I’m not really sure how to respond to that, and I’m not sure I want to get into some big political debate either.
Silence descends for a few minutes, but it’s not uncomfortable.
“You should see a match before you head back to the States,” he says, doing a complete three-sixty. “The buzz is amazing.”
I roll with it. “When does the season run?” I ask, trying to ignore how close we’re standing. I can almost feel the heat rising from his body.
“From May to September.”
“I’ll probably stick around for the summer, so maybe I can catch a game then.” I’m loving it here, and it’s definitely helping to be away from the press intrusion in the States.
Dillon turns his head to stare at me, drilling me with one of those deep intense looks of his, as if he’s looking straight into my soul and discovering all my secrets.
“What?” I ask, worried I might have dried sauce left on my face from lunch.
“Nothing.” He offers me a tight smile before turning his head.
I grind my teeth to the molars. “I know you have something on your mind, so just say it.”
He looks straight ahead as I stare at the side of his face, noting the tense set of his jaw. He has a gorgeous side profile. Chiseled high cheekbone. Full soft lips I’m sure deliver the best kisses. And a strong jawline coated in a sexy layer of stubble that would feel delicious scraping against my thighs. Arousal swirls in my belly, and I try to focus my thoughts because swooning over a guy like Dillon is only inviting a world of hurt.
His face isn’t perfect though. The little ridge on his nose and the small scar over his right eyebrow ensure that. Yet these small flaws only add to his appeal, as well as the conundrum his personality presents.
We’ve been chatting a lot today, and he’s almost like a different person. He’s been in great spirits, and he has a wicked sense of humor. I doubt we needed any of our tour guides as his local knowledge and memory for historical facts is incredible. When he’s not acting the clown, he’s articulate and intelligent, and I’m struggling to see how a guy like this could deem himself unworthy of love. Unless he normally keeps this side of himself hidden, and the hostile angry version I was presented with at first is the mask he usually wears.
“I was expecting you to run back home to your boyfriend the instant exams are over,” he says, through gritted teeth, yanking me out of my head.
Panic flares to life in my chest at his words. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I croak, glancing around to ensure the others are out of earshot.
“Don’t you?” he asks, eyeballing me again.
“Not anymore,” I whisper.
His gaze turns dark as his eyes bore into mine. Tension filters into the air, and I swallow the painful lump in my throat to force more words out. “You know who I am.”
He nods, and I try to control my errant breathing, gripping the rail and exhaling heavily.
“Breathe,” he says, placing his large palm against my lower back. Heat seeps into my body from his touch, even through my clothes. “I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s why you’re panicking.”
“You’re not?” I inquire, raising my worried eyes to his. He shakes his head, looking sincere. “Why not?”
“Because it’s no one’s business but your own, and I misjudged you at first.”
“Did Ash tell you?” I ask because I need to know if she betrayed my trust.
He turns to face me, peering directly into my eyes. I fight the urge to drown in the hypnotic depths of his gorgeous green eyes. “There is one major thing you should know about my sister, and that is she’s the most trustworthy person you will meet. I know she told you about Cillian. He took her trust and abused it. She would never do that to someone else.”
I instantly feel bad for doubting her for even a second. “I know. And she can trust me too, because I’ve had my trust abused and I could never do that to another person either.”
Lowering my eyes, I lean over the railing, wondering if he’s trustworthy or if his words are as flimsy as the air circling around us.
“I saw the photo by your bed, and I recognized your mum. Google told me the rest,” he admits.
I rest my head on my hands, ashamed to face him, even though I know I’ve done nothing wrong. I just don’t want to see the pity on his face.
“Don’t hide from me,” he says, his tone gruff. “I cannot stand people who run away from the truth.”