by Fiona Keane
“Isn’t it?” A sarcastic laugh trickled from my lips. “This is all because of the past, Julian. We can’t even begin to fathom a future if all we are doing right now is battling demons of yesterday.”
“I’m not going to rest until they’re all dead, Aideen.” His tone stiffened, raising its authority. “If that means my body is covered in tallies, then so be it. I will do whatever needs to be done to keep you alive. It just takes time. I have to do it right.” Right. I pressed my hands against his abdomen, my palms catching on his toned muscles as they adhered to his warmth. His pulse radiated through his skin, tensely reminding his body of its urgency.
“Just do it in a way that keeps you two idiots alive,” I griped, my hands slipping from his body before I stepped into the darkened hallway. I needed to find pajamas and desperately wanted to sleep for the next week, hoping Julian would handle whatever needed to be done while I dreamt of unicorns and beaches.
“Babby,” he purred behind me, his hands catching my shoulders as I opened the bedroom door, “what we said in there…I don’t want you to worry. It will be handled, and I’ll only involve you if there is absolutely no other way. But please don’t leave.”
“Leave?” I spun around, overwhelmed with confusion. Julian’s hands pressed into his hips as he nervously stood before me.
“You think I’m leaving? Put on a damn shirt and find me some pajamas, Fuckoy. I’m not going anywhere.”
Julian gaped at me as though I was a coveted museum exhibit: cautiously, in awe, and despondently. My shoulders dropped in a huff before I replied, placing my right arm around his muscular forearm. He looks so vulnerable. I can’t handle it. That wasn’t the man who sauntered into my coffee shop, flashing Mr. Friendly with his seductive smile.
“Julian, I’m not going anywhere. There’s no point in standing there, debating who is more dangerous or trying to even talk about anything when we have so much to discuss that’s separate from…it’s not really his business. Whatever is between us. This…”
“I just…” His hands flew to my neck, palms warm against my skin as his thumbs caressed my jaw, radiating his touch throughout my body. “I just got you back.”
“And again, I’m not leaving. Not tonight at least. Have any other omissions that I should know about?”
“I love you.” Julian’s palms pressed into my skin, almost like his body’s natural response as it sent those words into me with a warm wave of his voice. My head dropped against my shoulder, squishing his right palm under my jaw.
“Give me your pants or find me another pair because I’m done. Please.” I smashed into Julian’s bare chest as he tugged me against him, kissing my forehead before stepping around me into the bedroom. I was slow to turn around, my mind grasping his words while I listened to the soundtrack of Liam in the kitchen and Julian behind me, shuffling through a dresser drawer.
“Do you want mine or these?” I heard him question from inside the bedroom. I guess I should turn around and acknowledge the fact he keeps his lyrics of love on repeat. Do I want his pants or do I want in his pants? Oh, Aideen, honey, you literally just got these memories back. Calm yourself, woman. Turning as slowly as molasses drizzled, I glanced at Julian while entering the bedroom and closed the door behind me.
“Aren’t they both yours?” I acknowledged the pair of gray sweatpants in his hands, crisply folded and surely smelling like three thousand dollar detergent. When does he do laundry? This, I must see. With a humored head shake, Julian pressed the folded pants into my crossed arms and promptly sorted through another drawer, from which he removed a black thermal shirt and proceeded to shove that on top of my sweatpants.
“They’re yours now.” His hands squeezed the top of my shoulders while Julian kissed my forehead. “I need a glass of water. Do you want anything?”
“Your gun,” I muttered, tossing the clothes atop the mattress, “and a glass of wine that isn’t shattered from your vivid temper. Please. Oh!”
“What?” He pulled away from me, softly chuckling with gentle rolling blue eyes that scanned my face.
“I’d really, really like if you would put on a shirt. The whole, like, super buff, mob tattoos, muscle thing you are exuding right now is relatively intimidating and extremely manipulative.” I smiled at him, a genuine laugh flirting with my mouth. My heart was calm. I am calm with him. Julian. Now put on a freakin’ shirt!
“We could both intimidate and manipulate one another if we both had our shirts off.” He grinned, winking at me as his hands dropped from my shoulders.
“Wow.” I stepped away, giggling like an idiot. “Okay, Liam.” Julian sighed, a teasing smile still plastered across his horrendous face, and pulled a black undershirt from the dresser.
“Satisfied?” he inquired, waving the shirt before me as I mounted the bed.
“I will be once you put it on,” I mumbled, hugging a pillow against my chest and watching as he wiggled into the fabric. “Better. I win.”
“No, Aideen.” He slowly enclosed the space between us, his thighs pressing into the mattress as he leaned toward me, his eyes wide and alert. “I have won.”
My vision transfixed, mesmerized by the rays of blue and green vividly illuminating Julian’s stare. Hot. It’s hot in here. Someone. Window. Open. Need air. His right thumb lifted to my mouth, softly tugging down against my bottom lip, his eyes trailing to his masterful fingers touching my skin. What’s happening? Julian tore away from me and left the bedroom, leaving me wanting. The bastard is a man of his word.
In his absence, I swiftly changed out of my funeral attire and into Julian’s sweatpants and shirt, both designer, and both surely costing more than my utility bill. Damn it. Now I smell like him. It’s like I can’t escape this delicious torture. My fingers pressed against the pendant still dangling around my neck as I climbed into bed, ready to shut out the world and Liam, stuffing my face between two pillows. This is where he slept. Sleeps. Dreamt and dreams. The soft noise of the door opening pulled my mind from thoughts of what Julian looked like while asleep. The sound was followed by silence, but his presence vibrated almost poetically throughout the room, willing my hands to tug the pillow from my face.
“Here’s your wine.” Julian stood at the small table to my side, placing my wine near the frosted glass lamp that barely illuminated the room. “So…all tucked in then?”
“Yes.” I scooted myself vertical, pleased to swallow from the glass of chilled Riesling. “Thank you.” I noticed him nod and avert his eyes to the floor while the fingers of his left hand raked through his styled hair.
“Well…then,” he stammered, crossing his arms. “I’ll just be in the, um, the living room if you need me, or if you need anything.” The living ro—right. This is where he sleeps. Do it. Do it. Do it. You know you want him to stay with you. You can feel the blanket of security that consumes you when he’s in the same space as you. The mere thought of Julian Molloy adds a protective barrier around your heart.
“Julian,” I blurted, stumbling to place my wine glass against the small table, “this is where you sleep, right? You can stay. Just…don’t tell me anymore tonight that you…that you l—” Because I don’t want to cry. Please don’t tell me how much you love me because those words are so foreign, so prevailing. You can’t love me.
“Sorry, baby.” His mouth spread widely as he ambled toward the other side of the bed. “I’m going to do that on the hour if that’s what it takes for you to comprehend it.” Baby.
“You’re insufferable,” I playfully groaned while shifting further away to make room for him. His left arm tangled around mine, a possessive vine adhering me to him.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” I promised, rolling my eyes at the demon sharing my bed. His bed. My bed. Our bed. He was still above the covers, tightening the cocoon in which I placed myself beneath the comforter.
“Good.” He grinned, effectively turning my insides into a pile of mush within the softening confines of my wea
kening resolve. His left fingers tickled my back, slowly lulling me into euphoria. If his fingers can do that through a thermal shirt, just imagine. Oh, Buddha, Sinatra, and Eloise. I need more wine or more sleep.
My hands pressed against his chest, frozen as Julian’s strength kept us as one. My fingertips lightly trailed where I knew the tallies were engraved, a reminder of the expense of his loyalty. His tattoos. My mind ran away, searing the image of Julian’s artwork into my memory. The cross.
“Julian,” I whispered against his chest, “you asked me earlier if I thought anyone else would want to hurt me. I had a nightmare recently. It was about the hospital.”
“Oh?”
“It was your tattoo.” I felt his chin lift from my head before his body wiggled back from me so his eyes could question mine.
“You had a nightmare about one of my tattoos?”
I shook my head. “No. Yes. No. It’s your cross. That’s why I felt familiar with it when I’d seen it that night we kissed for the first time here.”
“You’re confusing me, darling.” His chin returned to the top of my head, nuzzling my face against his slowly rising chest. “However, I’d be happy to speak more of that kiss with you. I remember it fondly. It was quite…passionate. Wasn’t it?”
“Please listen to me,” I pressed, ignoring his flirtation. “Your cross tattoo, Julian. In my dream, someone tried to hurt me, and I remembered it. I remembered seeing a cross.”
“I would never hurt you, Aideen. But it appears I have so deeply that you’re having nightmares about me doing so. I don’t know how to fix that.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry.” I struggled beneath his hold and sat up in bed, pushing the covers from my body as I turned to Julian.
“You’re not hearing me, Julian. It wasn’t you. The tattoo was so much like yours, though, and that’s why seeing yours shook something in me. It brought something back from what they’d taken. That nightmare was too real, Julian. It was horrific.”
His posture met mine, all humor leaving his expression to be replaced with worry. “Tell me what you remember,” he encouraged, his eyes wide with anticipation.
I glanced away, my nerves rattling with angst about what can of Irish mob worms I was about to open. Julian was my only link between the worlds warring in my heart, between dream and nightmare. He would know if my thoughts were fiction. He has to. I found myself desperately counting on Julian, as though my words would seal his research, ending the torment.
“Baby,” he cooed, his knuckles grazing my jaw and pulling my attention back to him, “tell me who I need to end.” He missed a b. Sigh. No he didn’t. That’s what I am to him, a walking endearment.
“Now you’re smiling,” he scoffed with a laugh. “Aideen, you’re really worrying me right now. Please just tell me about your dream. I can help you figure this out. We can work through it together. Just tell me.” My thoughts tumbled into the past, a voyage my mind dreaded.
“I don’t remember exactly what it looked like.” I devoured the detail of his face while the shattered memory threatened to break me; his eyes darkened but continued to shine, and his mouth gaped slightly as though on the verge of speaking while he patiently waited. “But I remember it was like yours, except for…it had these, like…sideways signs for pi, or something like that.”
“Draw it,” he demanded, hurriedly removing himself from the bed. I froze while he scoured a drawer in the dresser, pulling out a small pad of yellow sticky notes and a pen. They were chucked at me, smacking my lap with a soft thud, causing my eyes to lock with his in confusion.
“Draw,” he grunted, his nostrils widening with his heightened intensity, “it.” Okay, Picasso, hold on. His smile faded, drifting away with any comforting flirtatious humor, but I barely noticed, having been entirely intimidated by his rigid form. Julian’s arms were tightly grasping the back of his head, exposing his clenched muscles extending from the tightened sleeve of his shirt. Julian’s left knee pressed onto the mattress while he stood next to me, towering with intimidating authority.
Lifting the pen and pad of notes to my lap, I let a shaky inhale consume me, holding it securely in my lungs as my memory drifted into the past. It looks like pi, a sideways pi, or a strange “F.” I don’t know. What’s the significance here, Fuckoy? My right hand trembled, able to construct a wiggly representation of a broken nightmare. I studied Julian in my periphery while I sketched the torment. His chest slowly rose and fell, inhaling all of our air before releasing it back to me, consuming the room and everything in it, including me.
“H-Here.” I handed the pad to him. “This is what I remember from my dream. I don’t know. It’s sort of like that.” Julian’s attention was absorbed by the drawing, his eyes flashing with thought before he tossed the pad onto the dresser. He silently leaned over me, grabbing the pen and returning it to the dresser.
“Julian?”
“What, Aideen?” What, Aideen? What?
“Don’t keep things from me,” I warned, pulling the blanket against my body as I sunk beneath the covers. “No omissions. No lies. No secrets.”
It was eerily silent as our muted minds battled one another, conflicting with mutual confusion and stubbornness. I peeked across the mattress at Julian, his eyes burning my reflection into my pupils.
“Julian,” I whispered, my tone light, “please come back. Tell me what you’re thinking instead of standing there looking like you want to kill someone.”
“I do,” he stiffly replied, his gaze refocusing from a lost stare. Gulp. Well, at least he’s being honest. Swallowing whatever was left of my past life within the nerves in my throat, I turned on my side and extended my hand toward his.
“Julian?” His name was still deliciously foreign on my tongue, spending many an hour consuming my thoughts but seldom my lips. Well, he consumed my lips. His name is another story. A lovely story.
My fingertips found his, tightly wrapping my pathetic squeeze around him and gaining his attention. A pitiful attempt at a smile flickered along his mouth as his demeanor altered, softening as much as possible with whatever awareness burdened his thoughts. He secured both warm palms around my hand, sighing heavily before his body again joined mine on the mattress, tugging at the comforter wrapped around me.
“There aren’t many people who have this tattoo within their cross,” he began. “It’s earned. It is a symbol for a warrior, someone who fought for leadership in battle. Someone in charge.”
“Why don’t you have it?” Julian’s left palm glided along my jaw, his long fingers spreading their possessive comfort along my skin while he considered my words.
“Because my battle isn’t about power, Aideen. It’s about you, and I already have a tattoo for that.” His hold pressed into my skin before releasing as Julian fell to his back, the same hand covering his face. “I told you I’m not like them.”
“But you’re in charge…aren’t you?”
“I’m meant to be, but that’s not me, Aideen. Do you remember in the hospital when I told you I’d leave it all behind? Do you recall any of what we discussed? I promised you that I would drop all of this to be with you…to be happy. To be together.” Together. I wondered if his words connected with his thoughts, meeting with the reality of his position within the Molloy family and the public, both of whom were mobs in their own. Together.
“Will it always be this heavy?” I smiled apologetically at Julian, receiving his warm lips against my forehead in response. Tingles are literally spreading along my skin. Oh, they just reached my toes. I shook in bed as Julian climbed over me to the other side of the mattress, landing with a soft thud at my back. His right hand wove around my body, clinging to me as the scruff along his jaw ravaged its way across my neck while nestling in the crook of my shoulder. Julian’s lips were at my ear, the inaudible crackle of his words vibrating into my mind while he spoke.
“Unfortunately. However, we’re incredibly strong. You have no idea of what we are capable together.” Together. That word filled my h
eart with a foreign longing, pulsating its want throughout my core. I glanced down at the decorated arm wound around my body, lifting a hand to hold it. His skin was so warm and deceptively soft. His tattoos. The marks of a warrior, whether he was a leader or not. A leader. A warrior. In charge.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Julian,” my forehead creased in worry, “who would have a tattoo like that?”
“Oh,” his sigh was hushed, words sleepily flowing from his mouth, “someone important, I suppose. Any other questions before I hold you against me all night and dream only of you, darling?”
I turned around, falling on my back so I could look at him. He was on his side, his arm limply lying across his chest once I’d moved from beneath its hold. He went from intensely alert to limp within three minutes, his breathing slowed before my very eyes. I woke him from sleep before, saw him wake, but never had I witnessed the vision that was Julian Molloy falling asleep.
“Mmm,” he murmured. “Come here, babby.”
“Can I ask you something? Julian?” I interrupted his sleeping attempt to hold my head against his chest, although in that moment there wasn’t much else I desired. Dark sapphires peered at me through squinting eyelids, beckoning my thoughts.
He slowly turned onto his side, placing his right hand against my hip, a delicate gesture reminding me of his affection and protection, permitting my inquiry.
“When I was in the hospital…and everything that we talked about and did…did we ever…I mean…” I felt the pressure of his palm heavily against my hip as Julian leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss against each of my eyelids while I blinked away my blush. My fingers nervously twirled around the pendant dangling along my clavicle.
“No,” he whispered, “some treasures are worth the wait. Goodnight, babby.”
The emptiness consuming my lungs relieved my chest, delightfully tickling its path throughout my soul. It began with gentle warmth, kindly greeting me as my eyelids sagged with pleasurable exhaustion and comfort. Comfort to feel nothing, comfort from feeling everything. The pleasant intoxication of imminent slumber never promised so much until I was lying in Julian’s arms, my body lulled into my dreams by the slow movement of his rising chest.
