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“I shouldn’t⁠—”

But when she moves to pull away, I tug her back.

“You’re fine.”

“Torin…” She goes to move away again, so I reach down and give her arse a good, hard slap. “I said you’re fine. Now stop it. You stay right there.”

She does, but she’s rigid and on edge. I can tell by the way her eyes track my every move. So I comb my fingers through her hair, starting at the base of her scalp and moving lower. After a few strokes, she sighs and settles in.

“It is nice here. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

“Did you sleep well?” Her voice rumbles through me, her breath hot on my skin.

“Better than I have in a long time.”

She nods. “I wonder why you sleep so well when I’m here but not otherwise.”

“Aye, I’ve wondered the same.”

“Maybe you know, even in sleep, that you don’t want to hurt me. That you wouldn’t. So you don’t even allow yourself to entertain that thought.”

“Maybe. Don’t romanticize what I do, love.”

“Why not?”

“It won’t end well for you.” I pause and swallow before I ask my next question. “Do you really believe that?”

“What?”

“That I won’t hurt you.”

She mulls it over, then finally nods. “I do.”

Progress.

I kiss the top of her head when the phone rings.

“I have to answer that.” With a sigh, she moves off my chest. “I know.”

I reach for my phone. Seamus.

“Hello?”

“Don’t you ever check your fucking texts?”

“I was sleeping,” I say sheepishly because I will not admit to anything else.

“They're here.”

I sit up in bed. Valentina sits up too, her eyes wide, but she doesn't speak. She waits.

“Who?”

“Fuckin' Boston,” he growls. I expected this, but there comes a certain pause, a complacency that sets in when you're waiting for something to happen, and it doesn't right away.

“Dublin, and on the move.”