by Wild, Cassie
Taking her breaks, I assumed. It was about that time, and if she didn’t show up soon, I’d have to dump the coffee drink before it turned into vanilla and froth sludge.
I couldn’t stand such drinks myself, but I’d done some digging around that day at her place. If her cabinets told the right story, she had a sweet tooth that she didn’t mind indulging. She also had a serious love of coffee—everything from plain old regular Columbian beans to fussy-sounding concoctions like vanilla breeze and chocolate espresso.
I figured it was a safe gamble that she’d appreciate something like this.
But as several minutes passed, I figured it must have been a wasted effort. She had yet to show her face, and I’d been outside close to twenty minutes.
I shoved off the light post. Halfway between the post and the nearest garbage can, I heard her voice.
She was laughing. The sound was like sunshine on a gray, stormy day.
I turned around just as the guy she was with pointed toward a table.
Oh, hell, no.
I said her name.
She froze, almost imperceptibly, then turned a startled gaze in my direction. “Cormac!” A bright smile wreathed her face, and she said something to the other guy in a voice too low for me to hear. A moment later, she came toward me.
I almost reached out to hug her. A droplet of water rolled from the cup to hit my finger, and I caught myself before I could do that. As she slowed to a stop in front of me, I looked down at the coffee drink, then at her. “Here. I got this for you.”
Her eyes lit up, and she grabbed the cup, lifting it up. Was it crazy to find myself jealous of that straw as her lips closed around it? After one long drink, she lowered it and grinned at me. “One of my favorites. How did you know?”
“I saw a bunch of fancy coffee drinks in your cabinet while I was looking around for something to make for dinner,” I said as I nodded at the drink in her hand. “Figured it was safe enough to assume you had a thing for drinks like that.”
She was busy taking another drink. Yeah, I was definitely jealous of that straw.
“So you’ve just been standing around here with a frappe, hoping you could catch me on my break?”
Put like that, it sounded kind of weird. My mind raced, trying to come up with a logical explanation.
“Thank you.” She stepped closer and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. I caught the faintest hint of sweetness, but she was gone before I could deepen the contact.
“My pleasure,” I said. “Come for a walk with me?”
“Sounds wonderful.” Her lips curled. “I’ve only got thirty minutes, though.”
I offered my hand.
She accepted, twining her fingers with mine.
It wasn’t a conscious decision to head for the borrowed van I’d left in the corner of the parking deck. But that was where we ended up. She slid me a sideways glance. “I don’t know how traffic is in Miami around lunchtime, but it gets pretty insane here. We might make it two blocks before you have to bring me back.”
“I just thought we could get out of the wind,” I said. Although that hadn’t been on my mind at all, as a sharp breeze kicked up, I decided it wasn’t a bad idea.
“Poor guy.”
I narrowed my eyes at her.
“Living in Florida has thinned your blood. This is like a spring day for Philly. Sometime soon, we’ll have snow on the ground. You’ll freeze.”
I tapped her nose. “You’re being a brat.”
“Just having a bit of fun.” She shivered and shot a look at the drink, then back at me. “Of course, maybe I shouldn’t poke fun at you since I’m drinking an iced frappuccino and wearing just a lab coat over these scrubs. Let me tell you, they are not the warmest of garments.”
I opened the door for her, and she climbed in. As she settled back in the seat, I hurried around the front of the van and joined her.
She had her head back on the padded seat, eyes closed. A small grin touched her lips.
Without thinking about it, I reached out and pressed the tip of my finger to her lower lip.
Her lashes lifted slowly.
“I’m having the hardest time trying to get you out of my head,” I said softly.
She closed her mouth around my finger and sucked it into the cool, wet cave of her mouth. As she curled her tongue around my finger, I groaned.
“Seems fair,” she said, releasing her hold on me.
“And why is that?” I asked her.
“Because I’m having the same problem.”
I took the drink from her and leaned in closer. “Are you now?”
“Hmmm.”
If she had anything else to say after that, I’d never know it, because I closed my mouth over hers, giving in to the hunger that had ridden me almost from the second I left her sleeping the week before.
She opened for me, sliding a hand around to cup the back of my neck. As she pressed her fingers against my skull, I put my hand on her belly, then slowly, so slowly, let it drift lower.
When she spread her thighs for me, I thought my brain just might combust.
I didn’t know which one of us took action first. I just remembered kissing her, then, like it was magic, we were in the back of the van. I settled in one of the lounge-styled seats and pushed the lever that sent it dropping all the way back. Tucked into the shadowy depths, the tinted windows obscuring the sight of anybody who might see, I told the world to go to hell for a little while so I could lose myself in her.
She rubbed against me, rocking her hips in a manner that threatened to eradicate what little control I had left.
Then it wasn’t a threat—it was a reality. She reached between us and rubbed my cock, and I groaned, shoving up into her touch. I covered my hand with hers and squeezed. “Harder,” I said, my voice so low and rough I didn’t recognize it. “Harder, baby. Please.”
“Won’t that hurt?” She peered down at me with lust-dazed eyes.
“It will hurt more if you don’t.”
“We can’t have that.” She looked delighted, and under my guidance, she started to oblige, treating me to a rough, over-the-clothing hand job that made me feel like I’d come in my jeans like some foolish kid.
She stopped and sat up, staring down at me.
I was about to ask her what was wrong, but then she reached for the buttons on her coat and fumbled out of it. Her hands were shaking. I saw it as she reached for the hem of her blue top and stripped it off. She darted a look around.
“Nobody can see us,” I told her. I’d parked with the nose of the van pointing to the solid wall, so close to touching it, not even a child could have made it through the small gap between vehicle and concrete.
The tint job on the windows took care of the other possible issue, and after a moment, she relaxed, smiling down at me. She pressed her hands into my shoulders as I started to sit up, so I stayed where I was, watching as she shimmied around, moving until she could unbutton my jeans, then unzip me.
My breath hissed out between my teeth as she freed, then started to stroke me, using the same rapid, rough rhythm I’d shown her.
My eyes rolled into the back of my head. “Fuck, just like that…squeeze…”
She was breathing hard. A hungry moan escaped her, and I opened my eyes to see her staring down where she held my cock fisted in her hand. She pumped, and the sight of her fist swallowing the head of my cock had me biting back a snarl.
I grabbed her, awkwardly boosting her off my lap, then yanking at her scrubs.
“Let me do it,” she said in a whispered voice. “You’ll rip them.”
“Why are we whispering?” I asked, relaxing back and watching as she somehow shimmied out of the pants.
“I don’t know.”
We both laughed, and I laughed even harder when she had to fight with the shoes before she could manage to get the pants off. Once she was naked, I pulled her back into my lap. Somehow, I barely remembered to pull a condom from the pocket of my jeans, and she took it from me
, tearing it open and pulling the latex shield out.
She made it an exercise in erotic torture, the way she slowly unrolled it along my cock. Her tongue peeked out from between her teeth, as if she was concentrating on the task with all of her considerable intellect.
“That’s good enough,” I muttered, brushing her hands away and pulling her up so that my dick was cuddled between the folds of her cunt. “Take me in, Briar. Show me you want me.”
A blush settled on her cheeks, but she did as I requested, holding my cock steady as she wiggled and moved. By the time she started to sink down on me, I was gripping the seat beneath me and struggling not to lunge upward and fill her with my dick.
She moaned as she began to glide down, moving awkwardly at first, then settling into a quick, impatient rhythm. Her pussy milked my cock, her muscles grabbing at me in the sweetest damn way.
We stared at each other. It was erotic, far more intimate than anything I’d ever experienced. Part of me wanted to turn away from it. But that look in her eyes held me spellbound.
Even when her lashes fluttered down, a soft cry escaping her, I couldn’t look away.
I watched as she rode me.
I watched as she started to come.
And I watched her as I followed, climaxing hard enough that it let me momentarily incapable of movement, or thought…or even breathing.
Sixteen
Briar
“Baby!”
I was surprised to see my father opening the door. Almost always, it was Stansfield, the butler who’d been with our family for years. “Since when did you know how to answer the door?” I teased, moving in to hug him. His arms came around me tight, and I poked him in the ribs. “Or did Stansfield finally get fed up with your grouchiness?”
“Hush, you.” He kissed both of my cheeks and rested his hands on my shoulders, giving me a thorough study. “I told Stansfield to take the day off. I wanted to be with my family.” He looked left and right, using only his eyes, then he dipped his head and whispered, “I think he’s got a lady.”
“Stansfield?” I gaped at him and tried to picture the tall, bony man who’d helped me with my German having a romantic interest in somebody. Sure, he was a man and a person and had feelings and all that, but…the picture just wasn’t coming together for me.
“Mind effectively boggled,” I said as he nodded at me.
“I know.” Dad rolled his eyes. “I had a hard time seeing it too. But when I asked him, he was…well, just a little too non-committal and casual for me to believe him.”
Although Seamus Downing had been in the United States longer than I’d been alive, his voice still carried the music of Ireland. I could remember being little before Mama died. He’d smiled more then, had laughed easily. Now, seeing the expression on his face, my heart melted a little.
He looked…happy. Lighter, somehow.
I cupped his cheeks in my hands and tugged him down.
He acquiesced, and I pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek. “I love you, Daddy.”
To my surprise, his dark blue eyes misted a bit. “I love you, too, my precious Briar.”
My face heated at his comment, and I tucked in against his chest. He still smelled of pipe smoke and sandalwood, scents I’d forever associate with my father.
“Come on,” he said, easing away and wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “Food is almost done. Daria wanted to cook. Apparently, it’s something she enjoys.” He rolled his eyes and added, “Although you can’t tell by looking at her. Poor girl is so thin. Every time I see her, I want to stuff a sandwich into her hands.”
“She’s a dancer,” I reminded him. “She’s perfectly healthy.”
He scoffed and shook his head. “Have you ever seen her eat? She picks at her food. Like a chicken.”
I poked him in the ribs. “Leave her alone. You’ll hurt her feelings.”
“True enough.” Seamus grimaced then. “And if I hurt her feelings, I’ll have to deal with your brother.”
We both laughed, although mine was born more out of surprise than actual amusement. My dad, making jokes.
He led me into the large, airy kitchen.
“We’re not eating in the dining room?” I asked, a little surprised.
We always ate in the dining room.
“Daria says it’s too big for a family dinner.” He huffed a breath and gave me an affronted look. “That dining room was your mother’s pride and joy.”
“And that’s why we ate most of the meals in the…kitchen?” I suggested, bobbing my eyebrows.
“You’re getting a smart mouth on you.” He let go of my shoulders and wagged a finger at me.
“No, Dad. She has a smart mouth on her and has since she started college.” Declan came up and dropped a kiss on my cheek. “And might I point out how embarrassing it is to have your college friends find out that your kid sister—younger than you by six years—is already halfway through college while you’re struggling to keep Bs your senior year of college?”
I rolled my eyes. “I think your ego survived intact, Declan.”
He pinched my chin. “Only because it’s a healthy one, sweetheart.” He caught me up in a quick hug, then moved away as Daria called me from her spot by the stove.
“You made it!” Tall, blonde, and elegant in every way, Daria was married to my brother, Brooks. They were still in that newlywed phase, so cute together it might have been sickening, except I was still struggling to deal with the fact that my big, gruff, older brother could be cute. Or so stupidly, crazily, adorably in love as he was with his pretty bride.
I joined her at the stove, breathing in the scent of something heavenly. My belly rumbled in demand. “What are you making?” I demanded. “It smells amazing.”
“Shashlik,” she announced.
I tried to say it, and she grinned, then said it again, much slower. “Basically, shish kabobs, Russian style,” she told me, gesturing to the meat sizzling on the grill built into the stove. “I was going to cook it outside, but…” She made a face, then looked toward the window, frowning at the leaden skies. It had been spitting rain ever since I woke up, and the weather people were talking about a cold, heavy downpour that was coming our way. “Your father tells me he has this indoor grill.” She widened her eyes. “I was expecting one of those things they sell on TV, not a stove like this.”
The double-range stove/oven gleamed a soft bronze color, blending in with the country French décor. “I helped him pick it out,” I whispered, leaning in closer to say it. “I love cooking—when I have a chance—and saw this and pretty much demanded he get it.”
“You almost bankrupted me with that stove. You’re a spoiled brat,” my dad said from across the kitchen.
His ears definitely weren’t starting to fail, that was for sure.
I made a face at him. “You bought me a car that cost over two hundred thousand dollars. I don’t think a stove is going to bankrupt you.”
My brothers laughed, and I turned back to watch Daria as she expertly flipped the skewers of meat and vegetables. “Anything I can do to help?”
“There’s a salad in the fridge.” She made a face. “Not really the traditional side to go with shashlik, but Isabella and I can’t eat too much red meat.” She grinned at me. “And since I’m not exactly traditional, I guess it’s not a big deal if I do it my way.”
“How are you not traditional?” I asked, moving away to get the salad from the big refrigerator. It gleamed the same soft bronze as the stove, and when I opened it, I saw that it was still ruthlessly organized and neat, courtesy of Stansfield, no doubt.
Adopting a deep, Slavic sounding accent, Daria said, “Cooking is women’s work. Unless you’re making shashlik, because only men can do it right.”
I blinked at her. “Huh?”
“Something my uncle used to say, back before he died.” A faint smile curled her lips. “My mother’s brother. We’d visit him often when I was younger.”
There was an echo of somethi
ng sad in her voice. I didn’t have to guess to know why. She’d been taken from her mother back when she still lived in Russia. At a young age, she’d been sent to a ballet academy in Moscow. I couldn’t imagine what that would be like, taken from the only home you’d ever known and sent to live with strangers.
“So…does the proper way of cooking shashlik involve vodka?” I asked, interjecting a light note into my voice. “Because I know where there’s a stash of it.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Vodka is involved.” She held up her thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. “This much. No more for me. And hurry! It’s just about done.”
I had no sooner poured Daria’s glass than she announced the food was ready, calling for Sean, Declan, and Brooks to help her. Sean got to his feet with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Didn’t you just say that cooking was women’s work, Daria?”
His wife, Isabella, gave him a narrow look. “This woman will start hiding all the take-out menus if I hear talk like that again.”
We all laughed, even my somber oldest brother, Declan. I took the seat next to him, my drink in hand. “These boys have gone and settled down, Declan. Any chance you might be doing that soon?”
“Please.” He snorted. “I tried that, remember?”
“No reason you can’t try again,” I told him, keeping an easy, light tone to my voice.
I could have pointed out that he might have tried it, but even though I knew he loved his kids, he hadn’t put as much into the marriage as he could have—as he would have—if he’d really wanted it to last.
We never talked about it, but I knew what some of the problems had been—and most of the blame lay on his shoulders. He’d sucked at monogamy, it seemed. I’d learned that from his now-ex-wife. Saoirse hadn’t been bitter when she told me during one of our conversations, just matter-of-fact, which made it sadder, somehow.
“Here, boy,” Dad said, pushing a glass into Declan’s hand. “Whisky—the only alcohol worth drinking, no matter what those Russians say.” He winked at Daria.
She blew him a kiss, which, to my surprise, had my big, gruff father blushing.