I drew back, a rueful chuckle shaking us both. “Sorry.” Orla kissed my temple. “For what?” “For derailing what we were talking about.” Beneath the tats, there was a flush to Orla’s pale skin, a heat in her gaze that let me know she was spinning as much as I was. But Nash, man. None of this could happen until I understood the tick in his brain that had wrenched him from me earlier. Can’t hurt him. I’d rather fuckin’ die.
