“Me? I don’t think I can.”
“You build furniture. I think you can handle a couple of pieces of wire.” She set pieces in from of him. “I’ll help.”
He looked at her from the corner of his eyes, but picked up the pliers. He fumbled them as he tried to thread the wire. His fingers looked huge holding the tools she used every day.
“The wire is flexible. It’s not like you can break it. You don’t have to be careful. Wind it around and then snip it. Once it’s wrapped, use a smaller piece and thread it through to connect to the chain.”
Connor’s breath huffed out in frustration after a couple of tries. “This isn’t my thing. I’ll just watch you work.” He shoved everything back in front of her.
Rather than make him feel bad that she’d have to undo what little he completed, she opted to start something new. She pulled a length of chain and cut it. Then she dug through a tin of jewels, rocks, and charms. She laid out a sampling and held some up to the chain to see what would work together. Sometimes she had a plan when she created; other times, she played around until she found the right look.
Once she started, she got into her groove and forgot Connor watched.
“Wow.”
His word startled her and she jolted a bit. “What?”
“You make it look so easy.”
“It’s not difficult. Here.” She grabbed his hands to the piece she worked on.
“No. I’ll fuck it up.”
“I won’t let you.” And she sincerely hoped she spoke the truth because she was falling in love with the necklace. She guided his hands in place and showed him what to do. When he got stuck, she took over.
Connor picked up his stool and put it directly behind hers. When he resettled on the seat, his thighs cradled her hips and his chest pressed at her back.
Talk about not being able to focus. His arms caged her in and his breath whispered across her neck, tickling her ear.
“Let me try again,” he said and reached for the pliers.
They worked together to finish the necklace, their hands intertwining and working as a team. His large, scarred hands contrasted against her pale skin. When the necklace was complete, Fiona said, “Let me get a clasp on, and we’re done.”
He fingered the chain. “It’s beautiful.”
A blush warmed her cheeks as she added the final touch. “Thanks.”
Connor’s hands left the table and stroked her thighs through the silk of her robe. His palms were warm and she could feel the rough calluses through the thin material. He kissed the side of her neck and nibbled her earlobe as his hands searched for the opening of her robe. His erection poked into her back and the tug of desire pooled deep in her belly. She dropped her tools to the table with a small clang. She shifted her hips back and rubbed his thighs.
Connor tugged the belt loose and then his hands became very busy. One stroked up her inner thigh, while the other sought out her nipples. He knew exactly what to do to turn her on again and again, as if she hadn’t just had very satisfying sex. She was wet and wanting a release within minutes.
Fiona reached behind her and held onto Connor’s neck, the soft brush of his short hair tingled against the pads of her fingers. She became boneless as his fingers plunged into her and his palm applied just the right pressure to her clit. She met his small thrusts with her hips while pressing her back into his chest. She couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t feel enough.
He pinched her nipple and picked up the pace of his hand. Every nerve was tighter than any wire she worked with. She was on edge and wanted more.
When he pulled his hand away, she stopped breathing.
He kissed her shoulder. “Turn around.”
He shifted and she heard the condom wrapper. Where the hell had that come from? She looked over her shoulder at him before lifting her hips. She moved her robe aside, wanting him to take her.
But he grabbed her hips again. “Face me.”
Connor spun her and brought her to his lap. He spread the robe wide so it slid from her shoulders, only her arms keeping it on. He rocked himself, rubbing his cock against her, sending delicious licks of pleasure through her body.
He pushed her back and then brought her down on top of him. He stretched and filled her. Connor wrapped his arms around her and they sat close for a moment, cocooned in each other, breath mingling, fingers playing, lips touching.
He caressed her face so gently, it was hard to comprehend they were the same rough hands whose calluses rubbed past her robe. He let her hair down and ran his fingers through it, spreading it wildly over her shoulders. One hand twisted at the back of her scalp, enough to give him control without causing pain. Her chin lifted and he kissed and licked and bit across her neck, down to her breasts, and sucked a nipple into his mouth.
Fiona couldn’t stand it any longer. She needed movement, friction, release she’d been denied. She bucked her hips and ground onto Connor until he groaned. He moved onto the other nipple, but managed to lift her hips with one hand and brought her back down hard. Shockwaves speared through her, but it still wasn’t enough.
“More,” she croaked out.
So he did it again and again. Everything in her felt hard and tight. He pumped twice more and then slid a hand between them. This time when he pulled out, his thumb rubbed her clit and she slammed into him shattering everything in her. She screamed. Maybe it had been his name, but she couldn’t tell.
Fiona moved forward and gripped him around the neck wanting to crawl into him. Connor’s hands grasped her ass and he pumped fiercely against her, knocking into her worktable. She held on as tightly as she could until she broke again. She could hear nothing but his ragged breath, see nothing but starbursts behind her squeezed-tight eyelids, feel nothing but Connor cradling her.
A tear streaked down her cheek as she shuddered. His muscles tightened beneath her and Connor’s pace slowed. He rocked into her, mumbling into her hair. “I got you.”
She had no idea how long they sat with Connor holding her. He began to smooth her hair away from his face and he kissed her ear, her jaw, and then found her lips. After a slow, soul-searing kiss, he looked into her eyes, but she still couldn’t read him. And God, how she wanted to. She wanted to know if it was as different for him as it had been for her. If his world felt as destroyed as hers did.
If he loved her the way she knew she’d fallen for him.
He pushed away from the table, knocking over a few things in the process. Fiona went to unwrap her legs, but he held her tight.
“Just hang on.” He carried her to her bed and set her down gently.
Exhaustion hit her then, every muscle turned to mush, every bone, gone. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she kept them open enough to say, “You can stay.”
He carefully brushed hair away from her face. “Some other time. I need to go take care of Max.”
“Okay.” She was both relieved and disappointed. It was the first time she’d invited him to spend the night, so she should be mad he turned her down, but at the same time, without him there, she could sort through her own feelings and figure out what she was going to do.
* * *
Fiona’s eyes closed before he’d even gotten dressed. Connor stood in her bedroom, wearing his jeans and holding his T-shirt, and watched her sleep. Her breath slipped into a contented sigh. The urge to crawl into bed with her and hold her against his body struck him with unbelievable force.
What the fuck was he doing?
This woman kept him off balance, and he couldn’t think straight. He’d believed she was going to toss him out and say they were done. Part of his brain was resigned to the inevitable, but she then asked him to a family wedding. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? Although Aiden was aware they were seeing each other, but he couldn’t imagine facing all of the Cavanaghs at once.
He shook his head and grabbed his shoes. Easing from her room, he pulled the door closed behind him. He found a light swi
tch and flicked it on. It bathed the living room in a warm glow and Connor did what he couldn’t when they’d arrived. He took in Fiona’s space. A lot of color. Everywhere. It was a little chaotic, but it worked. On the shelf above her TV, he saw family pictures. Aiden and Fiona starred in most of them. She had only one of the whole family. Her parents stood stiffly, formal smiles on their faces, arms around Aiden. Fiona stood off to the side, as if not really a member of the family. Fiona had her mother’s eyes, but he saw no other resemblance.
But the pictures of her and Aiden…they were real.
He poked around Fiona’s living room but found nothing related to her family other than the pictures. The artwork on the wall was hers. Her squiggly signature swirled in the lower corner of each. Books on the shelves were fiction, trashy romance, and some nonfiction on jewelry and various art books.
He didn’t know what he’d hope to find. A diary detailing all of her father’s transgressions? That shit only happened in the movies. He finished getting dressed and turned off the lights. He no longer knew what he was doing with Fiona or what his purpose was.
Connor drove home tasting Fiona on his lips. It took all his control to not turn his truck around and go back to her place. He now understood her reluctance to spend the night with him. Things were becoming too real between them.
He needed distance to keep his head on straight. At home, he let Max out into the yard and took a shower, washing away all but the memories of the evening. After he fed Max, Connor got onto his computer and began digging through Cavanagh-related material again. He read article after article. Was there anything he could gain from Fiona that wasn’t here? She didn’t appear to be part of their lives other than brief photo ops where she looked miserable.
The Cavanagh Foundation was a huge donor of the outreach center where Fiona worked, but even there, they didn’t participate or visit. Like most things with the Cavanaghs, they threw money at it and went on their merry way.
Not finding any answers on his computer, Connor pushed away and went to the basement. Back to the wood that always brought him peace. A way to work with his hands to build instead of destroy. Dermott had given him that outlet.
Dermott had given him plenty of opportunities and advice over the years. Connor hadn’t been very good at heeding most of the advice, but this time he listened too well. Dermott told him to get close to Fiona.
Connor went off the deep end and was falling for her.
He grabbed some sandpaper and rubbed furiously on the ornate table leg. He never wanted to fall in love. Definitely not with a Cavanagh. Nothing good would come from it. They could never be happy.
His past would prevent it. She’d either hate him for it or her family would drive them apart. No way could Brady Cavanagh look at Connor with his daughter and be happy. The scritching sound of the paper against wood soothed him. The pads of his fingers became scratched and rougher than usual.
He imagined how it would feel against Fiona’s skin.
“Fuck!” he yelled to no one. He crumpled the sandpaper and threw it across the workbench. Fiona needed to get out of his head. His productivity suffered. His heart wouldn’t survive.
Max moaned from the top of the basement stairs. His best friend always worried when Connor was upset. Connor left the basement and turned off the lights. He couldn’t work and he couldn’t not work.
“Come on, Max. Let’s go for a run.” A midnight run might clear his head. Bare minimum it would fatigue his body so he could forget Fiona for a while. At least that was his hope. He pulled on a light sweatshirt and slipped back into his gym shoes.
Max waited impatiently at the door, his tail knocking against his leash dangling on a hook. Max had the right idea. Live life for the moment. Enjoy a run. Nothing more was needed.
If only Connor’s life could be half as simple.
* * *
For the next week, Connor saw Fiona every night. As the election neared, her frustration increased. And still she refused to open up about her family. Brady Cavanagh had trained her well.
The closest she came to admitting anything to him was when she told him she would be too busy with family things for the next few days and wouldn’t be able to see him. She didn’t mention the “family things” had to do with the election on Tuesday.
And with the election on top of them, he had no chance for any new information for his book. Brady would win—or wouldn’t—and life would continue on. But what of him and Fiona? Everything he thought he’d wanted from her he didn’t get, but he got something else entirely.
He had nothing to do until after Tuesday, so he worked. Seeing Fiona’s workbench had made him a little twitchy. He couldn’t comprehend being able to produce in such chaos, although it appeared to work for her. With his free time, he’d decided to make her a cabinet for her jewelry supplies. The box was finished and the first couple of drawers were ready.
He used plain white pine because Fiona wouldn’t want something stained and simple. She’d want color, so he left it naked and ready for paint. He hoped he’d made it big enough. She had a lot of crap piled up in tins and bowls and muffin pans. How could she find anything?
The one thing she did seem to have organized was her collection of tools. To aid her in that effort, he added hooks to the side of the tabletop cabinet. She could hang her snips and pliers from the hooks beside her materials.
Connor managed to mostly put the Cavanaghs out of his head, but since Fiona was a Cavanagh and she was always in his head, it was difficult. If he kept his focus on her, he could almost forget the election.
Almost. The local TV stations carried candidates’ commercials and political signs littered lawns through every neighborhood. And with the advent of the election, his last hope of adding to his book faded.
Despite his best intention, he found himself tuning the small TV in the basement to election coverage on Tuesday night while he sanded the cabinet for Fiona. He drilled holes for hardware and shook his head at himself. He’d gone into the hardware store and picked out the girliest knobs he could find, and they fit Fiona. He hoped she liked them.
He’d missed her over the past couple of days. He wanted to go to her condo and spend a few hours with her, but he still couldn’t make himself show up uninvited. Which was weird given that she’d done it to him since the beginning. Plus, a wealth of lies created a gulf between them.
By late afternoon, the polls were showing the race between Cavanagh and his opponent was close, surprising many. Connor wanted to reach out to Fiona. Was this good news for her? Did she want her father to win again?
She must’ve since she’d gone out of her way to keep up appearances for him. After weeks, Connor still didn’t have a good understanding of her relationship with the rest of the Cavanaghs.
At dinnertime, he made a quick sandwich and went upstairs to read. Maybe watch the rest of the election coverage. It was like a sick addiction. He needed to know.
As the night wore on, it became apparent that Brady Cavanagh would keep his seat as alderman. By the ten o’clock news, Cavanagh’s opponent had conceded. Connor was about to turn the TV off when Brady Cavanagh stood before the cameras with his acceptance speech. Connor heard nothing but the usual empty promises about making Chicago the best city possible. Blah-blah.
In the background, behind her father, Fiona stood, looking strained with a polite smile on her face. To most viewers she probably looked like a loving daughter, doting on her father, excited about his win. But Connor saw the real Fiona, the one who hated the pomp and flash of politics.
Connor waited until the news went back to the anchors and he dialed Fiona’s number. He wasn’t sure if she would answer, but he had to try.
“Hello?” The room behind her blared obnoxious noises, like a New Year’s Eve party gone wrong.
“Fiona, it’s Connor.”
“Hold on.” The background noise softened and she came back on. “What’s up?” she asked hesitantly.
“What’s up with you?
”
She sighed heavily. “You saw me on TV, didn’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Look, I’ll explain everything later. I wanted to tell you, but it never seemed like the right time.”
He knew the feeling well.
“Do you hate me?”
“No.” His response came quickly, but after he digested the question, he realized his answer was truthful. As much as he despised her father, he held no animosity toward Fiona. He didn’t know exactly what he felt about her.
Painful silence met him, and he thought she’d hung up.
“I’m glad,” she responded quietly, then followed with a groan. “God, they’re calling me for more pictures. I promise we’ll talk later. I’m sorry I lied about my name, but you see what a circus this is. Being with you let me be me.”
He heard someone calling her name and it was getting louder. Her hiding spot would soon be discovered. “Everyone has secrets. It wouldn’t be fair for me to hate you for holding onto yours.”
“That’s very mature of you. It’s almost like being in a real relationship.”
“My door is open if you need to escape.”
“I wish I could, but this will go most of the night and then my mother has me roped into crap for the next couple of days. I thought the campaigning was bad. Now it’s like we have to go around thanking all of his supporters. Then I have my cousin’s wedding. I just wish I had a normal life. You have no idea how much I envy you.”
“You can join my normal whenever you want.” In saying the words, he knew how true they were. “About the wedding. Still need a date?”
“Are you serious?”
His brain scrambled. “Yeah.”
“Thank you. I can’t wait.” He heard the smile on her face and knew it was real, unlike the one she wore for the cameras.
Whoever had been calling her name now pounded on a door. “Fiona, are you in there?”
Between Love and Loyalty Page 11