Page 51 of Defiant Queen (Mount Trilogy 2)
“No. She received an email from you explaining.”
Keira’s eyes widen. “How? You better not have hacked my freaking email. That’s just—”
“Easy?” I supply the correct adjective.
“You can’t do that! Tell the pilot to turn the plane around right now.”
“The fact that you still think you can give me orders never ceases to amaze me.”
Her temper rises, and fire burns in her gaze. “If you think taking me to some private island is going to somehow make me easier to control, you’ve completely misjudged me.”
If I hadn’t had that conversation with Lucas Titan, I might have thought of doing something like that, but his w
ords made a sizeable impact.
“It is an island.”
“You—”
Before Keira can unleash whatever expletives she’s planning, I pull a file from beneath my laptop and drop it in her lap. She flips it open and stares down at it before jerking her shock-filled gaze up to mine.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “We’re going to Dublin? To the Global Whiskey and Spirts Conference? Please tell me this isn’t a joke, because it wouldn’t be funny.”
I raise an eyebrow. I’m not the joking type.
Keira’s eyes look like they might bug out of her head. “Holy shit.”
She drops the file that contains the doodled-on brochure I stole off her desk the first night I made myself at home in her office. She covers her face with both hands before bringing them together in a prayer-like position in front of her nose.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say. This is . . . definitely not what I expected.” She closes the file and continues to speak. “I’ve literally wanted to go to GWSC since I was old enough to know what it was.”
I shrug, barely restraining my triumphant grin. “Well, now you’re going.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Her gaze meets mine, and there’s something in it I’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at me. A mix of awe, gratitude, and something else . . . Joy, I think.
“Then don’t.”
She shakes her head. “No. I have to.” She pauses, pressing her lips together. “Thank you. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but . . . thank you.”
Keira
I jerk awake in Mount’s arms as he settles me into the backseat of a car. “Where are we?”
“Dublin. You missed the rest of the flight. Also, you snore.”
My mouth drops open. “I do not.”
One corner of his mouth quirks upward. “You do at altitude and when you’re drunk.”
The driver closes the door and I shoot Mount a glare, but it’s impossible to keep it in place as the car pulls away from an airport and onto the streets leading into Dublin.
Giddiness fills me. I’ve wanted to come here my whole life. This is the city and the country where my family comes from, where our whiskey was born. This is my heritage. My roots. I still can’t believe the man beside me is the one who finally made it happen.
“I’m really here,” I whisper as I stare out the window, taking in all the wonderful sights as we near the city. It’s early morning, and the city is coming to life for the day.
“Where does your family come from in Ireland?” Mount asks.
