by Tessa Bailey
“Next time, I come with you.”
I shake my head on the pillow. “How do you know there’ll be a next t—”
Shane flips me over onto my back, mouth silencing mine in one swift, move. It’s more than an urgency to kiss me, he didn’t want me to finish what I was saying, even though it was true. There might not be another walk, another chance to take him with me. So that’s how we’re playing it? Avoidance? When his hips fit between the notch of my thighs and pushes forward, I decide I can live with that for now. As long as he doesn’t stop touching me, I can pretend just about anything.
Finally, he breaks the kiss, speaking gruffly near my ear. “Soft, warm girl. Will you let me bury myself inside you this morning?”
Those words make me moan a little, make me drop my hands to his ass and pull him closer. “You’re naked in my bed. That’s as far from a rejection as you can get.”
“I want the words.” His mouth traces a path down my naked chest. It reminds me I went to bed without clothes on. I must have expected to be woken this way. “Every time you say yes, it feels like a victory. Better than the rush of winning any race or having some trophy handed to me. Are you hearing me?”
“Yes,” I manage breathily as he draws on my nipple hard.
He lifts his head to trap me in his gaze. “Are you?”
I’m not sure what I see in his eyes, but it makes my heart trip over itself, then pound so loud I can hear it. I’m terrified of that look, of the determination behind it. No. No, I thought we were avoiding. I curl a hand around his neck and try to draw him down for a kiss, but he resists.
“At least give me my victory, Willa. Tell me I can have you.”
“I can do better than that.” I’m thankful that he seems to be letting me off the hook for now. Whatever he was trying to communicate, it’s obvious I’m not ready for it. There’s guilt, too, that I’m leaving him hanging, even if I don’t know what his change in attitude is all about. I don’t know another way to make my denial up to him, so I push him onto his back. Giving him a moment to look over my naked body above him, I lean down and drag my tongue down his chest, his belly. I grip him in my hand, stroke until he chokes my name.
Then I take him into my mouth. Remembering in vivid detail everything that drove him crazy the last time, I start slow, using gentle suction up and down his length until his fingers tighten painfully in my hair. Letting my fingernails dig into his inner thighs, just enough to make him growl, I increase the pace of my mouth.
“Use your hands…Christ…that’s how I like it. But you know that, don’t you? Know exactly how to make me go fucking crazy.”
I purr in my throat, sending vibrations up his flesh. Last time, this move is what sent him over the edge and today is no different. His muscles tighten everywhere we’re touching, his voice goes raw. Only this time, he holds back. Before I even sense him moving, he sits up and pulls my head away from his lap. He comes up on his knees and spins me around, putting me on my hands and knees in front of him. Calloused fingers trail down my spine and smooth over my bottom, sensitizing my skin even more, making me arch my back into his hands.
Across the room, I catch sight of us in the full-length mirror. Shane’s strong frame towering over mine, the exotic position, at least to me, is so provocative and trusting that arousal twists and turns inside me. He hasn’t noticed our reflection yet, so he’s not aware that I can see his face. The way he’s looking at me traps my next breath in my lungs. It’s as though he’s savoring the moment, cherishing the sight of me waiting for him. Then he sees me watching him in the mirror across the room and lust takes over, glazing his blue eyes. Keeping his gaze on me, he slides two fingers between my legs, applying pressure right where I’m dying for it. We both bite back at the sight of him touching me, of my body’s reaction.
After reaching into his discarded jeans for a condom and rolling it on, he grabs a pillow from the bed, tossing it down in front of me. “Scream into this.”
Then he thrusts inside me, pushing deep and holding while my voice cracks on a scream, muffled by the soft material of the pillow. He grips my hips and starts to move and honest to God, the sight of his muscular body taking me this way, watching it happen in the mirror, is the one of the most liberating experiences of my life. I’m not embarrassed or shy or worried about what comes afterward. I’m just alive. Shane’s abdomen flexes with each twist of his hips. My flesh gives under the bruising grip of his fingers. We’re both biting our lips to keep quiet, but the bed is creaking underneath me.
“Do you like watching me fuck you, girl?”
“God, yes,” I answer without hesitation. “D-do you like it?”
His eyes squeeze shut when I start pushing back against him, meeting his drives, urging him to go faster. “Is that a…serious question?” One of his hands leaves my hip to massage me where our bodies meet. He laughs under his breath when I have to drop my face into the pillow to moan. “Babe, it has to be soon. I don’t want it to end, but…”
“It’s too much.”
“Yes.” His hips are moving in a blur now. “Fuck, yes.”
Watching him struggle to hold back for me, seeing his arm and neck muscles strain with the effort, sends me crashing into pleasure. I force myself to keep my eyes open so I can see him come apart…and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. He falls forward to press his chest against my back as he pushes deep and growls through his climax. His eyes never leave mine. I know he wants me to see it, what I do to him. What we do to each other.
A mess of emotions whirls in my chest, so intense I have to look away. Shane pulls me down onto the bed, tucking me against him before I can get up. He’s holding me so tight, I have no choice but to relax little by little. I’m afraid he’s going to give voice to what I sense hanging over us, so I’m relieved when he doesn’t. I want to stay in the dark where it’s easier and I don’t have to say words that will leave me vulnerable.
“So my plan was to come in here, fix you a cup of tea, and make slow, passionate love to you.”
I smile in response to the amusement in his voice.
“Of course, I also expected to find you in an oversized police department T-shirt.”
“Oh, I’m shouldering the blame?”
“Exactly.”
I yawn through a laugh, allowing myself to feel content for now. “You made two errors in judgment, I don’t drink tea—”
“I’ve noticed,” Shane says. “I’m convinced you’ve just never had anyone fix it for you properly. We’re going to remedy that now.”
Abruptly, he sits up. I roll over and snuggle into the sheets to watch him. He pulls on his pants and leaves them unbuttoned, then starts doctoring the cup of tea he’d poured earlier with milk and sugar. When I make a disgusted face, he narrows his eyes at me. I’m having a really difficult time not smiling like an idiot when there’s a gorgeous guy making me a cup of tea with no shirt on, hair all mussed. He catches me eyeing his happy trail with speculation and smirks.
“Sit up. I’m about to banish the word coffee from your vocabulary.”
I prop myself against the pillow and take the offered cup. “Never going to happen. When I die, I want my ashes sprinkled over a Starbucks.”
“Drink.”
With an eye roll, I take a sip. And holy shit, it’s so good. He’s made it strong enough that I get a caffeine kick, but it’s smooth and…delicious. “Wow.”
He nods once, then begins crawling toward me on the bed, looking like a big, hungry jungle cat. “Now what was my second error in judgment?”
It takes me a moment to catch up. “You, uh…said you were going to make slow, passionate love to me.” My breath hitches when he takes the cup of tea from my hand and sets it on the bedside table, never once taking his attention off me. “But we never do anything slow.”
“Oh no?” He tugs the sheet down to reveal my breasts. “You should know better by now than to challenge me. Now I have to prove you wrong.”
I gasp when h
is tongue traces a circle around my nipple. “In that case, I bet you can’t do that again.”
His laughter puffs out over my damp skin. “You’re a quick learner.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
True to his word, Brian comes to the Claymore for dinner the following night. He is shaved and wearing a navy-blue button-down shirt, of which he tugs at the collar every other minute. Faith, who lit up like a Christmas tree when he walked in, has disappeared into the bathroom several times to change her hairstyle. Ponytail, messy bun, ponytail. While Shane finishes his shift behind the bar, Kitty bustles through the dining room, placing a vase with fresh-cut flowers on the table where Brian sits waiting, ripping up cocktail napkins. If he didn’t flush straight to the tips of his hair every time Faith walks past, I would think he was here against his will. But it’s obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes that he would wade through hot lava for her.
I suspect Shane sees it, too, from the resigned half smile he sends me when Brian plants a kiss on Faith’s forehead. I’m sitting at the bar drinking a Shirley Temple, talking to Orla while she waits to take over for Shane. He and I haven’t touched since this morning and there’s an invisible tug between us now, drawing us together. From the way he’s staring at me, I don’t think I’m the only one that feels it. He passes by to grab a bottle of beer for a customer and lets his fingers trail over my knuckles. Just that simple touch calms and excites me all at once. I know it’s not a good thing. I know I shouldn’t continue to feed my addiction for Shane, but there is a voice in my head that keeps whispering, tomorrow, you’ll start distancing yourself tomorrow…
“Are you joining them for the dreaded meet-the-parents dinner?” Orla asks me now, jerking her chin toward the table. We laugh when we see Kitty is now placing a candelabra in the center, lighting each candle with careful concentration.
I open my mouth to answer, but Shane beats me to it. “Of course she is.” He looks at me a beat, then goes back to counting money in the register.
Orla salutes me with the cup of tea. “The man has spoken.”
I won’t pretend I don’t like Shane including me, as if it were a foregone conclusion. That’s how it feels, all of a sudden. Like we’re two people trying to squeeze out every last moment together and we’re beyond lying about it. To ourselves or other people. We don’t have any choice but to spend time together because if we tried, we’d just be miserable, wishing for the other person’s presence. I know how irresponsible this is. I know. And yet.
You’ll start distancing yourself tomorrow. Tomorrow is soon enough.
Orla gets up to take Shane’s place behind the bar. A moment later, I feel Shane’s hand on my shoulder, handily interrupting the chanting taking place in my head. He leans in and kisses the skin underneath my ear, then places another soft one on my mouth.
“I missed you today.”
“I missed you, too,” I admit, giving into the temptation to rub my palm against his stubbled chin. “I went to Starbucks this afternoon and ordered tea. You’ve ruined me. I can never show my face in Chicago again.”
“My work here is done.” He leans into my hand. “What else did you get up to today?”
“Oh, you know. Things.” I start to fidget. “I might have…bought you something.”
“Me?” One corner of his mouth quirks up. Has he always been this freaking good-looking? His smile is making my brain do jazz hands. “What is it?”
“Really, I didn’t go out with the intention of buying you a gift.” Oh, God. What is wrong with me? I’m not fit to communicate with members of the general public. “I just saw it and thought, ‘Hey, that guy Shane might like this.’”
“Ah, Willa. You know how to make a man feel special.”
Before I lose my nerve, I pick up the bag that has been sitting at my feet. “It’s nothing. It’s the worst gift ever. Here.”
Shane shakes his head at me as he reaches into the bag. When he pulls out the leopard-print steering-wheel cover, with the words Drive it Like You Stole it printed in giant, red block letters, I want to dump my Shirley Temple over my head.
“I bought it for the red car,” I rush to explain. “I thought…I just hope you drive it more often.” When his gaze locks on me, I force myself not to look away. “You should drive it all the time. You should be proud of it. So, there.”
“So there,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”
I nod once, searching for a way to change the subject. “What’s the game plan for dinner? Are we playing good cop, bad cop on Brian? Or—”
His mouth cuts off my ramble. At first, it’s just a tool to quiet me down, but then he sinks into it, tasting me with a slow lick of his tongue. He lifts his hands to cup the sides of my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. “Spend the night in my room tonight.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
…
Halfway through dinner, Kitty has consumed one, count ’em, one, glass of wine and with each sip, has grown increasingly dramatic. Broad gestures and sweeping statements. It’s actually a relief because it takes the focus off red-faced Brian and nervous-giggling Faith. Slowly but surely, everyone at the table relaxes and we start to enjoy Kitty’s antics. Even if Shane cut her off after one glass.
The bar has grown steadily busier as we eat burgers, amazing burgers, actually. I’m kicking myself for waiting so long to try the food at the Claymore. Behind the bar, Orla is keeping up with the crowd, turning up the music and lowering the lights to encourage people to dance. Once again, I marvel at how comfortable I am here. The way the sounds, the hum of conversation settles around you, making you a part of it. With Shane sitting beside me on the wooden bench, I feel…safe. Happy.
“Brian, my dear lad. Stolen Faith’s heart, have you?” Kitty sips from her empty wineglass, frowns down at it, then sips again. “I’ll have to call over to your mum. We’ve much to discuss, she and I.”
“Ma, that’s not nec—”
“Does she watch crime shows? I’m trying to find things we have in common, you see. I want to walk in and hit her with something interesting. Straightaway, she should say, ‘That woman is interesting. I’m glad my son has taken up with her daughter.’”
Brian scratches the back of his neck. “She likes to cook. Or at least I think she does. She may just do it so Patrick and I don’t starve to death.”
At the mention of Patrick, Shane’s hand finds my thigh under the table, settling there possessively. I narrow my eyes, but he only gives me a level look. “Are you looking for your own place?” he asks Brian.
“Looking for a job first.” He flushes a little. “Our gigs at O’Kelly’s don’t pay much.”
“What about here?” Shane asks after a moment, surprising me. “Can you tend bar?”
“I’ve never done it,” he admits. “But I’m something of an expert at pouring a drink. Only, it’s usually for myself.”
Faith pats her hair nervously, imploring Shane with her eyes. “You could show him. Couldn’t you, Shane?”
I rest my hand on top of his, hoping he agrees for Faith’s sake. His fingers lace with mine automatically, and he tugs me closer on the bench.
“Sure. We’ll work something out.”
Faith breathes a laugh. “Grand.”
“Grand,” Brian echoes, looking like he’s just struck gold.
At this point, I am barely restraining the urge to launch myself at Shane and kiss him until he passes out from lack of oxygen. He is being so agreeable, such a good brother, even though I suspect he wants to lock Faith in her room and throw the key into the Liffey. He might not be welcoming Brian to the family with a big, back-slapping hug, but he’s making an effort. From Shane, an effort seems more meaningful than any false gesture of camaraderie.
“At one time, people called me the best dancer in Dublin.” Kitty breaks the silence with that statement, daring us all with a look to contradict her. She gestures to a group of dancing students with her empty glass. “They wouldn’t have known what hit them back then. One
boy even called me superior. I could tell he meant it, too. Sometimes you can just tell.”
She goes back to staring wistfully at the group of dancers, her feet tapping on the floor, as she hums along to the unfamiliar pop song. I don’t know where I get the courage, maybe it’s the three Shirley Temples buzzing through my system, but I lean across the table and tap her arm. “Kitty, do you want to dance?”
“More than anything.”
I shrug one shoulder. “Let’s see those moves.”
Kitty seems to lose her courage with each step in the direction of the dance floor. After her speech, I’d kind of been counting on her to get this little dance party started, being that I don’t usually dance in public. As in, you couldn’t pay me. When she looks like she might bolt back to our table, I take her hands impulsively…and start doing the twist. She stares at me wide-eyed a moment, then begins to loosen up little by little. Her face transforms with an intense look of concentration, teeth biting her bottom lip so hard I think she’s going to draw blood. One of the younger men dancing behind us gives her a thumbs-up and she giggles, sounding so much like Faith, I feel an uncomfortable welling in my chest.
“I told you I was superior, American.”
“I never doubted you, Kitty.”
“Hmm.”
Swallowing a laugh, I glance over at our table to find Shane watching me with a strange look in his eye. I’m positive I’m looking at him the same way, almost like a reflection. He looks like he’s actually coming to join us when Orla shouts his name behind the bar, holding up the phone to indicate he has a call. With a regretful look in my direction, he heads behind the bar and picks up the phone. For some reason, I keep watching him. There’s a prickling at the back of my neck that I’ve gotten regularly since childhood, a sense that I need to be on my toes. That my guard needs to be firmly in place. I try to ignore it, put my attention back on Kitty, but when Shane’s face slowly loses color, I know I was right. He looks up, gaze zeroing in on me through the crowd to where I’m dancing. He’s talking into the phone, jotting notes down onto a pad of paper.