“I’m-”
“Oh, I know who you look like,” Delaney says, her eyes brightening in recognition.
Please don’t say it, please don’t say it.
Shane’s hand tightens around mine, and he says a little too harshly, “She looks like herself.”
Delaney closes her mouth, and the rest of the table goes silent, all eyes turning to Shane. Brows raise in question at his sudden outburst.
I sigh and admit, “Chad Hollister is my ex-husband.”
There’s no sense lying about it. I wouldn’t feel right. Not when they’ve so graciously accepted me into their home. And Shane’s right, I do need to stop worrying about what people think of me.
If I can learn that one lesson, then maybe I’ll finally be free of the anxiety I’m constantly walking around with.
I’m met with a tableful of deer-in-the-headlights looks. It would almost be humorous if I hadn’t just outed myself to a table full of strangers.
Silence stretches awkwardly, until Delaney says with a smile, “I was going to say Rachel Bilson.”
“Even I don’t know who that is.”
Everyone chuckles.
“The O.C.,” Delaney says, then shakes her head when she’s met with blank stares. “Hart of Dixie. Do you people not watch TV?”
She gives me a small wink as the table breaks out into conversation about what constitutes good television versus crappy American sitcoms and reality shows. I give her a grateful smile, feeling the unrelenting pressure that never seems to go away, lift slightly.
After dinner, cleaning the dishes becomes a family affair that even the men are a part of, but as soon as we’re in the kitchen, Shane’s mom quickly shoos everyone out, muttering about doing it herself.
“I can help,” I offer.
“Don’t bother,” Shane says coming up behind me and placing a hand on my lower back. “She’s as stubborn as a mule, that one.”
His mom grunts. “A trait I unfortunately passed down to my children.”
Shane chuckles, then leans over and kisses her on the cheek, which wins him a smile, and my heart melts.
Over and over, he keeps surprising me.
“Shane,” Owen says, from the doorway, motioning him into the other room.
“Stay and help,” Agnus says, surprising me, when I start to follow him. And I know what’s coming. The Mom Talk.
Damn.
Damn.
Damn.
“Of course.” I move beside her and start scraping the plates into the wastebasket.
“That boy is stubborn,” she mutters, her tone a mix of affection and frustration.
“He’s definitely persistent,” I say while passing her a dirty plate, then clamping my mouth shut the moment the words are out. Heat creeps up my neck and into my cheeks.
She chuckles, and something glimmers in her eyes. “He is when he wants something bad enough.”
More heat blasts my face.
“You must be very proud of him,” I say, changing the subject.
“I’m proud of all of them. Practically raised each one, ye know.”
“I didn’t.” I glance over my shoulder at the four men that surround each other in the other room. Each one is good looking in their own way, but it’s Shane who stands out. Tall and rugged with a natural ease to his stance. Owen seems to be the leader, Cillian the broody one, and Aiden the most laid back of the four. But Shane lights up the whole room. And when he laughs, I can’t help but smile, feeling his happiness in my core.
“They’re good boys,” Agnus says on a sigh, and I see her glance over at the group. “All of them. Each one’s suffered their share.”
The men laugh and talk like they don’t have a care in the world. But then, I learned the hard way not to believe everything you think you know.
The woman’s hand rests on my arm, and she gives a small smile while studying me. “But I have a feeling ye know about sorrow. Ye’ve got the look in yer eyes.”
I suck in a breath, seeing the sympathy in the green eyes that are so much like Shane’s.
“My life hasn’t exactly turned out the way I thought it would,” I admit.
She nods. “It very rarely does. Pass me that pot, dear. And there’s some drying towels in the second drawer.”
After handing her the large pot, I find the towels and start wiping down the plates in the drying rack.
“Shane seems quite taken with ye.” Elbows deep in suds, she watches me for my reaction.
“I…” My gaze naturally drifts to Shane.
He catches me watching him and gives me a crooked smile before turning back to Owen and saying something that makes them all laugh.
“We don’t really know each other,” I admit. “We’re just…friends.” I’m starting to hate that word.
“Friends don’t look at each other the way ye two do.” She hands me a pot to dry, and gives me a knowing look.
“Mom,” Emer says sternly, coming into the kitchen. “Ye’re putting our guest to work, when I clearly told ye I’d do it in the morning.”
“I’m happy to help,” I say.
“Ye don’t need to be doing dishes when ye’ve got the baby to take care of,” Agnus says, continuing to scrub another pot.
“And ye’re supposed to be resting.”
Agnus mutters something under her breath that sounds more like Gaelic than English, then says, “I enjoy being busy.”
“At least, it keeps her out of trouble.” Emer winks at me. “Ye’ve got to watch this one. She’ll be planning yer wedding before ye even know ye’re engaged.”
Agnus clucks her tongue. “Ye were already married when I planned yer wedding. And I wouldn’t have had to do it if ye’d just done it right the first time.”
Emer rolls her eyes. “Getting married in Vegas or at the Sistine Chapel doesn’t make it any less real. I’d have been happy just to have lived common-law if I didn’t think it have given ye a stroke.”
“I would have disowned ye.” Agnus points a finger at her daughter, and I can’t tell if she’s serious or not.
Emer rolls her eyes, but there’s a flash of humor there, and I realize that she’s enjoying getting a rise from her mom. But despite the constant battle of wills that I’ve seen between them tonight, the affection is clear.
“Shane said ye’re staying at Colleen’s house?” Emer takes the dry plate from my hand and places it in the cupboard.
I nod.
“I’ll stop by some time and see ye, then. That’s if ye’re not too busy.”
“I’d like that.” She reminds me a little of Quinn with her big, cheerful personality and natural way of making everyone want to be around her.
“Shane didn’t say what ye’re doing here,” Emer says, and both she and her mom watch me expectantly.
“It’s been a rough year. I just needed a change.”
Agnus nods. “Do ye have any family here?”
“No.”
She purses her lips, then says pointedly, “Well, ye do now. Ye need anything at all, ye just ask. No matter what.”
“Thank you.” Their kindness makes me slightly emotional. Other than my own family, I’ve felt disconnected from the people I once called friends. It’s nice to have people accept me just as I am, and not judge me based on what they think they know.
You don’t find that very often.
“What are the three of ye conspiring about over here?” Shane’s deep voice says behind me.
Emer grins up at her brother. “Mom was just getting all of Makena’s personal information so she can pass it along to Father Patrick. Were ye wanting a summer or a fall wedding?”
Surprising me, Shane just laughs and points a finger at her. “Ye’re a brat. And I’ll make ye pay for that.”
“As long as it’s not with teal bridesmaid gowns,” Emer says in a terrible American accent that sounds more like one of the Kardashians. “The color does nothing for my complexion.”
Shane scoops up a handful of dirty sink wa
ter and splashes her.
She puts her hands up in surrender, still laughing.
“Shane,” Owen says gruffly from the entranceway, walking toward us. “Ye’re going to want to see this.”
“What is it?” Shane asks, his grin gone.
Owen glances at me briefly, a small frown pulling at his lips, then hands his phone to Shane, who scrolls through whatever is on it, his features tightening the longer his eyes are glued to the screen.
“Fuck,” Shane mutters, then glances up at Owen. “Where did ye get them?”
“A kid’s blog. She posted them this morning. And because of…” Owen looks back at me and winces. “They’ve gotten a lot of views already.”
“Have them taken down.” It’s the first time I’ve heard real anger in Shane’s voice.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, having a bad feeling that whatever it is involves me.
Shane drags his hands through his hair, then hands me the phone. “Someone must have taken pictures of us this morning at the Shamrock.”
With trembling hands, I scroll through the photos. They’re innocent enough. Just two people sitting at a booth together, talking. Except we’re not just two people. And with the right headline, the media can spin the pictures any way they’d like.
“It’s not a big deal. We’ll have them taken down,” Shane assures me.
My gut twists, because I know that even if they can somehow manage to remove the photos, they’re already out there in cyberspace.
I came here to get away from all this.
Emotion tightens my throat, and if I didn’t have half a dozen pairs of eyes on me I’d probably let the tears that burn the back of my eyes fall.
“Can you take me home?”
Shane frowns down at me. He opens his mouth to say something, then clamps it shut and nods. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 18
Shane
I should never have brought Makena into the Shamrock. But I hadn’t known who her ex was then, or that people would recognize her. But I should have known that people would take photos.
They always do. Everywhere I go. Especially here.
“I’m sorry about the pictures.” I keep both hands on the steering wheel, knowing if I don’t, I’ll end up reaching for her, and the last thing I can tell she wants right now is me.
“It’s not your fault,” she mumbles, rubbing her hands over her arms.
She’s drawn into herself, and I have no idea what the hell she’s thinking. I just know I have to make this right.
When I pull to a stop in front of Colleen’s cottage, she opens the door and mutters a quick, “Goodnight,” then gets out.
Turning the ignition off, I get out and sprint to catch up to her before she barricades herself back in that damn house.
I take her hand and turn her towards me. The moon is high, and it casts a silver glow across her face.
Fuck, she’s beautiful. But the resignation I’ve worked the last two days to tear down is back up.
If I was smart, I’d let her walk away. She’s giving me an out. A chance to end it before it gets more complicated than it already is. But I’ve already had a taste of her, and instead of curbing my appetite, it only increased the hunger.
“Tell me what ye’re upset about. Is it being seen with me?” Maybe it’s my image she’s worried about. The scandal it will bring to her.
She shakes her head. “My life is on public display-”
“I know what it’s like to be hounded by the press.”
“You don’t get it. You chose this life. You want to be known. To be seen.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “All I ever wanted…” She chokes on the words and swipes angrily at a single tear that falls down her cheek. “Damn it. I’m not going to do this.”
She turns away from me, but I pull her into my arms. If I let her go now, there’s no way in hell she’ll ever let me back in her life.
I cup her chin, forcing her to look at me. “What do ye want, Makena?”
“The complete opposite of you,” she says, exasperation forcing the words out.
“Ouch.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” She covers her face with her hands, then drops them in defeat. “All I ever wanted was to be a wife. To have a family. I know for someone like you it sounds lame, but it isn’t to me. I just want to be happy. To be with someone I can trust, and who loves me. And I want the rest of the world to mind their own damn business and leave me alone so maybe one day I’ll actually find him.”
“Him?” My gut twists thinking about her with someone else. I wrap my hands around her waist and pull her hard against me. I chuckle darkly, the sound filled with frustration, and worse, jealousy. “And where do ye think ye’ll find this perfect man?”
“You’re making fun of me.” She tries to push away, her hands going to my chest, but I don’t let her go.
“I’m not.” I dip my head closer, knowing she feels the same electricity that courses between us, making her body melt into mine, even if only subconsciously. “I just doubt ye’re going to find him while ye’re holed up in that cottage.”
“I found you,” she says flatly.
I grunt. “Well, maybe yer Prince Charming came driving a Ferrari and slinging a Fender guitar.”
She frowns. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Say things like that. We both know this isn’t going anywhere.”
I know she’s right, but it doesn’t stop me from blurting out, “Well, maybe we should see if it will.”
A tension-filled silence stretches between us, and she glares up at me.
After a few long moments, she says tightly, “I thought you were better than this.”
She’s angry, and I have no fucking idea why.
“Better than what? I’m saying we should…see where it goes. I thought ye’d be happy. That’s what ye want, right? A relationship.”
“No.” She shakes her head, but then her lips purse, and a hundred different emotions flicker in her eyes. “Maybe. Yes. But not with…”
“Not with me?” I drop my hands and take a step back, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Oh my God, you’re so frustrating. You said yourself that you don’t do relationships. Even if I thought we were compatible, I’d be an idiot to think this will lead to anything more than you stomping all over my heart as you walk away.”
My teeth clench, because I know in my head that she’s probably right. And maybe I’m being a selfish bastard for pressing her for more. Hell, I know I am.
But she’s under my skin. In my blood.
“I won’t hurt ye, Makena,” It’s more of a promise than a factual statement. One I’m making to myself as much as to her. Because I know I’d never forgive myself.
She inhales, then lets out a slow, uneven breath and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, there’s resolve in her expression.
“I believe you mean it,” she says softly, not really looking at me, but more through me. Which bothers me more than anything else she’s said tonight, because she’s the first person in years who I’ve ever felt really saw me.
“Then trust me.” I take a step toward her.
“I trust you believe what you say. But I also trust that you can’t help but leave a trail of broken hearts in your wake. It’s your nature.”
My eye twitches. “If ye think it’s my nature to cause pain to others, then ye don’t know me at all.”
“You’re right. I don’t know you. And you don’t know me.”
“Then get to know me. Let me understand ye. I haven’t felt like this before-”
“Shane-”
“This isn’t just about sex.”
She gives me a small smile and shakes her head. “Everything with you is about sex.”
A chuckle rumbles in my throat. “I’m not saying I don’t want to have sex with ye. It’s the only thing I could think about all night.”
“Which is why you’ll say anything right now.” Her
hands go up when I take another step toward her, and she takes one back.
We continue the dance until her back is against the door, my body pressed against hers. “Tell me ye don’t want my touch and I’ll walk away. But ye know full well that no other man will ever make ye feel the way I do.”
“God, you’re cocky.”
“Only because I’m right,” I say against the shell of her ear as I brush my knuckles down her slender neck.
She shivers from my touch.
“Give me one more night. Let me convince ye that I’m not the asshole ye think I am.” I trace the line of her jaw. “There are still so many things I want to do to ye, things ye need to feel, to experience. Let me come inside, Makena.”
She groans, pulling her keys out. “I know I’m going to regret this.”
When her fingers tremble, I take the keys from her and unlock the door. And I’m on her the second it’s shut behind us.
A need blazes inside of me, so hot that I swear my insides blister from it.
The damn emotions are there, too, fucking with my head. But nothing matters more than having her.
Consuming her.
Possessing her.
It’s like she’s awoken some primal part of my brain.
Not to mention what she’s done to my body.
Like an addiction, I can’t get enough.
My lips cover hers, and we’re both tearing at each other’s clothes, barely making it to the bedroom before I sheath myself and bury my aching cock inside her.
Desperate moans fall from her lips, and her head falls back against the pillow as I fill her fully.
I breathe out roughly and hold myself still for a moment, knowing if I don’t I’ll come too soon. That’s what she does to me. Makes me lose control. Lose all sense of reality.
Her eyes soften for a moment, her fingers brushing across my cheek, and I see a flicker of emotion cross her expression.
Shit. I feel it, too. The pull between us. The connection.
And my chest squeezes with a tender possessiveness that wasn’t there before.
I start to move inside her, and she whimpers.
Her eyes close, and I command, “Look at me.”
She sucks in a shaky breath and her lashes flutter open, her expression a mix of lust and uncertainty. “I…can’t…it’s…too much.”
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