The Walsh Brothers

by Kate Canterbary

  Shifting to lie beside me, Patrick dragged his fingers over my hair and kissed me, his lips patient and generous until my heart stopped racing. The hand in my hair cruised up my arm, and with a blind flick, he freed my hands. I was immediately annoyed I hadn't found the escape hatch, but that was replaced with the relief I could touch Patrick again, and frustration that I failed to fully achieve yet another fantasy.

  I started to shift toward Patrick, but he gripped my wrists. "Don't move yet. Your arms are numb. Your joints will be sore and the blood flow will come back in a minute," he whispered against my ear, his hands gently massaging my skin. "Are you sure you're all right?"

  "Yeah."

  Patrick nodded, and his teeth scraped across my earlobe until I understood the meaning of the word boneless. His kisses rained over my lips and cheeks and nose and eyelids before he dipped his head to my chest where he sucked my nipples into dark little pearls.

  "You taste so good," he groaned, his hands spreading over my breasts. "I've wanted to tie you to this bed and lick you for so long…and now I just want to do it again."

  My hands found their way over Patrick's shoulders, and I steered him on top of me. "I want you. I need to feel you."

  My arms wrapped around his shoulders when he filled me and his hips started rolling against me. I saw another side of Patrick—a side I doubted the existence of after he left my ass covered in beautifully tiny bruises outlined by the imprint of his teeth last weekend. I didn't mind—rough, growly sex with Patrick made me realize what I'd been missing all these years—but the smooth thrusts of his hips and calm caresses were special.

  His body covered me entirely, his warmth chasing away the lingering chill while his mouth attended to the sensitive juncture of my neck and shoulder. We rocked together, our hushed sighs and moans filling the air around us, and I could feel the heavy ache of my orgasm as it waited to unravel.

  "Faster?" I asked, my mouth sweeping over Patrick's jaw.

  "No," he gasped, his body tensing as he thrust into me and stilled. "This is…perfect."

  And it was. If staying like this forever were an option, I'd take it in a heartbeat.

  Patrick wrapped my legs around his waist, and the depth he discovered pushed me to the edge. I was coming with soft whimpers, my fingernails gripping Patrick's waist and hips for a little more friction to keep the tingles going.

  He whispered into my ear, "So deep, right like this. All I feel is your pussy squeezing me, fuck…how do you do that?"

  "Wouldn't you like to know," I laughed.

  "Mmm. Andy." Patrick's eyes drifted shut and he smiled. "God, you're incredible. And you're mine."

  I flexed my inner muscles until he shuddered and moaned before going slack.

  His heart pounded against my breast—was it normal to like someone's heartbeat so much?

  The thought didn't get especially far—I was on the edge of consciousness when Patrick tucked me against his chest.

  15

  Patrick

  I used to think working alongside Andy was torture, and I spent the greater portion of those days obsessing about the ways she drove me crazy and wanting to get her naked.

  As with most things, I didn't have a fucking clue what I was talking about.

  Torture was sharing an office with a woman who seemed oblivious to the fact that, for the past three weekends, we had hot, wild sex for hours straight. It was wanting to throw her on the conference table and fuck her because her hair was everywhere and she smelled like flowers and her lips did terrible things to my imagination, all coupled with the newly acquired knowledge of precisely how good it was with her.

  Torture was falling asleep with Andy in my arms only to wake up and discover her on the opposite side of the bed. It was spending the whole day in her company without seeing a single flicker of recognition in her eyes.

  It was fucking agonizing.

  Drumming my fingers against the edge of my laptop, I invented ploys to steal time with Andy. She wanted to try tons of restaurants, and I still owed her Peking duck. I kept my grandfather's designs in my apartment, and if Andy was anything, she was fanatical about old architecture. We could always get a drink and see to that fantasy of hers, the one with the talking points. Or I could stop being a giant pussy and just ask to see her, even if it was a weeknight and she always created reasons to wait until the weekend.

  "Dude, I know. This afternoon has been like ten years. I'm tired too, but let's get this done," Shannon said.

  "Sorry." I inclined my head toward Shannon's list. "What's next?"

  "One big item and some smallerish-slash-personalish items." She hoisted a folder. "We need to redraft our strategy and partnership structures because we're no longer a sole proprietorship. Angus changed things when he and Uncle Seamus went their separate ways, and while it isn't a huge deal, I think we need to clarify our partnership structure. I can totally handle that, but there are some big questions."

  I glanced at the clock on my screen and figured Andy was still elbow-deep in the next round of Wellesley plans, and wasn't leaving until she solved whichever problem was vexing her. That's how she was; it wasn't done until it was done, and she never walked away from a challenge.

  That's probably why she tolerated my brand of impatient bastard so well.

  "Okay. Let's knock them out."

  "I think you need to acknowledge that you're the managing partner or CEO or principal."

  A huge sigh burst from my chest and I leaned back. "Only if you're a managing partner, too."

  She threw her pen across the table in frustration. "If it's you and me, why not Matt? Why not Sam, too? We'll leave out Riley for the time being, but the four of us for sure, right?"

  "Shannon," I groaned. There was no right answer to this question, and more wrong answers than I could shake a T-square at. "We need to be a small firm with a small table of partners, and that's it."

  "You're wrong. You're wrong." She pushed out of her chair to pace. "Just sit there, stewing in your wrongness." Shannon dropped her hands to the windowsill and stared down at the alley below. "I'm going to draft a few org structures and we'll decide on them as a team," she hissed. "You'll spend a lot time being wrong then."

  "Outstanding." I held up my hands in surrender. "What else?"

  She plopped into her chair with an exaggerated sigh, and flipped through her dark purple notebook while her bracelets jangled. "The leases end on our Range Rovers next month, and I decided to upgrade to hybrid models. We can't exactly roll with this sustainability thing and drive around in gas-guzzlers. Is it time to add a car to our fleet for Riley?"

  "No. I told you that in October. He shouldn't be allowed out of Matt's sight."

  Shannon nodded and consulted her notes. "Andy's managing Wellesley?"

  "Yep." I checked my project spreadsheet for notes on her progress. "She's working through some inconsistent plans from the original build to the work Angus did on the house when he and Mom moved in. Once she nails that down, I think we'll be ready to move forward. Already replaced the water heaters and solar panels are going in next week."

  "You're good with her managing such a big project?"

  "Yeah." I shrugged, frowning in confusion. Didn't I tell Shannon about Andy managing most of my projects, solving every random problem I threw her way plus making my life equal parts magnificent and excruciating?

  "Totally fine," she replied quickly. She sounded placating and that was tremendously weird for Shan. "I'm delighted to hear it. Do we need to have a crew empty the house?"

  "Depends on what you want to do with that furniture," I said. "A lot of what's left was built for that house. But other than that, anything that might have been there before is gone now. As far as I can tell. There's his room, but that's it."

  "We have to tell everyone else at some point." We stared at each other for a beat, waiting for the other to take on that task. It wasn't going to be me.

  "I'll have Tom arrange for the furniture to be donated to a shelter u
nless you think there's something crazy valuable that we should keep or sell with the house, and I'll ask Matt or Riley if they want to go through Angus's things."

  Tense silence settled between us, and I toggled to my email to avoid thinking about that house. I hated the emotional toll it took, and that after all these years of being on our own and redefining ourselves, that house had the power to bring us right back.

  "Last thing: I'm going to give Lauren a bridal shower. She's not having bridesmaids, and both of her closest friends are busy being pregnant all the time, but I still want her to have a party."

  I blinked at Shannon. "And you need my help with that?"

  "Yeah, asshole, I was hoping you could bake a penis cake," she snapped, but her irritated eyes quickly crinkled with humor. She giggled, and soon my shoulders were shaking as laughter took over.

  "What the fuck is a penis cake, Shan?"

  "It's a cake!" she squealed between laughs, her face and neck flushing bright red. "Shaped like a penis, with a puddle of tapioca pudding and some chocolate shavings for—"

  "That's enough! I don't want to hear another word." I closed my laptop and folded my arms on the table. "I love Lauren but I don't want to imagine her—or you, or anyone—eating dick cake. I never want to talk about this again."

  "Dude, you're so easy," she giggled. "I just wanted to know if you were good with me inviting Andy."

  "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" I scratched my head. "Doesn't she hang out with you and Lauren?"

  Shannon lifted a shoulder. "Well, you aren't super-positive about her, and you get super-annoyed when I bring her up, and you freaked out when me and Lauren went dress shopping with her. So I wanted to check with you first." She twisted her bracelets and considered me. That placating voice was back. It was as if she didn't trust me around sharp objects. "Are things getting better with you two?"

  It was the day of no right answers. "I mean, yeah, she's…smart. And people like her."

  "'People like her' but not you?"

  "I…I, I like her," I stammered. I didn't think it was necessary to clarify my appreciation for Andy had many facets. "She's smart. She was a good hire."

  "Impressive. You're evolving." She glanced at her watch, and her eyes widened. "Shit. I have to go."

  She swept her laptop and phone into her bag, and slipped on her outerwear while I gathered the paperwork on the table.

  "Don't think the cake conversation is over," she yelled from the doorway.

  The lights were on in my office, and though her things were still there, Andy wasn't. I dropped my laptop and files, and headed out to search the building for her. I wandered through four levels, turning off lights as I went, and eventually found her in the materials room. I watched her from the hall, admiring the way she cocked her head while she studied the paint color bridge over the stone finish samples.

  Straight-up creeper, but that was nothing new.

  Careful to keep my steps quiet, I positioned myself behind Andy, and wrapped my arm around her waist. "That one." I pointed over her shoulder to a dark gray paint chip. Once I swept her hair to the side, I pressed my lips to her neck. She gasped, her body stiffening in my arms. "We're alone. I checked."

  "What are you still doing here, stalker?"

  "Looking for you," I said, my nose running along her neck. Over the past few weeks, I learned only her hair smelled like lavender, and though it left perfumed traces in her wake, Andy tasted slightly different.

  "I had to walk away from those plans. I threatened to shred them a few times but they haven't learned their lessons yet."

  Seeing Andy frustrated was a new experience for me. It felt special, like another secret treasure she was offering. My cache was limited to her mood-driven alcohol choices, the tattoos, and the adorable way she completely lost her shit when she was drunk. "What's wrong?"

  Andy exhaled, and rested her head against my shoulder. "There are some strange variations in room dimensions between the two plans. In some places, it's insignificant—an inch or two. But in others, it's substantial."

  "We should talk about this over dinner," I said against her skin. "I'm sure I can figure it out."

  "If there's anyone who could, it would be you."

  I squinted at the screen, and swiped the image to zoom in further while scribbling numbers on a cocktail napkin. Looking between the screen and the numbers, I shook my head. As far as I could tell, Angus turned the Wellesley plans into something incomprehensible in one of his final ass-kickings.

  "Fuck if I know."

  "That's what I'm screaming about." Andy lifted her wine glass in salute. "I need to go out there and measure the entire property myself. So that's great."

  As much as I hated trips to Wellesley, she was right. The numbers didn't make sense, and she couldn't get new plumbing or electrical underway without clean plans. "We should have time tomorrow or Friday."

  "You don't have to go with me."

  "No, I really do." I grimaced. "I told Shan I'd make some decisions about the furniture."

  Andy shook her hair over her shoulders, and I started wondering how long I should wait before asking her to spend the night with me. I needed some Andy time. Weekends weren't enough. I was certain she'd say no for any number of bullshit reasons, though I hoped none of which included her doubting her decision to see me these past few weekends. Was it even possible? Her insistence that weeknights didn't work, and that she couldn't miss a Saturday yoga class seemed bizarre, even for Andy. The mocking reminders that she pushed me away before were never fully retreated.

  "Okay, but you're not allowed to spend the entire day in the bell jar," she said.

  The original visit wasn't my finest hour, and spending the afternoon snarling at everyone in my path wasn't especially mature. But she noticed, and tracked my mood to the house rather than my general irritability.

  "You'll have to keep me in line."

  Andy's eyes narrowed and she leaned across the table, her lips twisting into a smirk. "Does that mean I get to spank you?" she whispered.

  Andy never mixed business and pleasure; an armload of icy glares over the past few weeks taught me that. I swallowed, my fingers tightening on the stem of the glass as I set it down. I sensed a door inching open.

  "Definitely," I laughed, my hand darting out to caress her wrist. She gave a pointed stare to my hand and a brief frown crossed her face, but she didn't pull back. "You can do anything you want to me."

  Andy offered a suggestive smile, and there was nothing sexier. I was in big trouble, and considering the way her pulse was hammering under my fingers, I wasn't alone.

  "Come home with me."

  Looking disappointed, she broke my gaze but didn't pull her hand away. "I can't. I have work to do."

  Did she forget that I knew exactly which projects were under her care and which milestones were on deck? I scanned all of our current projects, plus the random queries that I frequently sent her way, and still couldn't come up with a single item that required her attention on a Wednesday night. Grabbing her hand when we exited the restaurant, I tugged her toward Hanover Street. A few fluffy inches of snow blanketed the cobblestone streets and there was much more to come.

  "What work? You can't do anything on Wellesley until we get out there, and that's your only pending project."

  Andy stared at the sidewalk and fought to restrain a smile. That got my attention. "I can't tell you."

  "Yeah…that's the perfect thing to say if you want me to ask a million questions and not give up until you answer. What are you working on?"

  "This must be what multiple personalities feel like." Rubbing her forehead, Andy released a rueful laugh before meeting my gaze. "My boss—I might have told you about him before—he always makes up these pop quizzes for me. Every morning, he picks the most unworkable problems from the projects we have—sometimes, when he's annoyed with the world, projects that other people have—and he tells me to figure it out."

  Okay. We'd deal with me being a giant pric
k some other time. If this was what she needed, this was a game I could play. "Sounds like an insufferable bastard."

  Andy laughed, nodding. "That's one way to put it. So he gives me these problems in the morning, and I have to figure them out like…on the spot. And if I get them wrong, he won't eat lunch with me."

  When she described it that way, I was the odds-on favorite for Boston's Top Douche.

  "I really like eating lunch with him. He finds the best places, and he's funny and radiates megawatts of knowledge. I've told you my goal in life is to learn everything I can from him. So…I started reviewing all the plans the night before, and trying to figure out what he'd ask, and doing a lot of research to be prepared with the right answer. That's what I have to do tonight."

  I laughed, thrilled to discover I was blocking my own cock.

  "I seriously doubt that your boss radiates anything, but I'm guessing he's giving you problems he hasn't figured out, and then taking you to lunch because he likes the way your brain works. He's also trying to get into your pants." Andy licked her lips and gifted me with a quick smile from under her thick lashes. "Maybe if you told him you like having lunch with him, you could take a night off."

  "Trust me—he radiates. I spent years waiting to work with him. You're going to think I'm a major geek, but…his thesis was kind of like my bedtime story all through college."

  Holy fuck. My grasp on her hand tightened. "You read my—wait. What?"

  I remembered Andy insisting the only apprenticeship she wanted was the one we were offering, but I filed it away as standard interview-speak.

  She lifted a shoulder. "Yeah. At the end of my second year. I read it and…it spoke to me. Whenever I was uninspired or unmotivated or confused, I'd read it and remember why I wanted to do this. It always brought me back to what I loved about preservation."

  Apparently, I wasn't the only creeper. It shouldn't have been sexy to imagine Andy reading the least interesting thing I wrote in college, but images of her poring over my thesis in nothing more than funky knee socks inundated me.