Chasing River (Burying Water #3)(82)

He hangs up and melts into his chair with a heavy groan, followed by a huge smile. “Gardai arrested two suspicious-looking fellas parked outside her house. She says it looks like they found guns on them, too.”

My shoulders sag in relief.

“See? I told you!” Amber pinches my arm, her own beautiful face stretched into a satisfied smile. And, for a quick moment, everything is back to what it was before.

Fuck the new ink. I coil my arm around her waist and pull her into me, gritting against the sting of the touch as I rest my chin on the top of her head. It fits so perfectly in the crook of my neck. Her body tenses but then relaxes, sinking against me. I’ll stand exactly like this for the rest of the night if it means keeping her here.

“I still need to dress that for you,” Ivy reminds me over the buzz of her needle, back at her design on Rowen.

“I guess you can go home now,” Amber murmurs, her breath skating against my bare collarbone, sending shivers down my back.

“I guess I can.” I don’t want to. I want to spend tonight with her, and tomorrow. I want to spend every second with Amber until she leaves.

I don’t want her to leave.

Do I tell her that, though?

I don’t let go of her and she doesn’t pull away. I know she still has feelings for me. But are they enough? I need to find out. “Do you think you could take my stitches out for me?”

“Of course. Let me just get ready.” She pulls away to dig a compact kit out of her purse, leaving me cold. Throwing the kettle on, she says, “Why don’t you go wait for me in my bathroom upstairs. The lighting there’s the best in the house.”

“Okay.” Her bathroom, attached to her bedroom. Where we can be alone and I can beg her to stay in Ireland. Perfect. Grabbing my T-shirt, I head for the stairs. “Let me know what I owe ya, Ivy.” I catching Ivy’s penetrating gaze on me as I pass by. A warning, maybe? Or just curiosity. I can’t tell.

Five minutes later, Amber finds me sitting on the edge of the toilet, my mind playing out a dozen possible ways for this conversation to go. “I’m going to leave the butterfly clip on, where you tore those stitches,” she warns, scrubbing her hands with soap under the running tap. “That’ll need a few more days to heal.”

“I can peel that off easily enough.” If you’re not here to do it for me.

“Okay, hold still.” I close my eyes, savoring the feel of her fingertips on my skin, even as she tugs the threads out of my flesh. “You really should have a doctor doing this.”

“Aengus was always the one removing my stitches before. Trust me, this is a treat.”

“Why him?”

“Because he’s usually the reason why I needed them in the first place.”

She’s silent for another long moment. “You and Rowen could have been hurt tonight, because of him.”

I sigh. “I know.”

She’s finished in minutes, sweeping the tiny bits of thread from her hand and into the rubbish. “I’ve only ever seen shrapnel wounds in textbooks, but they looked a lot worse than these. I think you’ll heal nicely.” She traces the scars with her fingertips, so lightly that it sends shivers through my body. Her voice thick with emotion, she whispers, “I haven’t forgotten what you did for me, River. I’ll never forget.”

“I’d do it again. A thousand times over.”

Suddenly her touch is gone and she’s washing her hands again, her head bowed.

I stand and angle myself so I can see the reflection of my back in the mirror. The three lines are puffy and pink, but they’re not too bad. “I was really lucky. You should see my da’s leg. It’s something else. He had pieces of metal coming out of it for years after.”

She’s quiet as she shuts the tap, then dries her hands. “What happened to him, exactly?”

“A bomber attacked at a funeral.” I recount the story I’ve heard countless times.

“That’s just . . . crazy.” She turns around, leaning against the counter, the bottom of her dress hiking even higher, until I see more thigh than not. She peers up at me, not with that awestruck look that I loved so much, but with the beginnings of some new level of understanding. Or maybe just acceptance of what I am, I dare to hope. “I can’t imagine things like that happening to anyone in my family.”

“It’s happened to mine. A lot.” God knows my brother will be added to the death toll if he keeps this up. It might have happened tonight, had Amber not stepped in, offering a smarter solution than the one I naturally reached. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a big deal. They needed to come out.”

“Not about that.” I step in until I can smell the floral scent of her hair, feel the wisp of air from her exhales and the warmth of her body. Until I can sense her heart rate begin to race, see her throat bob up and down in a hard swallow. I slide a finger beneath her chin and pull her face up to meet mine. “Please stay.” It just slips out. I hadn’t intended to say it so bluntly, but now that I’ve said it, I don’t care. I want to be only completely honest with her. “Stay in Ireland. Stay with me. Please, stay.”

Her eyes turn glassy. “I’ve known you for a week and you want me to just drop everything? Drop my entire life?”