says, those blazing green orbs returning to my face. “Fascinating.”

He’s more relaxed here. I noticed it the second we stepped off the plane last night.

It’s like he’s in the one place where he can drop his guard, and although I love him every day, this side of him is dreamy, too.

And we all know how much I love his casual side.

Connor is as sexy as sin in a suit, but Christ on a cracker, the things he does to me when he’s let his proverbial hair down and is in relax mode?

My vagina is weeping with joy.

“I have a question,” he says as I sip coffee and breathe in the sea air and ogle my man.

“Right now, dressed like that, I’ll give you anything you want, billionaire.”

His lips twitch, and he ghosts his fingertip down the bridge of my nose. “It’s just lounge pants, bumble.”

“It’s not just anything. Okay, focus. What’s your question?”

“What’s your favorite book?”

I pause, then frown up at him. Christ, he’s tall.

“Like my favorite book this year so far? Or my favorite broken down by trope or genre?”

“Of all time,” he replies, skimming his hand up and down my arm.

“I don’t know if that exists for me,” I reply honestly. “ I’ve read thousands of books, I’m sure. If you want to talk classics?—”

“Start there,” he agrees.

“Well, there’s a list. Little Women , of course. Jane Eyre . To Kill a Mockingbird , Anna Karenina , The Count of Monte Cristo . I read Wuthering Heights every year at Christmas.”

“You do?” He kisses my forehead and smiles down at me. “Why?”

“Because it’s heartbreaking and wonderful and like visiting an old friend. It’s an interesting story about greed and family, and well … I like it. Finding a first edition is almost impossible.”

Now his gaze tightens, obviously interested in what I’m telling him.

“Why?”

“Well, it was originally published under the name Ellis Bell rather than using her real name, Emily Bronte. It was also her only novel. She died at just thirty years old. Anyway, finding a copy of Wuthering Heights with Ellis Bell listed as the author isn’t easy to do and quite expensive.”

He takes my hand and leads me down the path that seems to meander by the cliffs, away from the house.

“Aside from the classics, I also enjoy Outlander, yet among modern work, I don’t know. It’s so hard to choose.”

“Favorite authors, then?” he asks, and again, I have to bite my lip and think.

“I’d have to narrow it down to about ten.” I shrug when he laughs. “You don’t understand. There are so many gifted authors, and I consume a lot of books. Devney Perry and Monica Murphy are two of my favorites. They’re auto buys for me.”

He nods, and now I’m curious.

“What about you? What do you like to read?”

“I don’t have a lot of time to read for pleasure.”

“Bullshit.” There’s no sting in my words as I nudge him with my shoulder.

He kicks up an eyebrow, and I shrug. “We all have time. We just choose to use it in different ways, which is totally valid. And you are a busy man. But you’re not working twenty-four seven.”

“I’d rather spend any free time I might have with you,” he says.

“And sometimes, I’m reading while you’re spending time with me.” I chuckle and lean into him, enjoying him and our walk by the cliffs. “Not everyone has to be a reader. But you do have all of those books in the bedroom.”

“I read thrillers and a little fantasy here and there. I also consume a lot of online articles,” he says, thinking it over. “Podcasts. That sort of thing.”

“I’ll listen to podcasts with you.”

We stop in the middle of the path, and he gently grips the back of my neck in his palm, bringing his face closer to mine.

“Would you then, bumble?”

“Sure.” Christ, I love it that his accent is thicker when we’re here in Ireland .

“And why is that?”

“Because I love you, and spending time with you is my favorite thing.”

His face softens, and he leans in to brush his lips over mine, making my stomach clench with desire.

“You’re so bleedin’ sweet,” he whispers against my lips, the words almost getting lost in the wind.

“You’re different here,” I reply, watching him closely.

“How so?”

“You’re always wonderful, but I notice you’re not as tense here. You’re calmer. A little quicker to smile.”

He stands up straight and glances over my head at the property, the house farther away now, and then out at the water. After taking a breath, he turns his gaze back to me and cups my face.

“This is home. It’s familiar and where I can be myself. That’s why I wanted to bring you here, to spend a good amount of time with you.”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“At least three months ago. Maybe more.”

What?

“Connor, if this is where you’re the most at home, why don’t you live here more often?”

“Because you’re not here, angel.” He rests his lips on my forehead and takes in a breath.

“I want to be wherever you are, and Montana is home for you. Montana is where we bloom together, and I do love it there. I would say that aside from this place, it’s where I’m most at home because you’re my home. ”

This man and his amazing way with words .

“I want you to be happy.”

Now, he wraps me in his arms, palms the back of my head, and holds me to him, embracing me so tenderly and lovingly, it brings tears to my eyes.

“I’m so fucking happy, a ghrá .” He kisses the top of my head, and then he leads me back toward the house.

“Well, for the record, I like it here a lot.”

“I want to show you the world.”

“Let me be clear.” I pull him to a stop so I have his undivided attention. “I’ve been out here for about an hour, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that it’s incredible. I don’t need the world. If this is waiting for us, I’ll come here with you anytime . Once a month? Let’s do it. I?—”

I don’t get another word out before he’s on me, kissing me as if I’m the air he breathes, holding on to me as if the mere thought of letting go will tear his heart from his chest.

“Hold this,” he says, pushing his mug in my free hand. Then I’m in his arms, giggling as he carries me to the house. “I’d fuck you right out here, but I have security cameras, and Miller and his team keep an eye out.”

“I’d rather not put on a show for Miller and Simon,” I agree, pressing my face to his warm neck. “And I can walk the rest of the way.”

“Almost there,” he replies, not even breathing hard.

How does he do this? Carry me as if I’m nothing more than a sack of potatoes?