My Pulse

Chapter 4: Cian O'Shea

I push through the crowd as loud pop music reverberates from the walls around me. I've seen Quinn's obnoxious friend lead her here, and I need to find her. "Ah-ha, there you are," I mutter to myself when I spot her across the dance floor.

She's dancing with her friend Jillian, and they've just gotten new drinks. From the color and what I know about Quinn, it's Jack and Coke with no ice. I stare at her with the possessiveness I feel bubbling inside me, wanting and needing to unleash it. I can't wait for her to be mine.

I tell myself I'll patiently wait tonight to talk to her in person. It's not my style, but I'll wait. Tonight, I plan to introduce myself, and I hope I can keep myself under control long enough to do so.

Two hours later, I don't think my luck will ever turn around. I've been watching her dance with a couple of men, and the bartender is eye-stalking her almost as obsessively as me. If it weren't for the obvious lack of interest on her part, I might have spoiled all of my plans and taken her away tonight.

Quinn has no clue she's the most beautiful woman in this place, and that fact makes her stand out even more. My pulse rises as I watch her, full of life, dancing. She's incredible and transfixing.

In a very short time, Quinn has become the only person I care about. My heart beats in rhythm with her hips.

Quinn is everything I've ever wanted. Her hips sway gently, and my chest tightens. This is a feeling worth chasing.

I stare at my princess, and my heart thrums violently in my chest. She's so beautiful, swaying to the beat.

I smile, finally understanding what my dad's nickname for my mom means: *Mo Cuishle*—my pulse, the one who makes my heart beat.

Quinn makes my heart race.

I can't believe my luck. Here's my chance, I think, as she grabs her jacket to go outside to the smoking deck. I didn't know she was a smoker. How did I miss this trivial fact?

I sneak out first and stand in the shadow of a tree in the dimly lit smoking area. Quinn shakily reaches into her purse to grab a light, and I notice the expression of relief after her first inhale.

I wonder if she's shaking because it's cold or for another reason. Quinn looks anxiously from side to side before gazing up at the sky. Her smile lights up her face when she notices the stars. It's almost unheard of to see them in Galway.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?" I say, watching her flinch in surprise.

Her gaze whips down and locks onto mine. "You," she says with a mix of shock and, maybe—dare I say it—wonder.

"Well, that isn't my name, but if you want to call me that, I won't stop you," I tell her, raising my hands in mock defeat. I see her chin go up as she snaps her head and body defiantly.

Seeming like she's made up her mind about something, Quinn asks, "What is your name?"

I take two significant steps forward, and to my surprise, she stands her ground. I grasp her hand as my gaze locks onto hers. I slowly bend down and place a kiss on it, for the princess she is. My lips barely brush against her delicate skin before Quinn rips her hand out of my grasp before the kiss can settle.

"Look, I actually don't care about your name. Don't tell me. I don't want to know, and I don't appreciate you treating me like a spoiled child," she says hastily.

Pretending I don't hear her, I say, "Cian O'Shea, and I don't think you're a child in any sense of the word," I reply bluntly, looking her up and down.

"Well, Cian, objectifying women is a boy's task. Stop fucking following me." On that jab, she quickly spins around, puts out her cigarette, and angrily heads back into the bar.