by Emily Bishop
Randy sized me up warily with a quick glance, then stuck his hand out to me. “It’s nice to meet you, Shane.”
His iron strong grip spoke volumes but I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “You, too, sir.”
“Call me Randy,” he said, dropping my hand like it had burned his.
“Thanks,” I said, following the pair into a modest split-level house.
“Would you like something to drink?” Fiona asked, once we reached the dining room. The table was set simply, and the smell of roast chicken wafted from the kitchen.
“I’ll take a beer, sweetheart,” Randy answered.
Thank god. I needed alcohol to hopefully numb at least some of the guilt eating at me. “Same for me.”
“So, Shane, Fiona tells me that you like to fish,” Randy said, settling into his place at the head of the table and gesturing for me to take the seat opposite him.
Even though his question was completely normal, there was something in his tone and the shadows in his eyes that set me on edge.
“I do, but the last time I went was with Fiona, and I’m afraid that she had all the luck,” I replied, chalking up whatever was going on with Randy to overprotectiveness of his daughter.
That earned me a smile from him. He was clearly very proud of Fiona. “Yeah, I heard about that. Lots of jealous fishermen around here because of her catch.”
Fiona returned with our beers and set them down. Her gaze alternated between me and her father. She seemed relieved that we were talking and that no blood had been shed. Not yet, anyway.
“I just need to toss the salad,” she said. “Everything okay here?”
“Perfect,” I said, resisting the sudden urge to pull her onto my lap and kiss her. Seeing her so at ease and caring was doing things to me.
“Sure, sweetheart. You go on ahead. Just yell when you need me to come help you carry the food in.” I noticed that he was much softer when Fiona was around than when he was alone with me.
She gave her dad an affectionate peck on the cheek. “Sure thing.”
“How long have you been fishing?” And so, the interrogation continued.
“Since I was a child,” I said, then tried to turn the conversation back to Fiona. “I heard that you used to take Fiona out all the time growing up.”
“Yeah, after we moved here, I had a lot of free time at first.” His deep blue eyes turned inexplicably to ice. “Did your dad take you out?”
“Nah, he was always working.” I coughed. I couldn’t talk about my dad with Randy. “My mom taught me.”
“A woman after my own heart. What does your dad do for work that kept him too busy to take his own son fishing?” His voice had an edge to it that I didn’t like.
“He’s retired now but I can already fish, so it’s too late, unfortunately.” My attempt at lightening the mood failed miserably.
“Are you close to him?”
Before I could answer,
Fiona came back into the room carrying a tray with three plates of food that she’d already dished up. “I thought it would be easier this way.”
Randy nodded. “Good thinking.”
She distributed the plates and took her seat. “What are you two talking about?”
“My father,” I answered at the same time that Randy said, “Fishing.”
He cleared his throat. “I was asking whether his dad took him fishing as a child.”
Fiona gave him a look, almost like a warning, before changing the topic of conversation. “Did Shane tell you that he also builds boats? He’s working on a Nymph at the moment.”
I nearly choked on my chicken. I had chosen the design because it played into our surreptitious flirting when we’d first met. The look on Randy’s face told me that he, at the very least, suspected my motives.
“Is he now?” He cocked a dark eyebrow at Fiona. It was remarkable how alike they looked when he did that.
“He is,” she replied calmly, despite the sarcasm in his undertone.
“It’s actually coming along quite well, despite your reservations about my equipment.” I wasn’t only referring to the boat.
Randy stabbed at his chicken. Fiona rolled her eyes. “We’ll see how long it lasts,” she said.
I bit back the answer I would’ve given her if we were alone, very aware of the way Randy was glaring at me. “Time will prove me right.”
“Let’s agree to disagree,” she said.
“That’s becoming a bit of a habit for us,” I said.
She laughed. “I guess so.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes. The food was delicious, even if the mood in the room was a bit uncomfortable.
“So,” Randy said, once he pushed his empty plate away. “You never answered my question, Shane.”
“What question?” Fiona asked, setting her cutlery down.
“If I’m close to my father,” I answered. “I’m not.”
Fiona’s eyes snapped to mine, then she turned to glare at her father. “Dad!”
Randy shrugged. “I believe that I was justified in asking.”
“I know that, but that’s a really personal question,” she scolded him.
He didn’t look sorry about it at all.
“It’s okay, Fiona.” I reached for her hand under the table and gave it a small squeeze. “Randy’s just curious about the man you brought home.”
At least, I thought that was it. But I honestly had no fucking idea what was going on.
“Exactly,” Randy said. “Which brings me to the next question that you didn’t answer. What did your father do for work that kept him so busy?”
“Oh, come on,” Fiona exclaimed, staring daggers at her father.
“Fee, he—” Randy started.
Fiona cut him off before he could say anything more. “No, Dad. Don’t.”
“Why not?” he asked, a confused expression on his face as his eyes flickered between the two of us.
“It’s not right.” She pushed away from the table. Randy didn’t miss our intertwined hands resting on her leg. His eyes grew wide, then narrowed.
“Could I have a word with my daughter alone, please?” he asked, a surprising note of resignation in his voice.
“No, I’ll call you tomorrow, Dad. Shane and I need to leave.” Was she rescuing me from the interrogation?
Fiona walked around the table and waited for me to join her with a jerk of her head toward the doorway to freedom.
“Thank you for dinner, Randy.” He stood when I did, extending his hand toward me. “It was delicious.”
Randy looked seriously annoyed that Fiona was ushering me away before he could finish his interrogation. It was quite clear that he had seen me as a nut that he wanted to crack, and Fiona was taking the opportunity from him.
Randy shot Fiona an exaggerated look that I couldn’t make sense of, gave her a big hug, and saw us out.
“What the hell was that all about?” I asked, when we were finally in the clear.
“Oh, it was nothing. Just my dad being his usual protective self.”
I doubted that very much. “He seemed very curious about my childhood and my father.”
Fiona waved it off, sliding her hand into mine again as we headed back in the direction of her house. “Really, it was nothing. He’s just not used to me bringing home boys who aren’t Drew.”
Her eyes pleaded with me to let it go, though. So I did, trusting that she would tell me what I needed to know when I needed to know it.
Chapter Eleven
Fiona
Shane and I walked back to my house in silence. The stars peered down at us from a cloudless sky, twinkling through gaps in the tree tops. I kept my gaze down, where my steps crunched over fallen pine needles in the gravel road. I quietly fumed at my father.
He had done exactly what he promised me he wouldn’t do. I didn’t know why I was so vehemently opposed to him letting Shane know that we knew who he was. I just was.
Shane didn’t seem bothered by my
father’s behavior. He walked beside me, his head held high and a slight smile on his face. I think Shane was more concerned with my reaction to things than the way my father acted.
Despite the fact that Shane had lied to me, the chemistry between us was too intense for me to ignore. I had unwittingly gotten caught up in Shane’s lie, and I didn’t want to risk him finding out the truth just yet. I was too much in lust to let that happen, even if I knew that sleeping with him was probably a terrible idea.
Shane let me walk without speaking all the way home. He stayed physically close to me but gave me room to think. He stayed quiet after his initial questioning about what had happened.
“Do you want to come in for a drink?” I asked.
We stood outside my door, exactly where we had been when we’d kissed. My body flushed at the memory.
“Sure, I’d love to.” Those gorgeous green eyes drank me in for a second longer before he released me to open the door.
I led him into my house and tried to picture what he was thinking, seeing it for the first time. It was small but light, thanks to its open plan design. It was decorated in light colors to maximize the space, with plenty of photographs of my mom, dad, and Drew everywhere. There were also random snaps of Mystic from a phase I’d gone through, experimenting with photography.
It was my safe zone. A friendly, comfortable space that I was proud to be able to say was mine. I couldn’t help but wonder what a man who must be used to luxury and mansions thought about it.
He scanned it briefly but his attention was focused mainly on me as I moved through it.
“Beer?” I offered.
He nodded, still watching me closely. The way he was openly staring at me made me feel beautiful and wanted. I had noticed that he had a way of doing that, although it also could have been the sexual tension buzzing between us.
But as much as I wanted it, I hadn’t invited him in for sex. I had invited him in to unwind after that interrogation by my father, for closure on the day.
I felt him move closer to me, standing right behind me as I grabbed two beers from the fridge. When I spun around to hand him his, we were only inches apart.
“I was going to save this,” he said, digging into his pocket and pulling out a smooth pebble. Red lines swirled over its milky surface in a spiral pattern. “I picked it up when you caught that fish. As a memento of the first time we spent time together outside of your job.”
Shane took the beer from my hand and placed the rock in my palm. He folded my fingers over the polished surface, making it mine.
I sucked in a deep breath. That was the sweetest damn thing I’d ever heard. “What were you saving it for?”
“I don’t know, later, I guess.” He shrugged but his eyes blazed into mine.
“So, why are you giving it to me now?” I palmed the pebble he’d placed in my hand, gripping it firmly. It was warm from being in his pocket, but it felt like more than that as the warmth spread through me.
“Because I doubt that there’s going to be another date now, and I wanted you to have something to remember me by.” He walked me backward until I was up against the kitchen counter.
My breath caught. My eyes darted between his eyes and his mouth. The tip of his tongue darted over his lower lip, leaving it slightly shiny. I couldn’t help but stare. God, I wanted those lips on mine again.
“Why won’t there be another date?” My voice was barely louder than a whisper but as close as he was standing to me, I knew that he could hear every word.
“Let’s face it. Your father fucking hates me. You’re close to him. I get it. But I didn’t want you to forget what little time we’ve had together.” He reached up and stroked my cheek, a gentle but fleeting touch that made me crave more.
He was probably right, I realized. There were already too many secrets and obstacles between us for anything to really come of our relationship, if that was even what we had.
If I was ever going to have a chance to make love to him, this was it. My one and only chance, and I was going to take it.
I wanted to feel his skin on mine, his mouth on mine, his dick inside of me just once. There was more to it than just my being horny, which admittedly, I was.
A burning desire had been consuming me since the moment I’d met him. If I didn’t give in to that desire tonight, I was convinced that I might burst.
Shane seemed to read my mind. He bent his head at the same time that I tilted my chin up and offered my lips to him.
He claimed them hungrily, even more passionately than before, now that we were behind closed doors. His tongue swept past my lips to stroke, explore, and savor. I pressed against him as he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer. The way that we fit together was electrifying, igniting a fire in my veins.
Shane tasted better than I remembered, more like him and less like the mint he’d popped into his mouth before we’d left the pub that fateful night of our first kiss.
He brought the hand that wasn’t on my waist to my hair, tunneling into the loose strands and gripping tight. It was just enough to awaken me, to make the kiss hotter and more intense.
I wound my arms around his neck, desperate to get closer. To take my one chance to not only taste him but to experience him. To feel all that masculine power flowing just beneath the surface, focused entirely on me.
His mouth was just as needy as mine. His kiss just as passionate. One moment, he was sucking gently on my lower lip, and the next, his tongue was sliding along mine. Gentle caresses followed by desperate plunges, like he was trying to fit as much as he could into every kiss.
The man kissed me with a single-minded focus that made everything else pale in comparison. He made the world fall away.
My fingers dug into the hard muscles of his shoulders. His hands moved to my ass, lifting me against his hard stomach. He groaned when I brushed his erection.
“Fuck, Fiona, I need to be inside you.”
Not want. Need. He needed to be inside me. A low moan escaped from the back of my throat at the knowledge. It made my thighs clench and my stomach burn, sending bolts of pure pleasure and dizzying lust through me.
I whimpered when our mouths met again. Then, I broke the kiss to whisper against his lips. “I need you to be. Now.”
“Where’s your bedroom?” he rasped out, his eyes darkened pools of green fire.
I inclined my head toward the door on the other side of my kitchen, infinitely grateful in that moment that my place was so small.
I was still in his arms, where he’d lifted me against him and wrapped my legs around his hips. I was unwilling to let him go, even for the time it took to get to my bedroom. He got my unspoken message and tightened his hold on me as he walked us toward the open door.
He kissed me deeply. My hands ran up and down the strong muscles in his back before I was on my bed on mine. He took a step back to rake his eyes over every inch of me.
“Take off your dress.” His voice was a low command.
I complied. He sucked in a breath when the material hit the floor. I was almost completely bared to him, more so since the dress didn’t require that I wear a bra.
The tiny scrap of material that was my thong was the only thing keeping me from being fully exposed but he was still completely dressed.
A fact that he changed within seconds. He grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it off in one smooth motion. His jeans joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor, a very noticeable bulge in his black boxer briefs.
My eyes drank him in. He stood before me in the dim light, all hard lines and bunched muscles. Just the sight of him had me aching to touch him.
The next thing I knew, he crawled onto the bed with me, covering my body with his. We melted into each other, skin on skin for the very first time. He was solid and warm. He felt so alive against me, and I wanted to feel every inch of him with every inch of me.
“You’re so fucking sexy, Fiona. You drive me out of my damned mind.”
&n
bsp; Then his lips crashed into mine again, wiping every thought from my head. I arched my back and pressed my chest closer to him. He rolled his hips against mine. I moaned at the delicious friction that was gone too soon.
He reached for my thong and just about ripped it off in his haste. Then, he leaned back on his heels to allow me roll his briefs from his hips.
Finally, he was gloriously, fully naked, and he was so perfect that I actually groaned out loud just at the sight of him. At the thought that, for just one night, he was mine.
“Condom?” he asked, his voice hoarse and his breathing almost as rapid as mine.
I shook my head. My eyes widened when I realized that we might not actually be able to have sex because of a stupid lack of planning.
“I got it.” He smirked, reaching for his jeans.
I gasped. “You planned this?”
Mischief glinted in his hooded eyes. “A man can dream.”
I sucked in a breath. “You dreamed about this?”
“I fantasized about this,” he assured me, causing my heart to gallop. He sheathed himself so fast that he could compete in Condom Application at an Olympic level.
Then he sank into me, inch by inch. He stretched me and filled me, and I felt him in places I’d never felt anyone reach before. It was incredible. Consuming. Intoxicating.
I wanted him to live there, inside of me forever. But I also wanted him to move. I bucked my hips, and he grinned against my mouth.
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Just giving you time to adjust. You’re so fucking tight, baby.”
“I’ve adjusted,” I complained.
Then he started moving as if his hips had a mind of their own and their single purpose was to bring me pleasure.
“Fuck, yes, Shane,” I whimpered.
His answer was a low groan, and he increased his speed. His pelvis hit my clit exactly the way that I needed him to.
I hooked my ankles around his hips and rocked with him. My fingernails dug into his back and shoulders.
We were frantic, chasing our pleasure with primal shouts and nips of teeth at each other’s skin. I loved that Shane was verbal and loud, that he whispered against my ears, and that he groaned nearly as noisily as I did.