“Sometimes I can’t tell what’s on your mind,” he said, sliding her hand downward. “Other times, it appears quite evident that you’re contemplating filth.”

Her hand ran down his abs, his skin hot beneath her touch. With her eyes trained on his, she blushed. When will I stop blushing like this? “And right now?”

Her hand stopped at the hot stiff club under the covers.

“Pure filth,” he said.

It annoyed her when he was right. He read her thoughts and her body like no other man and it was unnerving how little she could keep from him. Under his intense gaze and soft caress, she came undone and couldn’t be put back together until they kissed. She couldn’t recall feeling this intensity with Derek. Even in the beginning, she was more nervous of messing up or not being the vixen he expected in bed. Anxiety made her brain tight as she performed pleasure for a man who barely asked if “it was good” for her.

“No, lass, back to filth,” he said.

Her mind snapped back to her fingers that encircled his cock. “How did you know?” she asked with a bemused grin.

“Your face is an open book that I can read well enough.” He cupped her cheek with one large hand. “It’s a book I want to lose myself in on a rainy afternoon.”

Another glimmer of tenderness that left her arrested yet full of hope. Antonia’s words died on her lips as she stared into his smiling eyes. Aiden made her tongue-tied and unable to think. She was clearly in lust, but there was something about him that made her want to stay in his arms, safe from the world and from the hurt Derek had caused. Antonia squeezed her hand in response.

“Oh, there she is,” he said with a chuckle.

While Aiden had his nose in his French Revolution romance novel, Antonia tapped her story on her tablet and jotted notes in her notebook. They sat quietly in the cafe where she’d originally planned to visit when she planned her Clifden trip. This was also their second time in a cafe after their fight in Letterfrack. As Antonia paused to drink coffee, she glanced at Aiden and felt they were in a better place. He shifted in his seat while flipping to the next page and furrowed his brow at a passage. She wanted to ask him where he was in the story, but thought against it. No need to pull him away from the pleasure of romance. Instead, Antonia smiled and let her gaze drift around the small cafe.

The eatery’s large windows faced the street, giving her a fascinating view of a new world. Tourists occasionally stopped in, some with large backpacks or with bored children in tow. An American family walked in with two children under fifteen who were attached to cellphones. The father, who appeared exhausted, asked the boy and girl what they wanted to drink several times before they were able to pry their eyes from their screens. Antonia shook her head, struggling to imagine her mother having had the resources to take her or Octavia abroad. It was impossible, but she knew Diane would’ve liked a place like Ireland. Her mother had grown up with a desire to be a stewardess, traveling in a cute uniform to far off cities like London and Paris. But like many women of her time, life happened, and she’d been forced to put her dreams on hold. With deferred dreams and a dead husband, Diane pushed Antonia and Octavia to perform what should have been seen as miracles. Leaving the Southside of Chicago and going to school and when finished with that, attending more school. Their mother’s pushing and nagging had created as much friction as it produced success.