I’m sure gonna miss this when you go back to Pittsburgh.
Yeah, those would go over really well. Women loved that romantic shit, right?
Fuck it. Whatever was going to get Quinn into his bed was going to be the game plan. And the fact that he didn’t mind spending time with her outside of the bedroom didn’t mean he was falling for her. It was strictly about the sex. Hot, can’t-stop-thinking-about-it-all-day sex.
Ewan was about to pick up a tray of glasses to carry them to the back room when he heard the loud rap of a knuckle against the bar top.
“Guess it’s no surprise there’s slow service here.”
With a curse on the tip of his tongue, Ewan turned back toward the complainer and then scowled.
Keith Hardy.
Every fiber in Ewan’s body wanted to toss him out. But after a quick glance, it appeared that Hardy was there by himself. Which was odd since he never traveled anywhere without his fucking entourage.
If it weren’t for the menacing gleam in his eye, Keith Hardy would appear to be just another guy at the pub on a Saturday night. Pale skin, dark hair and stubble. Stood about five nine, weighed around 190 pounds. Eyes so close together he may have been a Cyclops.
Ewan hated the fact that he was in the pub, where Hardy damn well knew he wasn’t welcome. But with the full house, he wasn’t gonna start a brawl just to kick him out on his ass.
Again.
In fact, why Hardy was even there in the first place had Ewan curious, since the last time he’d been here it hadn’t ended well for him. Whatever they wanted him to do, they must really be desperate.
“What’s on tap tonight, McKenna?”
“Same thing that’s always on tap.” Patience was not a virtue that Ewan possessed.
“How about a pint of whatever you have then.” Hardy slid his cash across the bar. Ewan reluctantly filled the glass, watching carefully as the level of beer neared the top. Maybe if he humored the asshole, he’d leave peacefully and quickly. He placed the pint in front of Hardy, swiped the money from the bar, and tossed back the change.
“Oh, you can keep that for yourself, my friend. A tip.” He smirked. He looked like a man whose screws weren’t quite tightened all the way.
Without a word, Ewan took the meager tip and threw it in the tip jar. Before he could take two steps toward the other end of the bar and far away from Keith Hardy, the fucker spoke again.
“Business is boomin’ tonight. I was hoping you would have a second to talk.”
Ewan stopped and glared back at Hardy, silently willing him to get a fucking clue and leave.
“There’s something I need your help with,” he began.
Ewan almost laughed.
“The boys and I are heading over to Hartford. Some of our old…associates”—he smiled—“are putting together a little demonstration.”
“No,” Ewan said abruptly and turned to walk away.
“Wait! You don’t even know what I’m asking.”
Ewan swung back, stopped directly before the other man, and glared. “I know damn well what you’re asking, and you should know that I want nothing to do with your plans.”
“Adam Madigan himself sent down the order. He specifically requested your assistance,” Hardy snapped, almost as if he were jealous that he hadn’t been the one whom Madigan had asked for.
“Then Adam can damn well ask me himself so I can tell him to leave me the fuck alone.”
“What the hell happened to you, McKenna?” he said, before leaning over the bar to whisper, “You’ve lost your goddamn mind if you expect that all this shit is dead and buried. You can’t ever leave that life. It’ll follow you to your grave.”
“I settled things a long time ago with the Madigans. I’m out.”
“Do I have to remind you how they had you rolling in money for years? Anything you wanted they could get for you. All they asked in return was for your loyalty. Something you wouldn’t know anything about apparently.” He was trying not to raise his voice, and thankfully the fiddle and the noise of the crowd were drowning him out.
“I never asked them for anything. I owe nothing.”
Hardy pounded a fist on the bar top, this time drawing attention of the few men who were sitting nearby. “Bullshit! Once you spill blood for them, they own you.” He looked hard at Ewan and shoved a finger into his chest. “You’re a fucking dog to them. Just like me. They whistle and you listen. That’s how it works.”
Ewan shook his head. “You’re wasting your time. The answer is still no. Now leave me the hell alone.”
He pushed himself away from the bar as Hardy’s cold stare bored into him.
“Once Adam hears of this, you’ll be sorry.”
Ewan didn’t bother to reply. If Adam had a problem with something, he could get in touch with Ewan himself. No one wanted to see a Madigan at their doorstep, but he’d been honest and up front with the head of the family once before. He was sure he could do it again.
Ewan grabbed the tray of glasses that he’d been meaning to take into the back, but paused as he noticed Quinn walk through the front door. All thoughts of Keith Hardy and the Madigans left his mind, and desire took their place as his eyes met hers.
She’d worn her hair down, which he wasn’t used to seeing but definitely liked. She was carrying a small bag over her shoulder. Her smile eased a tension he hadn’t known he had. He didn’t know if it was the conversation he’d had with Keith Hardy or maybe he was expecting her to still be mad over losing their bet.
She walked straight to the door that led up to his apartment and then disappeared behind it a second later.
Shit. It was only half past midnight.
“I just realized something. Maybe I’ve been wrong about you all this time,” he heard. Apparently, Ewan had stopped when Quinn had walked through the door, which had kept him within earshot of Keith fucking Hardy.
“I’ve watched this life slowly chip away at our colleagues. Eat away their souls and drain the light from their eyes. I had thought that’s what happened to you, and that’s why you wanted out. You were one of the coldest people I knew back then. Jesus, just looking you in the eye scared the shit out of me.” A dark smile formed on his face as he spoke. “Looking at you right now? Nothing’s changed, McKenna. You’re still dead inside, and if you think chasing after dreams of a quiet, simple life is going to change that, you’re wrong. There is no happy ending for people like us.”
Ewan remained expressionless and watched as Hardy slipped out of his chair and walked out of the pub. He stared at the door long after it swung closed.
Chapter 15
While most people would consider it impolite and nosy, Quinn figured since she was sleeping with Ewan, it would be okay to have a look around his apartment. It wasn’t like she was going through the medicine cabinet or anything. It was just that one could find out a lot about someone from the way they kept their home.
In one word, Ewan’s apartment was tidy.
After taking her shoes off at the door next to a couple of neatly positioned pairs of Ewan’s shoes and tossing her overnight tote bag on the recliner, she began her self-guided tour in the living room.
There were no overhead lights in the entire apartment that she could see. The light switch beside the front door had turned on two floor lamps in opposite corners, which cast a dim golden glow over the room.
The well-worn couch that she had become familiar with the night before was bare of any throw pillows. The dark wood floors and the dark chestnut color of the couch and recliner gave the living room a masculine feel.
The coffee table was actually an old trunk with brass handles at the sides. There was a neat stack of cork coasters on top next to a remote for a wall mounted flat-screen TV that was too small for the space.
The long wall where the TV hung was off-white and bare. Quinn noticed as she walked toward the back of the apartment that there were no wall decorations or art of any kind. That didn’t really surprise her. Ewan didn’
t seem like the collector type or someone who would express himself by means of watercolors or art deco.
The two tall windows on the back wall framed the small dining table with three simple wooden chairs, each pushed in neatly. Quinn stood at the window and watched a few pedestrians cross the street below. Even with the window firmly shut, she could still smell the lovely sweet perfume of the flower arrangements outside the florist shop next door.
A thickly woven navy rug scratched at the bottoms of her feet as she turned back toward the room. There was a stack of mail on the table: the day’s newspaper, rolled and bound with a rubber band, a bright purple envelope, which Quinn immediately recognized as Darcy’s birthday invitation, and a few other miscellaneous pieces of mail.
Aside from the main pile, she noticed several matching envelopes with beautiful scrolling handwritten addresses all postmarked from Belfast. They were all addressed to Ewan in care of his uncle and had been posted within the last three weeks. Each letter was almost identical except for the post date. The handwriting was definitely a woman’s.
An old girlfriend, perhaps?
But that didn’t make any sense because they were sent via his uncle. She counted five letters, sent on the same ivory-colored stationery and inked in the same blue pen. The return address didn’t include a name, just an address on Malone Road in Belfast.
It was none of her business, of course, but she was still curious.
Quinn ventured into the tiny galley kitchen lined with more dark wooden cabinets and very limited counter space on either side of the single sink. The black refrigerator took up most of the space, and the only magnet was a rugby ball, which held up a laminated list of phone numbers. Sean’s name was on the top, followed by his uncle, his aunt, and Jenny, whom Quinn presumed was the same Jenny who helped him out at the pub.
She wondered, if she had a cell phone number, whether her name would make it on his coveted refrigerator phone list.
Opening the fridge, she found the staples: half a loaf of bread, a carton of milk, eggs, and butter. There was some lunch meat—ham—in the meat tray, along with a couple slices of yellow cheese. Surprisingly there were no cans of beer or other alcohol to be found. The only exception was the bottle of whiskey that was kept on top of the refrigerator, which she’d seen Ewan use that night he’d kissed her.
Done snooping in the kitchen, she passed the lone interior brick wall separating the living room and the bedroom. Not surprisingly, the bedroom was just as tidy as the living room.
Had he cleaned before she’d come over?
A massive wooden bed was snug against the cream-colored wall opposite the front of the building. The bed, which was neatly made, had two large pillows and a dark blue comforter. Two large windows identical to the ones in the dining room looked out over the main street in Ballagh, with the front door of the pub directly below. There were no curtains or blinds on the windows to block the morning sun. The building across the street was close enough to see into.
Either Ewan was an exhibitionist or he didn’t give a damn that anyone with a strong urge to see his bare ass would be able to have a front-row seat from across the road. She wondered where they would end up later that evening. Surely not in front of the window?
A few well-read books were stacked on top of the only tall dresser in the room. Quinn smiled when she saw the image of a boxer on the cover of The Professional by W.C. Heinz. Underneath was a copy of Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison.
On one side of the bed was a door to a small closet. A number of button-down shirts were hanging there, along with some folded pairs of pants. A few pairs of shoes were on the floor, and several belts hung from a hook on the back of the door.
On the other side of the bed was the bathroom. The floor was covered with tiny white tiles with dark gray grout. A standing shower was shoved into the corner and lined with a striped black, silver, and white shower curtain. There was bar soap in the soap holder along with a brand of shampoo she wasn’t familiar with. Toilet, pedestal sink, and wastebasket. Pretty standard. Again, extremely clean.
Walking back into the living room, she realized it was the most uninteresting apartment she’d ever seen. But it was so predictably Ewan. She wasn’t sure if he had many guests over, but anyone who did happen to stop by wouldn’t be able to get any insight on what kind of man he was. Ewan was a private person. He was even private in private.
There were no pictures of family or friends that sat on his nightstand. He didn’t proudly display his diploma on the wall. The only thing that she saw, besides his choice in literature, was a simple framed photograph of Ewan and Sean taken at Sean’s college graduation. Ewan had his arm around the younger man, who was dressed in his cap and gown. Although not exactly smiling as big as his cousin, Ewan seemed happy in the photo. But even that little nugget of Ewan’s personal life was shoved into his closet, sitting on top of a pile of sweatshirts.
Ewan McKenna. Man of many mysteries.
Quinn smiled as she slid down onto the couch and switched on the TV. She flipped through the few channels that were available, and they all had something to do with sports. She didn’t want to watch a baseball game, and she couldn’t care less about the NBA standings. And since those were her only two options, she switched the TV off and stretched out on the couch.
She remembered how it felt to lie there with Ewan pressed tightly on top of her. How the light spattering of dark hair on his chest felt against her skin. How her nipples had ached against the cotton of her bra.
With a yawn, she dreamily closed her eyes and willed the time to speed up.
The sound of running water pulled her from her sleep. It seemed like only minutes earlier that she’d closed her eyes. Propping herself up on one elbow, she found herself on Ewan’s big, soft bed covered by a thick hand-stitched quilt. Dim light crept in from the tall windows at the foot of the bed.
As her awareness of her surroundings sunk in, the sound of the running water stopped. She rolled to her other side and saw Ewan’s long, lean form fill up the doorway to the bathroom. A dark towel was tied around his waist, his broad chest bare damp from his shower. The stark shadows cast across his face and body made her shiver.
It was the kind of scene that she’d see in a movie. He was dangerously handsome. His damp hair was messy, as if he’d just finished drying it with a towel. And he was looking at her like he wanted to devour her.
She went from dazed to alert in less than six seconds.
“How long have you been up here?” she asked.
“Maybe twenty minutes.” He sat down next to her on the side of the bed. He tilted his head and studied her with amusement. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
“Forgiven.” She leaned toward him and ran her fingers through his inky black hair. It was cool to the touch and felt like wet silk.
He closed his eyes and sighed. “You didn’t look that comfortable on the couch, so I put you into bed while I showered.” He paused and leaned into her touch.
He was tired, she could tell. Even fresh from a shower, she could see the dark shadows under his eyes. With his work schedule and their extracurricular activities, he’d probably had less sleep than she had over the past couple of days. Part of her wanted to pull him under her warm quilt so he could drift off to sleep. The other part wanted to pull him under her warm body so she could feel his skin against hers.
Just as she finished that thought, his eyes opened and his penetrating gaze drilled into her. Her blood warmed instantly as her heartbeat increased. He leaned toward her, caging her with his arms as his dark eyes studied her face.
“I seem to remember that I have a prize to claim,” he murmured, his gaze lingering over her lips and down her neck. He ran the tip of his index finger over her sternum. His touch was as light as a feather and Quinn shivered. His finger wound its way down to the hollow in between her breasts until it was halted by the neckline of her V-neck shirt. “I need to do something about all these clothes you’re wearing.”
/> She wiggled under him as he peeled back the quilt and tugged at the bottom of her T-shirt until it was untucked from her jeans. He supported her with one arm around her back while the other gently pulled her shirt up and over her outstretched arms.
She smiled when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. Wait till he realized that she wasn’t wearing any underwear either.
Her nipples were hard and her breasts felt swollen. She felt heady with power that her body could cause the heat in his eyes to smolder. He looked hungry, like a man who hadn’t had a meal in days. His big, callused hands molded around the undersides of her breasts. He ran his thumbs around her swollen tips, and she dropped her head back as the twin points of pleasure radiated throughout her body. His touch was turning her into putty as her elbows began to slide out from under her.
He slowly ran his hands down her stomach to unbutton her jeans. She lifted her hips for him so he could pull the denim down under her bottom. She heard him curse when she felt the cool air in the room touch her bare thighs. She arched her back as she lay back on the bed, completely exposed now to his intense inspection.
This time, things were different. This time they were going slow enough to take in each other’s bodies. She boldly reached for the towel that was wound around his hips, but he caught her hand before she could pull it free.
“Not so fast, lass,” he said in a low, sultry voice. “I’m calling the shots tonight.”
He slowly drew both her hands up and over her head. He was kneeling over her, and she could smell the crisp, clean scent of his soap on his skin. He started to kiss his way down her arm, running his lips over the sensitive skin at the base of her neck. His hands slowly skimmed their way down as well, making her squirm as they teased their way over the sides of her rib cage. She arched her back, pleading for him to put his mouth to her nipples, but he denied her request and continued to trail kisses and licks down the valley of her breasts.
His hands were spread against her hips, and her whole body jumped when he dipped his tongue into her navel. As he shifted to slide lower, Quinn tensed in the realization that he was heading farther south. She tried to sit up and pulled at his shoulders.
The Best Part of Me Page 15