Delaney

I glance at my bedroom clock when I hear the rattling of keys, and Kiersten’s high-pitched laugh.

It’s past midnight, and from the way she’s carrying on, I can tell she’s not alone.

Stumbling footsteps are followed by muttered curses, but they’re not Kiersten’s.

“Where’s yer bedroom?” The deep Irish brogue is familiar, but I don’t want to believe that it’s him.

“First door…” Kiersten slurs, followed by a loud noise like she knocked something over, and the jiggling of her door handle.

“Are ye okay?”

I go cold, because there’s no doubt in my mind whose voice that belongs to.

Cillian.

He’s here. In my apartment. Hooking up with my roommate.

Coldness settles in the pit of my stomach.

I doubt he knows Kiersten is my roommate. But if he does…if he does, then he’s crueler than I ever imagined him to be.

Kiersten’s moan trickles under my door and I lose all rational thought.

Anger burns through my initial shock.

I open the door and storm down the hall towards Kiersten’s bedroom. Her door is open, and when I walk in Cillian freezes when he sees me, but he doesn’t look shocked, which only confirms my fear that he knew I’d be here.

Hate floods through me.

His arm is wrapped around Kiersten’s waist, hers is draped over his shoulder.

“Leave.” My voice is low, my anger contained, but the warning is there.

He sets her on the bed and she flops backwards and groans.

“Why won’t the room stop spinning?” Kiersten’s words are slurred. She’s completely wasted.

I narrow my eyes at him, curling my lip back in disgust. “This is low, even for you.”

His brows furrow, then he looks down at Kiersten. When his gaze comes back to mine, I see the twitch of his eye, and the flare of his nostrils. “Ye think I came here to fuck her? Ye really think that little of me? Jaysus, Delaney.”

What else am I supposed to think?

“Like you always say, I believe my own eyes.” I glance at Kiersten. She’s already passed out. “Get out.”

“Listen to me.” His voice is low and full of warning.

“Get out,” I repeat, still managing to keep control of the rage that has my body trembling, my fingers numb, and my eyes burning with unshed tears. “Now.”

He takes a step towards me, and I back away.

With a heavy sigh, he combs his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t come here to fight with ye.”

“I know why you came.” This time my voice is louder, dripping with disgust.

“Ye don’t.” He grabs my arm and pulls me out of the room, shutting Kiersten’s door behind us. “Ye’re going to listen to me.”

“No. You’re going to listen to me.” I shrug out of his grip, then push on his chest with all my strength, but he doesn’t even budge. “I can’t believe I wasted even a minute missing you, wishing you’d call or write. But I get it. It was just sex. I knew the rules when we started, and I can’t be angry at you for not wanting more.”

When I push on his chest again, he captures my wrists. I hate that even now, his touch affects me. The way my body betrays me, the heat of desire mixing with the flames of rage.

“But I do get to be angry for how you treated me. For acting like I’m your enemy. Like we didn’t have one amazing month together. For believing Matt over me.” I’m crying now, tears streaming down my cheeks, but I can’t hold them back. “And you also don’t get to sleep with my roommate.”

His nostrils flare. “I didn’t come here to–”

“I hate you.” He’s still holding my wrists, so I fist my fingers and pound them against his chest. “I hate you so much.”

He sucks in a harsh breath, but he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he tugs me closer, and presses his forehead against mine. “Are ye done?”

I gulp in air, fighting the sob that’s caught in my throat.

“Yes. I’m done.”

“I know I don’t deserve for ye to hear me out, but I’m asking for five minutes.” He releases my wrists, but before I have the chance to step away, his hands cup the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, forcing me to meet his intense gaze.

I hold on to my anger, knowing it’s the only thing separating me from melting into his touch.

When I don’t say anything, he sighs. “I knew Kiersten was yer roommate when I came here tonight.”

My chest constricts. “You knew? So you were trying to hurt me?”

“No. God, no. She was drunk and making a fool of herself. Emer told me she was yer roommate, so I offered to bring her home.”

I narrow my eyes at him, not sure what to believe. “Why?”

Forehead pressed against mine, he strokes his thumb across my cheek. “I’m sorry, Delaney.”

“For what?”

“Everything. For pushing ye away. For not calling. I don’t want ye to hate me, but I understand why ye do.”

Silence stretches between us.

I want to hate him. I need to hate him. And part of me does for breaking my heart. But there’s such a fine line between hate and love.

“Is that all?”

He exhales roughly, then drops his hands. “Yeah.”

There’s a war going on inside him. I can feel it. See it in his face, the way his jaw flexes and contracts. The agony in his eyes as they watch me.

I take a step back, needing to distance myself. I can’t think when he’s this close to me. And I’ve already suffered the consequences of listening to my body and heart when it comes to him.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I never wanted to hurt ye.”

But you did. You shattered me. You’re still shattering me.

He moves towards me. “Delaney, I–”

“Don’t.” I won’t be able to resist him if he touches me again. And if I’m going to hold on to what’s left of my shredded heart, I need to resist him.

“Ye want me to go?”

No. I want you to stay. I want you to fight for me. For us.

I swallow hard and nod.

His nostrils flare, and when he turns to walk away my throat sinks in my chest.

At the door, he stops, his back to me, and every muscle in his body is tight with tension.

He curses under his breath, then turns and storms towards me.

“What are–”

His fingers bury in my hair and his lips crash down on mine before I have the chance to utter a protest.

The moment he’s touching me, the second his hard body is pressed against mine, I know I’m lost.

His scent.

His taste.

They undo me.

All I can do is submit to his body and mouth.

When he finally pulls back, his expression has changed. It’s wild and possessive. And for a split second, I allow myself to hope.

“What are you doing?” The words come out breathy, need mixed with uncertainty.

“God, Delaney,” he says roughly against my lips. “I’ve missed ye.”

“I missed you, too.” I place my palms on his chest. They’re shaking. My whole body is now.

He tilts my chin up, making me look at him. There’s something in his eyes, a flicker of hope, that makes my chest tighten. I see the need there, the hunger for more than just words.

He kisses me again. This time slower and gentler, and I swear I can feel my heart slowly mending with each caress, each touch – and it scares the hell out of me. Because it only means he’ll be able to shatter it again when he leaves.