by Taryn Quinn
“You expect me to tell you that you were wrong.”
He shrugged. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
“I’m not your judge and jury. We all need to live our lives as we see fit.” She wriggled closer and looped her arm around his shoulders to toy with his hair. He loved how easily she touched him. As if skin-to-skin contact was the most natural thing in the world. She’d never understand how starved he was for just that little—or that much. “So you’re going to drag me to Queens tonight, huh?”
Pleasure bloomed inside him so swiftly that he didn’t have a chance in hell of steeling his features. “You’ll come?”
“How many of your siblings are going to be there?”
“All eight. The youngest, Tanya, is thirteen. Four more of them are still teenagers. A couple of the older ones have significant others and kids of their own.”
She only grimaced slightly. “And your mom? She’ll be there too?”
“Yes.” He reached up to cup her jaw. “I’ll make you a milkshake when we get home.”
Her laughter gusted across his cheek. “You think I’m easily wooed with cold products?”
He pulled her close and pressed his mouth to her forehead. “And hot.”
“Wise man. I guess I’ll go. But I haven’t finished all my instructional episodes of Sex For Newbies so you might want to take some extra vitamins with your Wheaties.”
“God, such a hard bargain you drive.”
She grinned. “A girl can only hope.”
She’d never been to Queens. She’d definitely never danced until her feet hurt in a sweaty middle school gym-slash-recreation center. She’d never been accepted into a huge family with almost no effort on her part.
And she’d never found herself ridiculously charmed by a man so different from her in almost every way that somehow they ended up being similar in their oddities.
“More punch, dear?”
Kim glanced up at Michael’s mother and tried not to shrink away from the endearing smile she wore. Darlene Montgomery appeared to dote on her children as well as the grands and assorted spouses and significant others. The only problem seemed to be that she liked partnering off her kids a bit too much. So far, she’d attempted to matchmake the nineteen-year-old with one of the catering staff and the twenty-two-year-old with one of the DJs. And she was absolutely elated at the idea of matching Kim to Michael, despite Kim’s increasingly frantic attempts to prove her unsuitability for Darlene’s son.
Too bad Darlene wasn’t having any of it.
“Oh no, I’m already into the hard stuff.” Kim lifted a flask she’d borrowed from Michael’s brother Billy for the sole reason of getting Darlene off the scent and took a bracing sip.
Darlene rubbed her hands. “Oooh, whatcha got? Can I have a sip?”
Kim handed over the flask without a word. It figured her son had hardly ever drunk before the last week yet his mom had no such reservations.
“Mmm.” She smacked her lips. “Bourbon. Haven’t had that in years. Good choice.”
Kim accepted the flask she passed back. “It’s extremely inappropriate for me to drink at a family get-together. I should be ashamed of myself.”
“Oh, pshaw to that. Look around. Everyone’s drinking and having a nice time. And that boy of mine.” She shook her head, clucking fondly.
Kim would’ve asked which of her boys she meant—she’d already met more of her children than she could remember—if she hadn’t followed the other woman’s gaze to where Michael crouched with brunette six-year-old twins, Esme and Abra, his sister Tanya’s kids. They were playing with some kind of tablet and squealing with laughter at whatever he was showing them. The grin on his face lit up the gym.
“He’s got a way with kids,” Kim commented. So odd he didn’t want any of his own. She supposed she had no room to talk since she’d been thrilled at the idea of being an aunt in spite of her decision to remain childless. A decision originally borne from pain that had eventually ended up being the right one for her.
Some people were meant to be aunts and uncles who spoiled kids rotten and some were meant to be parents. While others were stuck pretending they’d snuck in bourbon to prove they didn’t belong when a small, niggling part of them wanted nothing else.
“He always has. Even back when he was nothing but a young’un himself.” Darlene patted her large purple bouffant. It probably wasn’t actually a bouffant, just teased and sprayed to a volume Kim couldn’t get her own hair to reach.
The unusual hairstyle somehow matched Darlene’s painted-on jeans, ruffled blouse and cowboy boots. And the raucous smoke-tinged laughter that shook her body from boots to roots.
“He’s not exactly old now,” Kim said dryly. “Which reminds me. Do you know how old I am?” There, that should work to convince his mother that Kim was a black widow using sex and wiles to charm her wealthy eldest son.
“Sure I do. Michael said you were thirty-nine. I think that’s just great.”
Beam me up, Scotty. “You do?”
“Oh yeah.” Darlene slid her arm through Kim’s and marched her over to the other end of the refreshment table. She grabbed a handful of baby carrots sans dip and started munching with abandon. “I’m forty-six and in the market for a new bestie.”
Of course she was.
Time for a new tactic. “I already have a bestie. We’re kind of…exclusive besties.”
“Oh, we can just sneak around then on weekends and nights off. I won’t tell if you won’t.” Darlene hip-checked her and held out a carrot. “Veggie?”
“Not that one.” Kim shook her head and selected a celery stalk. Just to be spiteful she dipped the vegetable in ranch before she crunched in. She couldn’t give up this easily. Bad enough that she could tell Michael was heading down a dangerous path—one she’d already caught herself skipping along merrily when she wasn’t paying attention. His mother liking her too was simply unacceptable.
“I’m a serial dater,” she announced. “My ex-boyfriend said I broke his heart. I tend to like younger men and then when I get bored, I wander on to the next. I’m not a nice person. Everyone says so. Even my brother. He’s moving across the country to get away from me.” Not exactly true but desperate measures and all.
“Good for you, dear. About time those men get some of their own medicine. Why should they get to have all the fun?” Absently, Darlene patted her arm while seeking out someone across the room. “Gert, over here. I have someone I’d like you to meet. This is Kim, Michael’s girlfriend. She works at that big bird sanctuary over on 41. She brought me the cutest stuffed macaw.”
“Technically it wasn’t for you. It was for the twins—”
“Kim, this is Gertie, my older sister. She’s a bit of a wild card so watch out.”
“Oh, she’s lovely.” The woman who must be Gert rushed Kim in a football-style tackle, folding her in a welcoming embrace that smelled of talcum powder and heavy floral perfume. “Our Michael always had good taste.” Gert moved back and patted Kim’s cheeks.
“Nice to meet you, Gert. I’m not his girlfriend.” Kim glanced helplessly at Darlene, now chowing down on cherry tomatoes and broccoli florets. “I’m really not, I swear.”
“And a shy one at that. What a hoot.” Gert slapped her knee—actually slapped her knee—and demanded to see Darlene’s macaw.
From there, everything spiraled out of control.
By the time Michael found her drowning her sorrows in the punch bowl half an hour later, she’d committed to wallowing. She had failed, utterly. Part of the point of going there tonight had been to show to Michael and everyone else that she wasn’t girlfriend material. She sure as hell hadn’t been a decent wife. She’d tried. Oh she’d tried. Eventually it became easier to just cut her losses and walk.
She’d hoped to avoid that for Michael’s sake—and hers. She liked him enough to wish that this…ease between them would last forever. That things would never get messy or complicated or painful. But everyone kept insisting th
ey were a couple. It had only been days since they’d met and still, Michael held her hand like she was more to him than a lover. More than a friend.
More than she dared to feel in return.
“Hey you. Having fun?” He slid his arm around her waist, tucking her into his side as if she weren’t almost as tall as he was and probably not all that far from his weight. She had a lot of curves. A lot of mileage. And the kind dark eyes that peered down into hers barely had any laugh lines.
“I’m not girlfriend material,” she insisted.
Instead of calling her out for being crazy—because let’s face it, she sounded a bit too panicked—he pulled her toward the dance floor. Saying nothing, he tugged her into his arms.
“This isn’t really my kind of dancing,” she began. Before she could finish, the song changed from hip hop to Frank Sinatra’s “Witchcraft” and she couldn’t hold back a laugh. Most of the younger couples around them groaned but after a minute or two, the grinders gave in and started slow dancing.
“Better?” He spun her out and back, catching her arms around her back while his mouth came down, feather soft, on hers. Taking away her answer and her reservations and replacing them with warmth.
Rather than Jay-Z or Pitbull, the song changed to Patsy Cline. That same laughter bubbled up, trapping in her throat as he started to sing in her ear about being crazy. His voice was surprisingly rich, skating over the words with a heat that didn’t fully explain the acceleration of her heart. She couldn’t stop staring up into the dark eyes that held her captive. He whirled her out and back, over and over again, making her dizzy, and she still couldn’t drag her gaze from his. He mouthed the words when their bodies separated, breathed them over the damp skin of her neck when they connected again. His hips slid against hers, his hard chest teased her nipples to sensitive points. Even his hand on the small of her back coaxed her need higher.
Every place they touched, sparks flew. From the way the color rose on his cheeks and his eyes turned bright, focusing on her as if she were the only one in the room, she knew she wasn’t alone in her feelings.
They danced for another half hour then clapped appreciatively as the graduation gifts were unveiled. Michael bought Tanya a fancy desk set with a monogrammed pen and other stationery items as well as a gift certificate to her favorite store. A generous gift certificate from all the chiding protests. Kim handed over her own hastily chosen present, a fancy business card holder she’d purchased that afternoon with Michael. She wasn’t sure if it was even the right thing for Tanya’s field but Tanya hugged her and squealed as if she’d given her a brick of gold.
Then Tanya’s boyfriend showed off his gift—an engagement ring. Tanya cried and laughed and everyone squealed, giving Kim and Michael a chance to make a graceful exit. That took a while, since Michael’s family was the size of a squadron and they all wanted to kiss Kim too. She couldn’t help being as enchanted by the Montgomerys as she was by Michael himself. It wasn’t hard to see where he’d gotten his amazing personality.
The ride home from Queens took a couple of hours. Once they arrived at Kim’s, she turned to him, prepared to thank him for a surprisingly wonderful night. Him heading home on his own made sense. He had work early in the morning. O’Halloran’s stayed open seven days a week.
But when he asked if she minded him staying over, she couldn’t say no. Couldn’t say anything at all as they wound their way up the stairs to her bedroom, passing the closed door of the master suite where she heard Brad and Sara’s quiet laughter.
In a few weeks she wouldn’t hear that sound anymore. There would be no more sounds at all she didn’t make herself.
She kept it together until they reached her bedroom and he quietly shut the door behind them. Then the tears came, hot and inexplicable, flowing over her cheeks. When he wrapped her in his arms, saying nothing, giving everything in his silence, she didn’t hold back. She slipped her arms under his jacket, encircling his waist, and pressed her face to his throat. He smelled of his mother’s cigarette smoke and the biting winter air and something richer, like a fire set to kindling in a hearth.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if she was sorry for what she’d already done or what she would do.
“Shh. It’s okay. I’m here.”
Yes. He was there. She reveled in that, even knowing it couldn’t last.
She couldn’t let it.
Chapter Ten
She woke in the dark to an empty bed. At first that was simply routine, and she didn’t think twice. It took a few minutes for her sleep-muzzy brain to realize she’d gone to bed with someone. No, not someone. Michael.
Rolling over, she peered at the alarm clock. Three-fifteen. He wasn’t due to leave for work for another couple of hours. Sunday the shop opened later. So where had he gone? Sneaking off in the middle of the night was her MO.
Maybe she’d snored. Or drooled. Or clung.
She made a face and shoved her hair out of her eyes. The clinging was practically a certainty after the way they’d gone to bed. In her case, all sloppy-faced and weepy, wrapped around him like a vine. Not her best showing. If he’d split, she couldn’t blame him.
At least she’d left him with a memory of how good weepy sex could be.
After a quick detour to freshen up in the bathroom, she pulled a sheer robe over her just-as-sheer nightie and slipped her feet into her Tweety Bird slippers. It wasn’t the sexiest presentation but since she was mostly ascertaining that her lover had absconded into the darkness, she wasn’t too worried.
A check of the first floor yielded no Michael. Shocker. She stepped onto the front porch to verify his truck was gone only to see both his truck in the drive and a light on in the garage. The door was partially up, letting out the soft strains of something classical with lots of sax.
What was he doing in there?
Tightening her robe, she tucked her toes in her slippers and thanked God that the snow had mostly melted to slush from that day’s sunshine. She padded up the driveway, teeth chattering. It was a wee bit chilly out. Once at the garage, she yanked on the door handle, rolling it upward with a clatter that could’ve roused the dead. Maybe they should’ve sprung for the electric door opener Brad had wanted forever after all.
“Whoops,” she said under her breath, momentarily distracted from her worry over waking the neighbors by the visual banquet awaiting her. The hood of her car was up and Michael was leaning under it, his big hands moving with precision.
But that wasn’t the banquet part. He’d taken off his shirt and had the small space heater going at his side, which was evidently enough to cause little beads of sweat to gather along the base of his spine above the waist of his trousers. His ropey back muscles rippled with every movement, his golden skin unmarked except for the freckles scattered over his broad shoulders. On his feet he wore that night’s dress shoes and his fingers were smeared with oil and black gunk. His hair poked up in all directions, either from his own hands or hers when she’d thanked him earlier for being so sweet by being absolutely filthy.
“Wondered how long it would take for you to wander out here.” He didn’t turn around, merely kept tinkering. The metallic clinks of his wrench might as well have been darts of flame along her pussy. She was already melting. Any more eye candy of this nature and he’d find her standing in a puddle of her own…not drool.
“You forget that nighttime is for sleeping, Montgomery?”
He tossed her a cocky grin over one shoulder. “I’ve recently learned that’s not all it’s for.”
“What’re you doing out here?”
“Double-checking on your battery and doing some other maintenance stuff. I must’ve not been thorough enough before. I want to make sure I don’t miss anything.”
“Hmm. While I appreciate the effort, I thought I’d worn you out enough to need some recovery time.” She reached above her head to pull down the garage door. “Guess I’ll have to try harder next time to exhaust you.”
> Shifting to face her, he picked up his rag. “In the mood for some ice cream?”
“Oh yeah.” Untying her robe, she stalked toward him and drew his hand to her pristine white nightgown. Her breasts jutted against the silky fabric, nipples hard from the cold air and the excess of hormones just one glimpse of him caused. When he pinched one eager tip, smearing black, the jolt traveled straight to her clit, making her throb. She hiked up her robe and braced her foot on the bumper of her car. “This cone’s about to fucking drip.”
He tossed aside the rag and peeled down the lacy top of her nightie. “Christ. Look at you. Look at these.” He nipped the top of her cleavage, building her arousal to fever pitch. He pulled the fabric down farther, baring her taut peak with a groan. “You’re so beautiful. Seeing you like this steals all my air.” He used his teeth and tongue there too, whipping her to a frenzy with little biting licks. “Is your pussy wet for me?”
“God, when you talk dirty it makes me crazy. Knowing you’ve only done it for me. Yes, I’m wet.” She cupped his face and slanted her mouth over his, so ravenous for him it was like they’d never made love at all. “I need it,” she gasped, biting his lower lip. “I need it so bad.”
“I know you do. Me too. Fuck, me too.” He worked his way down her body, covering her shoulders and torso with openmouthed kisses.
She grabbed his hands and pressed them against her body. “Get me dirty.”
Halfway to the ground, he spread his fingers, trailing oil over her pretty lacy gown. He reached up to grip her throat in one hand, tipping her head back while he tore the fabric straight down the middle. Cool air wafted over her heated skin right before he captured her painfully aroused nipple between his teeth. She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t breathe. He was on the move again too soon, his hand coasting down her back to seize her bottom while his tongue whispered over her navel, her mound, the swollen lips of her sex. Finally between them to her needy clit, flicking it again and again as she grasped a handful of his hair and wavered on the one leg she stood on. He buried his face in her slit, lapping at her so loudly and with such hunger that she couldn’t be embarrassed that she’d given him so much to taste.