Chasing River (Burying Water #3)(100)

“Have a good night,” I offer to the garda.

And then I keep going.

“Hey . . .” Amber slips her arms around my waist, giving me a sleepy-eyed smile. The house smells like garlic and tomato sauce. Dirtied plates wait to be cleaned from the dining table, along with two glasses and the bottle of Jameson.

But there’s no sheriff in sight.

“Relax. He went to bed already.”

My entire body caves with relief. Amber starts laughing.

“Quiet!” I silence her with a deep kiss. “You’ll wake him up.”

“He’s a deep sleeper.” She reaches up to brush my hair off my face, the glimmer from a moment ago replaced with sadness. “How’s Rowen?”

“He looks rough, but . . . he’ll pull through.”

She nods, blinking away the gloss that suddenly coats her eyes. “I want to go with you tomorrow to see him. Maybe I can get Ivy to come, too.”

“I think he’d like that.” Most fellas wouldn’t want visitors right now, but Rowen isn’t like most. “So? How was tonight? Has your da booked you a flight home for tomorrow?”

“He may have suggested it once or twice.” A strange, somber look flashes across her face, but it dissolves with her smile. She slips her hands into mine and begins leading me in with backward steps. “It was fine. I mean, he’s not happy about it all, but I didn’t expect him to be. You hungry?”

“I could eat.” Being in that hospital room with Rowen didn’t inspire my appetite but now that I’m out, I’m famished.

She frowns at my limp. With everything else going on today, I forgot to bring my painkillers with me. “Go on upstairs. I want to take a look at that leg. I’ll bring dinner to you.”

I can’t help the wary glance up at the landing.

“Oh, for God’s sake. He’s not waiting in a dark corner for you. Besides, he’s on the third floor.” She wanders over to the casserole sitting on top of the stove, grabbing a plate on her way.

“So, I’ll be taking the spare room next to yours?”

Her exasperated sigh answers me. “I don’t believe it. You spent eighteen months in prison with the worst criminals in Ireland and you’re terrified of my father. Go on. I’ll be up there in a minute.” She shakes her head at as she putters around the kitchen, grabbing my painkillers from the windowsill, filling a glass of water.

A little smirk on her face the entire time.

“Go on.” She slaps my arse once as she passes me on the stairs and I watch her climb, wanting so desperately to return the favor. After the past two days, I could use the pure ecstasy that comes with being inside Amber. That’s not going to happen tonight, though. For one thing, because I physically can’t, and for another, because I’m sure, deep sleeper or not, that her sheriff father would finish the job that Jackie Hanegan failed to do, should he hear it.

I happily follow Amber’s orders, undressing and lying in bed so she can tend to me. I watch her skilled hands go to work on my thigh, gently washing the area around the stitches and recovering it with fresh bandages. She doesn’t even flinch at the sight of it, and even I’ll admit that it’s grotesque. Enough that I can’t touch my dinner while she’s doing it.

“You’re all set.” She looks up to catch me looking down her tank top, the thin cotton leaving little to the imagination. Neither do my knickers, at the moment. A secretive smile flashes across her wide, full lips. And then those skillful hands of hers shift upward, to peel the waistband down and over my erection, so gently.

“You don’t have to . . .” My words and all resolve are lost the second I feel her hot breath. I weave my fingers through her thick hair as I watch her, allowing myself a brief moment to forget everything else and just enjoy this time with her. To revel in the fact that this beautiful creature still wants me.

She just feels too good—better than any other girl has, and I’ve had my share of well-practiced ones—and I don’t last long, covering my face with a pillow to smother the sounds of my release.

I haven’t tiptoed down a set of stairs since I was eighteen and sneaking out of Marjorie Gilbert’s bedroom with her parents sitting at the kitchen table, sipping on their morning coffee.

The difference is that Amber’s father knows I’m here and it’s three o’clock in the morning. I’m just hoping that I can fill my glass of water and limp my way back with him completely unaware.

My hopes are dashed when I hear the bottom step creak.

“River.” Even in the unlit kitchen, I can clearly see his dark, annoyed eyes skate over me. In hindsight, I probably should have thrown some clothes on over my knickers.

“Hello . . .uh . . .”

“Gabe. Call me Gabe,” he says smoothly.

I clear my throat. “Right. Gabe.” Amber’s right to laugh at me. I’ve faced murderers and rapists, and yet this calm, collected, honest man, with his clothes rumpled and his short hair standing on end, unnerves me far more than any of them ever did. I lay in bed next to her for a while tonight, trying to figure out exactly why. Finally, I think I found the answer. It’s because I can tell that Amber values his opinion highly, and I’m guessing she makes most of her decisions based on what she thinks her father would approve of.