by Cora York
“It’s not me I’m afraid of.” Her neck flushed crimson, and confusion laced her voice. “Do you do that a lot? Kiss women you’ve just met?”
“But we haven’t just met, have we? How did you sell it? Like Tristan and Isolde, we were destined to be together. Branwen, the goddess of love and beauty, helped us find each other. We met in a pub, and even though we lived on different continents, our paths overlapped many, many times. Before your granny immigrated to Queens in the 1900s, she lived two streets away from where I was eventually born and raised. I know all of your Irish relatives. I even went to school with your second cousins. The thin red thread of fate brought us together. We moved in after a week because we couldn’t live without each other. At least that’s how you sold it, right?”
Tessa crossed her arms again and locked them in place with a white-knuckle grip. A tight-lipped smile slashed a scarred line across her beautiful face. “Someone really screwed you over. God, I feel sorry for you.”
“Sorry for me? Are you for real?” Could she read the past in my eyes, see the cynicism and betrayal lingering there? Was her ability to read people the reason she was such a good con artist? And to think I wanted to help her. More fool me.
For a brief second, I closed my eyes and rubbed my eyelids. “You might think I don’t know you, but I do.” I stared her down. “You’re like every other woman who lies and cheats to get what she wants. A master manipulator who’s so entrenched in her own lies she doesn’t know what’s fact and what’s fiction.”
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
What was wrong with me? My emotions swung faster than a pendulum on a grandfather clock. I was acting like an arsehole. She was right. I was a jerk and everything else she’d accused me of. I wanted to pull her to me, apologize, to say I’d do all I could to help, but the words disintegrated on my tongue.
“Who’s being typical now?” My words went from sharp to soft. “Your tears won’t work on me, sweetheart.”
But they did.
Chapter Seven
Tessa
I barreled up the rest of the stairs, swiping the hot tears from my cheeks. Why couldn’t I ever get angry without tears? And more importantly, why had my body melted into Keegan’s the way it had with zero resistance? Wasn’t I supposed to hate him? Wasn’t I supposed to never fall for another Irishman?
Wanting to erase his taste, I scrubbed the back of my hand over my mouth. Useless. His taste lingered on my lips. His touch tingled my skin. And way he’d tugged my hair prickled my scalp.
The space between my thighs throbbed, swollen and damp. If his mouth elicited that kind of response, what could the rest of his body do? It was so, so tempting to find out if only to pacify the hormones pummeling my insides.
I shook my head and slapped my fists against the sides of my thighs. The schizoid Stockholm syndrome I was suffering from had to stop. I’d known him for less than twelve hours, yet here I was, ready to spread ‘em and have him take me against a freaking wall.
Destroying my livelihood and future was his goal for Christ’s sake, he was blackmailing me. Well, he wouldn’t get away with it. No matter what it took, I’d fight for what was mine, but I had to stay away from him until I got my libido on a leash.
I grabbed a set of linens from the laundry room and made my way to the Àine suite. After opening the door, I stood by the threshold, inspecting my home for the next week.
Besides two unlit sconces on either side of a shabby needlepoint tapestry of a bored lady on a white stallion, the exposed stone walls were bare. There was no real color scheme or much furniture.
Gray damask curtains hung by two latticed windows, and an ornately carved chair which wouldn’t look out of place in a church sat in front of a curved vanity table with an age-speckled mirror.
Two flowery wing-backed chairs stood at an angle by the weak fire Brendan had lit. In the center of the room was a bed—a four-poster queen canopied by sheer drapes.
Nope. Not happening. Not in this lifetime or the next. Since my body sent my mind on vacation whenever Keegan was around, we weren’t sharing a bed. He could sleep on the floor. Too bad for him if he didn’t want to. But maybe he… No.
I sighed and closed the door behind me. There was no point stalling in the hallway. This was my new home, whether I liked it or not.
I threw the linens hanging over my arm onto the unmade mattress. Brendan, being an angel as always, had brought up my suitcase.
Jack Frost dashed around the room, and I shivered under the vicious nip of his fingers. Needing to chase the chill from the air, I grabbed two pieces of peat from a brass bucket by the grate and threw them onto the wispy flames. Satisfied by the earthy aroma the spiraling smoke gave off, I toed off my boots and socks and kicked them toward the bed.
The flagstone floor cooled my burning insteps, and if my feet could talk, I was sure they would offer profuse thanks for their freedom.
I padded across the floor to the window. The storm outside showed no signs of letting up. Deceptively innocent snowflakes spiraled downward, disintegrating on contact with the sluggish Lough Veagh. By morning, a shell of ice and a blanket of snow would cover its surface.
Pressure built behind my eyes. What a mess. Twenty-eight years old working for a pittance and praying the one man who knew my secret would keep it. How had I let my life get to this?
Daylight dimmed, and drowsiness trickled into my bones. Ignoring my tired reflection, I leaned my forehead against the frosted windowpane, my warm breath fogging the inside of the glass.
If I could get through the next few days without falling to the floor and curling into the fetal position, I could get through anything.
A dull ache pulsed between my shoulder blades, and I rolled my shoulders back to work out the kinks. Wedding planning could wait for another hour while I soaked in a bath hot enough to scald my skin. Disappearing from reality for a while was the perfect solution. I would close my eyes and pretend I hadn’t said the most infuriating yet sexiest man I’d ever met was my fiancé.
Subdued light from a frosted window spilled into the slate-tiled bathroom. A broom-closet-sized shower cubicle stood at the far end of the room, and a heavenly white claw-footed tub with a curved top sat in the middle.
Beside the tub was a wicker basket filled with a dusty mishmash of soaps and soaks. I rummaged around and chose a small purple bottle with a picture of lavender on the label. There was no knowing how old it was or if it was still in date, and there was only one way to find out. I opened the bottle and sniffed. It didn’t smell like it would melt my skin on contact.
I turned the squeaky faucets and poured the purple liquid into the steaming flow of water. A soft, musky aroma drifted upward, and I prayed it would help unwind some of the tension twisting my muscles. The thought of lowering myself into the plump bubbles and soaking until my skin wrinkled filled me with happy anticipation.
Making sure I locked the bathroom door because Keegan catching me naked and covered in bubbles would be a disaster, I undressed.
I tested the temperature with my toes and then inched my adrenaline-ravaged body into the welcoming warmth. My muscles turned to goo on contact. A glass of wine would relax me even more, or better, a bottle. Barb had the right idea, but getting wasted wasn’t the answer, even if it sounded like a perfectly reasonable solution.
My mind drifted back to Keegan’s kiss, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine he was my fiancé. The day’s events blurred, and I pictured him sitting behind me in the tub, his firm thighs encasing mine. Perhaps locking the door wasn’t one of my better ideas. What would happen if he walked in on me?
To shut the world out, I closed my eyes and imagined him holding me, kissing me, stroking me. Beneath the water, my nipples stiffened, and an all too familiar ache settled deep in my pelvis.
Stop.
Right now.
What the actual fuck was I doing? My eyes snapped open, and I hauled in a mammoth breath. Keegan Devlin was not my fiancé
, and imagining he was anything more than an asshole was a colossal mistake. This—everything—was his fault. If he hadn’t storm-trooped into my life and kissed me, then my body wouldn’t crave or ache for his touch.
Groaning at my foolish fantasy, I sank into the water and cushioned my chin on top of the bubbles. If it wasn’t all so ludicrous, I would’ve laughed at the way my body reacted to him. And even though I knew it was ludicrous, an insane need urged me to brush my fingers over my nipples and then go lower.
Cooling water hauled me from a deep sleep, and when my eyes flew open, dark shadows from the night sky had claimed the bathroom. I leaped out of the tub and grabbed a rough towel from the rail behind the door.
Stepping into Antarctica would’ve been warmer than stepping onto the floor. I shivered, and goosebumps pebbled my skin, and I half expected my extremities to turn black from frostbite.
A puffy reflection stared back from the gilded mirror hanging over the sink. My so-called waterproof mascara had leaked into every fine line around my eyes. No one would believe I hadn’t been partying hard.
I grabbed a makeup wipe from my toiletry bag and scrubbed my raccoon eyes. When I no longer looked like I’d been on a two-day bender, I threw on a papery white robe that stank of industrial detergent and opened the bathroom door.
The flames now crackled merrily in the hearth and bathed the room in a cozy glow. A night by the fire catching up on emails while binge-watching Christmas movies seemed heavenly.
A gentle snore from behind the canopy told me I wasn’t alone. Shit. He must have sneaked in while I was asleep in the tub.
I inched the gauzy curtain back. Keegan’s sprawled body took up most of the freshly made bed, his chest rising and falling with every breath. He’d changed from his suit into a ratty Mets tee and a pair of gray sweatpants. Max curled up by his side, and the sight of them napping together, hugged my heart.
Firelight danced across the contours of Keegan’s face, highlighting his long eyelashes and high cheekbones. There was no denying he was sexy as hell. Shame his personality would give the devil a run for his money.
He shifted on the mattress, and the edge of his t-shirt rode up. A thin rope of dark hair twisted down his flat stomach and beneath the elastic of his sweats. I looked closer. The suit he’d worn today hid a whole lotta nice. Ripped abs told me Keegan made good use of the gym. Tingles of pleasure bounced around my nerves. What was wrong with me? The sex-starved hormones assaulting my synapses needed to give it a rest.
He wasn’t a long-lost lover back to sweep me off my feet. Neither was he some kind of romantic hero or a prince charming who would make everything better with one kiss. Although, I wouldn’t mind walking my fingers down the line of his happy trail and wrapping my fingers around his c—
“Like what you see?” He asked, sounding sleepy. Max yawned, yipped, turned around, and snuggled into the crook of Keegan’s arm. Traitor.
I folded my arms. The outline of my hard nipples beneath the robe wasn’t something he needed to see. “I wanted to make sure you were still breathing because if you were, I was going to put a pillow over your face to remedy that.”
He rolled over and dove for my hand. “More lies.”
Afraid his touch would turn me to mush, I jumped out of his way and sat on the edge of a fireside chair. Taking care to avoid glancing in his direction, because I might surrender to my lust and leap on top of him, I yanked my robe tighter and rested my chin on top of my balled fists.
“We can’t sleep in the same bed,” I pointed out. “You know that, right?”
One of his hands held the sheer curtain back while the other hand absently stroked Max’s back. This would go down in my personal history as the first time I’d ever been jealous of a dog.
“Where do you want me to sleep? On the flagstone floor?”
“I’ll call Brendan and have him bring up a cot.”
“I’m six-two and 200 lbs, and you want me to sleep on a cot?” The bed creaked, adding all kinds of sordid images to my already X-rated thoughts. “When the fire dies, I’ll freeze to death. You’re not that cruel.”
I smiled, imagining him curled up in a ball and shivering on a narrow bed with the sheets sliding off. “I think you’ll find I am.”
“If you’re worried about your virtue, Tessa, it’s safe with me.”
If only it were my virtue that worried me. I gave my head a mental shake. For crying out loud, I was a grown woman capable of keeping myself in check. It wasn’t like I’d rip his clothes off in the wee hours and beg him to screw me.
“Fine. Whatever.” I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. “You can sleep in the bed but keep to your side. I’ll make sure there are enough pillows down the middle in case you feel like cuddling something during the night.”
“I wouldn’t dream of venturing into no man’s land. I value my life too much.”
“I’m a light sleeper. One move from you, and I’ll bite you where it hurts.”
“Promises. Promises.” His lidded gaze slid down my body, stopping on my bare legs.
Shit. When was the last time I’d shaved? A week ago? Longer. To check the prickle depth, I ran my toes up my calf. Less than two weeks, longer than one. Why did I even care?
“Does that mean you’re okay sharing a bed?” he asked.
“It’s not like I have much of a choice.” Who was I kidding? I had lots of choices, but sharing a bed with Keegan, even if he were a stranger, wouldn’t be all that bad. Would it? It wasn’t like I hadn’t shared a bed with a stranger before. But at least this time, it wouldn’t end with drunk, disappointing sex followed by a walk of shame in wrinkled clothes and smeared makeup. My college years hadn’t been my finest.
I stomped over to my suitcase, unzipped it, and selected a pair of fleecy pajamas covered with cartoon Christmas kittens.
“Very sexy.” Keegan raised a judgmental eyebrow. “You can be certain no moves will be made with you wearing those.”
“They’re not for your benefit. And anyway, look who’s talking. You’re wearing a washed-out t-shirt and sweatpants. Lucky lady who gets to go to bed with you.”
He stretched, causing his t-shirt to ride higher, revealing more of the delicious line running down the center of his abdomen. “Got that right.” He showed he wasn’t serious by giving me a cheeky smile and a sexy wink.
I bit back a grin, grabbed a lacy, black thong from my suitcase, and threw it on the bed beside him. “Those more your taste?”
Using his pointer finger, he scooped up the flimsy thong and dangled it from his fingertip. “Not really. Underwear tends to get in the way. I’d rip these off in less than a second.”
My breath hitched, and my heartbeat accelerated. Would he use his teeth or his hands to rip them off? “Are you always so… you?”
“What’s wrong with being me?”
“If only I had time to make a list.” I hugged my PJs to my chest and marched into the bathroom.
Leaning against the vanity, I took several deep breaths before facing myself in the mirror. My eyes sparkled, and a rosy glow flushed my cheeks, which pissed me off even more. “Asshole. Shithead.”
Shaking with a mixture of cold and anger and something else I didn’t want to acknowledge, I shoved my pajamas on in record time. When my temper had subsided enough to go into the bedroom without picking up the closest blunt object and throwing it at him, I put a wide smile on my face and opened the door.
“I’m going to get some hot chocolate, do some work, then I’m going to sleep.”
“Live it up why don’t you?” Keegan was already beneath the covers and had erected a barricade of pillows down the middle of the bed.
“Judge me all you want, but you don’t have a clue.” I slid my feet into furry bunny slippers and left the room.
Chapter Eight
Keegan
I caught sight of Tessa’s skimpy underwear and picked them up. The scent of vanilla drifted upward—did everything of hers smell like cookies and summer?
Images of inhaling her scent through the sheer panties while I feasted on her attacked my senses. If I didn’t stop thinking about her, I’d need to take a shower—an extra-long one.
Balling the fabric in my hand, I threw the thong across the bed and reminded my twitching dick there was a job to do. Women like Tessa sucked men dry and left them for dust. Since Grace had ripped my heart out and offered it as a sacrifice to Lucifer, no other woman had remained in my life for more than a month. Once they began forgetting toothbrushes or earrings at my apartment, I gave them the clichéd, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ talk. But it was me. It was always me. If Grace hadn’t screwed me over for her boss, then…
Then I’d be in a loveless marriage with a woman who lies and cheats.
I laced my hands behind my head and closed my eyes, replaying the day I’d caught Grace shagging her boss in our new apartment. Finding them together almost destroyed me, and I swore no other woman would crawl under my skin again. I got it. Not all women were liars and cheats, but I had yet to meet a woman who didn’t bat her lashes or give a sweet smile to get what she wanted.
The bitter memories of Grace’s betrayal strengthened my resolve. Not even Tessa’s long eyelashes and greener than the ocean eyes were enough to make me give her the benefit of the doubt and back off. Until I knew better, she was the enemy.
Her thong caught my eye again. For fuck’s sake, there was nothing else for it, I’d have to take a shower after all.
By the time I’d showered and dried off, feeling more relaxed than before, Tessa lay in bed pretending to sleep, and Max had curled up by the fire.
Ten minutes under the steaming jets, among other things, allowed me to think and gave me some perspective. Tessa wasn’t Grace. I wouldn’t come clean about Shane, and I wouldn’t trust her, not yet, but I wanted to get her side of the story. Something I should have done before jumping on a plane like the ‘bloody eejit’ Brody had called him. Tomorrow, I hoped my cousin would ring me with whatever information he’d found.