by Megan Ryder
She frowned. “I left it on the front porch.”
“I could eat. Bring the nails.” His tone was neutral and he pulled the ladder away from the house, carrying around to the front. She followed more slowly, bringing the bucket of nails.
She scowled at his back, though she itched to trace the muscles and taste the sweat. “I would think you’d be a little more friendly after last night and considering I brought food. Or were you expecting someone else?”
“I thought Janine was stopping by to help board up the windows. We haven’t gotten the shutters up yet so I thought better to be safe.”
“I can help with that.”
He arched a brow at her. “Really? You hate heights.”
“Hey, I climbed that damned rock wall the other night and I volunteered with Habitat for Humanity. And I just climbed a freakin’ ladder for you.”
“You spent more time on your phone than building.” He reminded her.
She blushed. “Well, I left my phone at the house today. We probably won’t have Internet anyway and I’m on vacation.”
“You left your phone at the house? Wow, I’m shocked.” He leaned the ladder against the front of the house and looked at her small suitcase on the porch.
“I do things without it. Not many things, but I do. Besides, the chances of us having cell service is almost nonexistent. Now, do you want to eat or what?” She also wanted to prove to him, and herself, that she could spend an entire day without being tethered to the phone, to her job.
Her stomach grumbled. “Eat, definitely. Then you can help me board up the house.” Without another word, he grabbed her small suitcase and led the way into the house.
She grimaced but followed him into the house to the porch area. So much for being in love.
*
A few hours later and the cottage was all set for the storm. The clouds had thickened, making day seem almost as dark as night and waves roared in, angry with white foam, crashing against the rocks, water spraying in the air. Bands of rain had also moved in, lashing the cottage with winds and soaking rain. Brigid shivered in her clothes that were still damp from getting rained on when they were finishing boarding up the house when it had started.
Grady brought in the last of the outdoor objects like the Adirondack chairs and rocking chairs on the porch, storing them in the garage. They didn’t want those objects to become projectiles in the storm, damaging the house or other property, or causing injuries. He stamped his feet at the front door and kicked off his shoes there, shivering a little from the dampness. Brigid tossed him a towel.
“I wasn’t sure what you had here for towels so I brought a couple of sets. Is the shower working?”
He nodded. “It’s ready for them to move in basically. Caroline doesn’t know it but she’s spending her wedding night here, not at the hotel. So, we have it all ready for them. I think her mom is bringing over the last touches like towels and stuff. We’ll let Caroline do the rest of the furnishing.”
“Who did the furniture?”
He grinned, blushing a little. “Mostly Caroline’s mom but I helped out, especially some of the historic touches, like those light fixtures you brought with you Sunday. We know how much she likes the older cottage style so we tried to find furniture that would be from when this was first built.”
“How did you know what to get?”
He walked into the living room and pointed to one of the walls that had a series of pictures on them. “I went to the Island Historic Society. Since they were watching us closely and controlling what we could and could not do, I figured they would have some old photos of the place and layouts from the time it was built.”
“Really? I would have never thought that.” Brigid studied the pictures closely, peering into the images and seeing the exterior from different angles.
“Well, it was the house of one of the island founders so it was pretty important. In fact, I was surprised it was on the market at all.”
“I would have thought the island would want to keep it as a historic building.” She walked to the next of images which were interior shots from different eras.
“It’s too far out from the town center. They’ve settled for designating it a landmark and controlling what can be done to it. Fortunately, the last owners had opened it up a bit on the inside and the foundation couldn’t tell us that we had to go back to the original. This living area, dining and kitchen were two rooms.”
Brigid looked around and frowned. “That would have been so small. Caroline would have hated that. Who did the fireplace?”
“I did. Thank God there was a bricklayer on the island who knew how the original was. He couldn’t do the work but he advised me. So, I learned something new on this project.” The pride Grady took in his work was evident in every word.
She walked over to the fireplace and ran her hands over the stonework. So many stones of all sizes, fitted together perfectly to lend the room a casual but cozy air. She picked up a photo on the mantle. “Who is this?”
“Caroline when she was little right here in the backyard. I guess the people who lived here then had an annual picnic and Caroline came to one. Her mom says that was the day Caroline said she would live here someday.”
She placed the picture back on the mantle and ran her fingers over the inlaid piece of wood and sighed. “Grady, you do beautiful work. You’re a true artist.”
He colored at her words then cleared his throat. “Would like a tour?”
She turned and nodded eagerly.
*
Once they finished the tour, it was late in the afternoon and the storm had intensified. They had each showered quickly before they lost power and the hot water, and changed into comfortable and warm clothing, ready for a long night. Grady had inflated the air mattress for sleeping and put it to the side, out of the way, although Brigid’s gaze kept straying to it, much like her thoughts. He built a fire and they sat around the coffee table in the living room, spreading out the picnic that Brigid had brought with her, including brisket and rice, beer, and assorted desserts to pass the time. She leaned against the white sofa and rested her head on the soft cushions, letting out a quiet exhale. Despite having to hold boards and nails and defy death-by-step ladder, her muscles were relaxed and her mind silent, for once. The ocean waves sounded through the closed and boarded windows, and the cottage shook in the wind.
“Isn’t the sound of rain against the house soothing to you?” She closed her eyes, listening to the soothing sounds of the rain.
Grady looked up from his intense study of the fire. “I hadn’t really thought about it but I guess so.”
She lifted her head and studied him, the firelight casting shadows on his face. “I would have thought you would be the first to say that, considering how you live in the moment.”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
His taciturn reply was so uncharacteristic that she questioned her decision to stay. Not that she had much choice at this point but she should at least say something. The problem was she didn’t know what to say. So, she watched the fire and brooded.
After several moments, she said, “You know, I was dreading this week.”
He lifted his head and looked at her. “Why?”
“I don’t think I’ve taken a single vacation since I started. And now, we’re working on this huge deal, I’m up for a promotion, and things are just getting real.” She paused, took a deep breath, and continued in a rush. “I hate girl things. I don’t know how to deal with mani-pedis, massages, and girl talk. And then the bridal party dance?” She shuddered. “Hell on earth.”
He grinned. “You’ve faced a lot of your fears this week. I’m impressed, Brigid. But not surprised. You’re a strong, determined woman.” He sucked in a breath. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”
Brigid froze, his words sinking in, shredding her heart. She still couldn’t believe it was true. Sure, he had said it before but that was in a moment of passion and didn’t most guys say
those magic words to get sex? But to hear it again, here and now, maybe he really meant it. “You love me?”
He looked at her sideways. “I thought that was pretty obvious. Why else would I want a relationship with you?”
“Why? Why do you love me?” She almost didn’t ask but had to know.
“I just told you. Are you fishing for compliments?” He teased, a smile on his face for the first time that night.
She blushed. “I never do that.”
He slid across the floor and put his hand next to hers, his fingers brushing hers. She held her breath, feeling both terrified and exhilarated.
“No, you don’t. You never see your own strengths and attractive qualities.”
He leaned the last few inches and brushed his lips gently across hers, then settling in for a deeper kiss. She moaned and relaxed her mouth and he took that moment to slid his hand up her back to cup the back of her head and hold her firmly in place. His tongue swept in her mouth to tangle with hers, the taste of beer mingling with her coke. She sagged back against the couch and he shifted to press against her. Finally.
He lifted his head. “Did that answer your question?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Grady settled back against the couch, his arm draped around Brigid, as she stared at him in a daze. He smiled inwardly, finally getting the reaction out of her that he had been hoping for. She was quiet, thinking about everything, and open to more possibilities, which gave him hope.
Last night, after she had answered his question, no one had been more surprised that he was. He never expected her to answer that truthfully and honestly; he didn’t know if she could have answered the question, if she knew how she felt about her job. The best he had hoped for was that she would acknowledge that her job was killing her and might not be worth giving her whole life away for it. He just wanted her to see what was in front of her, and asking her about him would have only caused more argument. So, he went with the core issue – how she viewed her job.
And damn she had surprised him.
Then they spent the night together and it was better than he had imagined, and hopefully it left her with questions about her choices and him. But he chickened out, afraid she would make the same choices, so he had left early that morning and he honestly never thought she’d show up on his doorstep, so to speak.
Now they were stranded together. What would happen next?
She laid her head on his shoulder and watched the fire flicker. They sat quietly, while music played in the background. Then “All of Me” came on by John Legend. Grady pulled away and stood up. Brigid blinked at him, warily. He held out his hand.
“Want to practice that bridal party dance?” She eyed his hand like a viper. “Come on, Brigid. You’ve conquered your other fears. How about this one?”
She licked her lips and placed her hand gently in his. To him, it felt like she was laying her heart in his hand and his heart clenched. He closed his fingers, gently caging hers, like they were made of spun glass, and helped her to her feet. He pulled her close to him, flush against his body.
He placed his lips next to her ear and whispered, “We’ll have to pretend that you have your heels on and there’s people around us.”
“I prefer it this way,” she murmured.
“Me too.”
She shivered in response and slid her hand around his back and up his shoulder. He took her hand and gently swayed to the music. He cradled her close and, when he looked in her eyes, he saw a glimmer of tears and something else, something that wrenched his heart. Sadness. Loneliness.
And hope.
He pulled her closer and rested his chin on her shoulder, finally feeling at home.
*
The song ended and they settled back in front of the fire, sharing some of the leftover brisket and rice and beer. They had just finished the food and cleaned up when the storm intensified, the wind howling and whipping outside. The sky had darkened to almost night but they could hear the waves pounding the shoreline. Shortly after that, the power went out, plunging them into darkness, save for the firelight, the candles, and the hurricane lanterns that Grady had stocked up on. The cottage shook under the force of the wind and Brigid shivered against the sofa.
Grady settled next to her and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. “Nervous?”
“I’ve always hated storms. Especially big thunder and lightning storms. Stupid, I know. We have so many here in Texas but I never got used to them.” She smiled ruefully at him.
He hugged her close to his side. “I never knew that.”
“I learned to hide it well. Close all the curtains, pull the covers over my head, hide in the bathroom during tornado warnings. My father never tolerated my fear of storms. One more thing I had to hide from him.” She spoke more to herself than him, as if musing on her life rather than sharing something personal and terrifying.
“Well, that’s only logical if you don’t have a storm cellar,” he acknowledged, quelling the urge to want to hunt down the man who forced his daughter to face her own fears as a child rather than support, love, and cherish her. Instead, he pushed down those feelings and leaned back against the sofa, stretching his legs out. “I always found it ironic that Texas, with such a high incidence of tornadoes, can’t have basements, at least in many areas. Safe rooms are so damn expensive. Invest in a good bathtub.”
“Like that will save you in an F4 or 5 tornado.” She snorted. “But it’s better than nothing.”
He stroked a hand up and down her arm, lightly caressing her skin, soothing not arousing. She shivered under his touch. “How are you feeling now? This storm is pretty intense.”
She thought for a long minute, her head resting against his shoulder. When she spoke, her voice had a tone of surprise. “I feel surprisingly calm and relaxed.”
She took another sip of her beer and they watched the fire in silence for a long time. Her hand kneaded the muscles on his thigh absently. Finally, she said, “I think we should talk about last night.”
He tensed, his hand stilling on her arm. He willed his breathing to start again and feign a casualness he didn’t feel. “What do you mean?”
She shifted and came up on her knees to look at him. She put her bottle of beer on the coffee table and did the same for his bottle. She straddled his legs and sat back on her heels, trapping his legs under her. She took his face in her hands and cupped his cheeks. Gazing deep into his eyes, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, a soul deep kiss that took his breath away. He rested his hands lightly on her waist, his fingers slipping under her shirt to stroke the soft skin of her midriff. She shuddered under the caress and deepened the kiss, her tongue sweeping in to tangle with his.
Grady pulled back. “Brigid, are you sure?”
She smiled, a sweet coquettish look. “You’re really asking me that after last night? I may not be good with expressing my feelings but I thought I was pretty damn good at actions.”
His eyes crinkled as he grinned at her. “You’re damned unexpected, Brigid Anderson.”
He drew his hands up her back, pulling her shirt with them, up and over her head, so she sat there clad only in a red lace bra. He groaned. “Damn, that’s a fine sight, Brigid. I thought you said you didn’t pack any lingerie.”
“I said I didn’t pack any sexy nighties. I never said anything about bras or matching panties.”
His head thudded against the sofa cushions even as one hand delved beneath her jeans to cup her ass and stroke the red lace that barely covered her. “Oh, shit, that’s fucking amazing.”
She smirked. “Red is your favorite color, isn’t it?”
“Anything you wear is my favorite,” he replied, although he wanted to add seeing her naked was his preference.
He tugged her head back down for a kiss. She buried her fingers in his hair, holding him steady for her lips. She tasted of beer, barbecue, and sweet, wild Brigid, a taste he could get addicted to so easily. He flicked the back clasp on her bra and i
t gapped open. He pulled the straps off her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. He cupped one of her breasts, lifting it to his mouth to suck the nipple, flicking it with his tongue. Brigid’s head fell back with a low groan and she arched into his grasp. He plied the other sensitive tip with his fingers, twisting and tugging until she writhed on his lap, pleading for relief.
He chuckled against her skin and switched breasts, torturing the other the same way. She held his head tightly, her fingers flexing on his scalp, kneading and massaging, her nails pricking his skin. He lifted her effortlessly and placed her on the sofa behind him. He stripped off his clothes quickly then her jeans, leaving the red panties.
He kneeled in front of her and stroked a finger over the seam of the red lace. “That’s a pretty sight, Brigid. Sexy as hell.”
And he pressed a kiss right to the middle of the soaked lace. She arched her back with a choked cry then settled against the cushions, moaning. His erection was like a steel spike but he had to taste her, had to explore her just a little. He pulled the lace aside and licked a path through her wet center, curling his tongue around her nub at the apex. She shouted at the contact, her hips arching and twisting. He grabbed them in his hands, holding her firmly in place while he settled in for a feast, licking, sucking, biting. Soon she was crying out loud, begging, pleading for relief. Finally, she came with a scream.
He stood and grabbed his jeans, pulling out the condom he had stashed there when she had shown up earlier. He sheathed himself and adjusted her so he was positioned at her entrance. He stroked her cheek lightly until she opened her eyes and smiled.
“Ready, Brigid?”
Before she could respond, he drove home with a slow, steady thrust deep inside to the hilt until he was balls deep. He paused once he was fully seated, his forehead against hers, sweat dripping off of him. She stroked his back lightly and wrapped her legs around his waist, moving her hips against his in an insistent motion.
Obligingly, he began to move slowly, steadily even as she begged him to go faster. Quickly, though, his thrusts were deeper, harder, and she clenched around him, crying out her orgasm. He followed her over, sagging on the couch, only the sound of the wind, rain, and their heavy breathing to be heard.