by Taryn Quinn
Her cell rang before she could inform him how wrong he was. So wrong that she wouldn’t mind another quasi-date at this very diner or maybe somewhere a little more upscale. She definitely wanted to see him again, even if alone time with her teacher’s young, clearly complicated model wasn’t the best way to secure her loosely cinched chastity belt.
Pretending she could convince herself not to be interested in Michael—and his intriguing, slightly disquieting past—was basically a sucker’s bet. And she was no sucker.
Okay, that was a lie. But only if the dude believed in reciprocation. Michael would, she was almost sure.
Irrelevant information, O’Halloran.
Seeing her brother’s name on the Caller ID made her grin. “’Sup?” she said into the phone, noting Michael’s quick smile in response. That smile could become addictive if she didn’t watch herself.
“Hey. You staying out tonight?”
There could be no mistaking the hopeful tone in Brad’s voice, which meant he probably intended on romancing his girlfriend in every room of the house. “Lemme guess. Sara bought a new teddy?”
His rich laughter made her relax into the seat. She loved her stupid lug of a little brother and knowing he was blissfully happy with her best friend did wonders for her own equilibrium.
At least until he asked her if she could “stay scarce” that night.
“Yeah, and where exactly am I supposed to go?” She supposed she could always sneak back in the house like Brad and Sara had done the last time she’d asked them to get gone, but she really didn’t want to see anything she couldn’t unsee without bleach and surgical implements. “The library’s not open twenty-four hours, last I checked.”
“Starbucks?”
She glanced at her almost untouched coffee and scowled. “Nah. Think I’ll pass. Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out. Do your thang and remember you owe me.”
“Thanks. And I do owe you big-time. We both do.”
“I hope that involves giving me serious details ASAP. It sounds like something major’s up.”
“It is. Way up.”
“Wait, we aren’t talking about you, are we?”
He laughed. “Talk to you tomorrow, sis. Love you lots.”
“Uh-huh. Ditto.” Her grin lasted until she hung up.
Brad and Sara had been together a little more than a year. A relatively short time in the scheme of things, if they hadn’t been friends before that and as serious as heart attacks about each other. Were they getting married? That would be amazing. Beyond.
Except for the housing situation that meant she’d have to find a new place if they were shacking up officially. And the fact that she was ridiculously jealous for no good reason at all.
She was happy for them. Ecstatic. They were perfect for each other. So what was her problem?
“What has you looking so sad?”
Kim glanced up at Michael, and the intensity of his expression dragged her forcibly from her thoughts. “My brother and my best friend are maybe getting married. Or having a baby. Could be both.” She forced the tension out of her shoulders and relaxed into the booth. “I’m so happy for them. They’re celebrating privately tonight at our house. We all live in my mom’s old place.” She licked her dry lips. “The house I grew up in.”
“That’s great news.” He tilted his head. “So why are you upset?”
“I’m not,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “They’re the best couple I know. If anyone can make it, they can. I’m—” Already missing them after things change. Focusing on myself. As usual.
“You can stay the night with me.”
Before he’d shown her more glimpses of the sweet, decent guy with possible mommy issues behind the gold-standard penis, hell yeah, she would’ve been a-okay with that plan. Now? She couldn’t help considering the vat of trouble that might land her in for more reasons than one.
“No thanks. I’ll go…somewhere.” Where? Dammit.
Sometimes the fact that her BFF was in love with her brother seriously sucked. Sara was the only friend she could’ve crashed with on such short notice. Ah, the irony.
“I’ll go to a hotel,” she decided. “Thanks anyway.”
“Don’t be silly. I have a perfectly good bed you can have. Not mine,” he added at her blank stare. “Just as a friend.”
She didn’t have any male friends she spent the night with platonically. Did people really do that? If she went over to a guy’s place, it wasn’t to warm his couch cushions.
Hell, she didn’t know Michael. A hookup at her place was one thing with her big, burly brother down the hall. On the guy’s turf? Not so bueno. Much better to get a room at the clean, dismal, possibly bedbug-infested motel down the street. Sixty-nine dollars a night would get her a nice hot breakfast and all the clichés she could stand.
“I appreciate the offer, truly. But I’ll be fine.” With an entirely fake smile, she reached for her purse, only to have him clasp her wrist.
“My treat.” He continued before she could pelt him with her objections. “How about this? We drive separately to my place. If you don’t like the looks of things once you arrive, you can leave.”
“Did you get the Spic-and-Span award three years running or something? I guarantee how your place looks won’t convince me to stay.”
His mouth curved. “So that’s a yes? You’ll follow me home?”
She sighed and dropped her purse on the bench. Who was she kidding? She didn’t have a lot of options and her teacher had known him for a few years. Odds were in her favor that the danger he represented wasn’t to her physical person.
“Sure. Just platonically,” she reminded him.
That would be the prudent way to proceed, especially when her edginess over the potential new situation with Brad and Sara was making her reckless to go along with horny. Best not to engage on that level at all.
He’d thank her later, when she hadn’t unintentionally smeared his heart on the interstate. Despite her fervent attempts, delicate with other people’s feelings she was not.
The way his smile spread didn’t convince her he was wholly on board with the platonic idea. This had to be a first. For once she wasn’t encouraging a guy to get naked, she was practically insisting he remained clothed.
“As you wish,” he murmured.
Chapter Three
Kim drove up the winding circular driveway behind Michael’s car, her eyes widening the farther they traveled. They’d left behind the city for the country, and she could smell it in the cool air, tinged with rain, wafting in through her car window. Hard to enjoy the breeze, though, when she had such a visual banquet in front of her.
In the rainy darkness, it was hard to make out much of the enormous property other than the sheer number of trees and the house. Sheesh, house wasn’t a big enough word to describe the place. She glimpsed enormous columns and the dense shrubbery guarding them. Lights beamed through every window, and holy Mary, there were a lot of them to go with the multiple balconies, turrets and thatched roof.
This was the closest thing she’d seen to a mansion around Fairdale. Definitely a far cry from the rambling fixer-upper she and Brad had inherited from their deceased mother. Michael’s Architectural Digest-special put the homes in her neighborhood to shame.
He parked at the base of a stoop that looked like it belonged to a library, not a personal dwelling. There weren’t any lions or gargoyles that she could see, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have some gigantic animal head mounted over the fireplace.
Oh, a fire would be perfect on a night like this. Nothing chased the fall chill away like the warmth from crackling wood. She could picture it now. The soft rug, the kindling flames casting golden sparks over his dark hair. His broad chest on display, gilded by firelight. His abs rippling, her panties dampening—
Lord, she was in deep.
With effort, she pulled herself out of her daydreams and met him on the stoop. The overhead light cast the area beyond the porch in shadows,
emphasizing the seeming vastness of the property. She tilted her head back to note the scrollwork in a pane of glass above the door—it looked like some kind of crest—and endeavored to sound unaffected. “Nice digs.”
Michael chuckled and hitched the backpack up on his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Sure this isn’t a long-lost uncle’s place?”
To her utter relief, he only laughed. “My name’s on the deed, Kim. I promise.”
She liked how he said her name with that twinkle in his normally pitch-black eyes. For an instant they seemed to lighten, and he smiled.
Addictive smile. Gorgeous house. Waning conscience.
“You also promise you’re not a serial killer?”
“Yes. Just the occasional lady.” When she frowned, he laughed at his bad joke and waved for her to walk ahead of him. He leaned around her to open the door, his mouth hovering too close to her ear. “Enter my lair, beautiful spider.”
In spite of herself, she shivered. He obviously knew how to turn on the sexy when warranted, but she wasn’t some wide-eyed innocent. She couldn’t be lured.
She was almost sure she couldn’t be.
“Oh dear God,” she whispered, reaching back to grab his hand to steady her shaky knees.
Again he laughed, soft and husky. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”
Was it ever. A gigantic chandelier adorned the front hall, sending prisms over the glossy black marble floor. The spiral staircase hugged the wall to the second-level loft and a hallway full of doors, probably to bedrooms beyond her wildest imagination. A tall archway to her right led into a living room with a classic brick-fronted fireplace, a cathedral ceiling and regal jewel-toned sofas and chairs that somehow looked as comfortable as they were elegant. Large black-and-white photos of sights like the Eiffel Tower and Big Ben hung on the cream walls, offset by sconces that offered soft, romantic light.
And in front of the fire sat a plush red circular rug that made her want to stretch out and purr. While naked.
“So let me get this straight. You’re young, work as a nude model for an art class, have some other unknown job that requires early hours at least on Thursdays, drive a beat-up pickup and live in a mansion. Am I missing anything so far?”
Michael scratched the scruff darkening his jaw. “Nope. Seems like you’re on point so far. Except young is a relative term. And my pickup is not beat-up. It’s rugged. Remember that.”
She fought back a smile, unwilling to give him even one more inch until she figured out how he’d already taken a mile. “Are you a spy? A military operative? A real-life Christian Grey?”
“Who’s that?”
“Never mind.” Blowing out a breath, she decided she’d save her official tour of the house for when she wasn’t so starstruck. When that would be, she had no idea.
Alcohol would help. Alcohol always helped.
“Do you have any wine?” she asked, staring up at the sparkling chandelier in the hopes that it might blind her and render her incapable of seeing Michael’s ridiculously handsome face.
It wasn’t fair that a guy who looked like he did also owned this kind of place at his age. She’d met up with him after class expecting a quick meal, and if things went well, hopefully a long ride. She’d also expected him to be the usual sort she’d slept with. Friendly enough, probably middle income, passably intelligent. How had she even ended up here, in this palace? She was a gift-shop manager with dubious taste in men. This one, it seemed, had vaulted right out of the backstreets of poverty and into a gold mine.
“No, sorry, I’m not a big drinker. I don’t have any wine.”
“Of course not,” she muttered. “I’m amazed you ordered a soda and not a soy latte, since your body’s a temple and all that.” Before he could reply, she whirled on him and steeled herself not to be fazed by his innate sexiness. He was a toad in sex god’s clothing. Good luck convincing yourself that. “Is there a convenience store anywhere around here? If I go driving through these woods, will I come across a cabin and some one-eyed, slobbering half-man, half-beast with a shotgun?”
Yet again he laughed, shaking his head at her as if she were the most amusing woman he’d ever encountered. Pedestrian sort that she was. “Why do you have to go to a convenience store?”
“I need a drink, just something to get the chill out of my bones and—” And the impulse to jump you on that thick rug out of my brain.
Alcohol probably wouldn’t help her impulse control much. Eh, whatever. At least she’d be warm and sitting by the fire while her brother and Sara probably made love on the dining room table and pledged themselves to each other for all eternity over her heirloom china with the little hand-painted roses.
Yep, she was losing it. Officially.
“Would you like some Cristal? I think I have a bottle of that somewhere.” He unbuttoned the cuffs of his pale blue shirt and shoved the sleeves up to his elbows, baring ropey forearms. The sprinkle of dark hair over his muscles worked for her as much as the rest of him.
She preferred her men with body hair. Maybe that meant she wasn’t progressive. Considering she’d fretted over her brother getting freaky next to her china cabinet, she’d clearly regressed a few steps.
“Yeah, what the fuck. I mean…uh, thanks.” She rubbed her forehead and the vague ache brewing there. “Pop the cork. Let’s party.”
Watching Kim unwind was like a little miracle taking place in his living room.
For more than a year, Michael had lived alone except for the company of the two ornery cats that helped make the house less lonely. He’d grown used to silence a long time ago, and after years spent packed in with way too many other people, most of them squabbling or whining, he’d actually welcomed the void. Rochelle had never been an interactive partner, so he’d been on his own long before she’d actually passed away.
Since then, he’d continued caring for this house as part of his duty to Roch, despite how isolated it made him feel. She hadn’t wanted to sell. Hadn’t wanted to live anywhere but this huge estate that had been in her husband’s family for years. But with Kim in his space, he saw what he’d been missing.
Life. Laughter. Lust.
The other L—the most elusive of all—he wasn’t concerned about. That would come someday or it wouldn’t. In the meantime, he was tired of waiting. For once he wanted to remember that he still had a world of experiences left to chase. Being so jaded twenty-four-seven was exhausting.
He’d turned on the Bose music system shortly after he poured them each a glass of champagne, and she’d only needed a few sips before she started to move to the sultry jazz music all on her own. She had a natural, easy rhythm that stole his breath. She must realize how tempting she was, right? Even lightning bugs could see their own glow.
While she wandered from photo to photo in his living room, asking questions, he watched her hips move and plotted how he could get her into his bed.
It was probably a mistake. She didn’t know what she was getting with him, and he damn sure wasn’t going to clue her in. Not yet. But he’d learned a long time ago that when the right situation presented itself, a smart person cast aside their reservations and went for it.
That night on the road, he’d considered and decided against asking for her name or number. He’d been out on his first call and hadn’t wanted to mix business with pleasure. That factor had come up again tonight yet he couldn’t seem to give a damn. Not when she was dancing her way around his living room like seduction personified. She was grace and beauty and strength, wrapped up in an innate sexiness he’d love to try to capture on paper if he had skill. But he didn’t. He only had words, fumbling ones at that, and his honest appreciation.
Hell, he had good instincts. The very house he was sitting in served as proof. Some people might question his choices, but those people didn’t see the happiness on his mother’s face when he sent that check home every month. When he invited the kids out for long weekends and they ran through his place like it was Disneyland. The
ir laughter made worthwhile all the nights he lay in bed wondering if he should’ve resisted trading one kind of poverty for another.
He’d shared a house with Roch but he’d never shared her life, not in the way he’d imagined couples did. Their closeness had been one of proximity, not emotions. That hadn’t stopped him from trying for far too long.
Now he knew better. Entanglements beyond a certain level only meant demands, not reciprocity.
“You’ve traveled a lot,” Kim said thoughtfully, sipping while her hips did that slow roll thing that made his brain scramble.
“Actually no. Those are Rochelle’s photos. She traveled before I knew her but I chose which ones to display. I also matted and framed them.”
“You have a good eye for details.”
“Moguling’s hard work. I need to play too.” He grinned at her arched eyebrow. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. I know you’ve formed some opinions of me, so why not try them on for size?”
“Like a Batman costume?”
Laughing, he took an experimental sip of champagne. He’d never been much of a drinker, but he liked the flush the alcohol put in her cheeks. Plus a little liquid courage never hurt. “Not the analogy I would’ve chosen, but sure. It’s fun to watch you try to shift parts of me around and try to make a whole picture.” He gestured at the photo of a quaint pub in Ireland that she was currently studying with her lower lip caught between her teeth. “You mentioned details. They tell the story, don’t they?”
She caught him in the snare of her alluring baby browns, softly blurred from her drink. “I think I must be on my way to drunk because I’m finding this conversation really deep. Too deep for me. I’m a gift-shop manager with a penchant for balling younger men. That’s why I zeroed in on you, Michael. Not because you’re an intellectual. I don’t give a shit about that.” She licked her lips and his cock reacted as if she’d touched him with her bare hand. “Sexually, you ring all my bells. Which means I need to go find a nearby guest room and play Asteroid Eater on my phone until I fall asleep.”
“Asteroid Eater?” He shook his head, laughing again. Drinking more. Amazing the way the alcohol fuzzed out the edges. He’d missed out on this stuff years ago, back when he’d been a control freak kid who refused to try anything that could dilute his focus from being the hero of his family.