by Callie Quigg
He skimmed kisses down her jawbone and over her throat, her perfume coating his lips. The fabric of her sweater bunched up, and when he grazed his fingers along the curve of her waist, sparks of electricity shot up his arm, shocking his erratically beating heart.
Barely suppressing a whimper, she broke away. “I can’t. Not now. I have to do… the things.” Confusion creased her forehead.
“Things?” Ronan continued to run his fingertips over her waist.
“Work things.” Blindly, she reached for the back of a chair and held on. “There’s too much to do. I don’t have time for—” she motioned between them, her wide eyes saying what her lips didn’t.
“Don’t have time for what?” He raised his eyebrows in question.
“Us. You. Whatever this is.” As if afraid to say more, she rolled her lips between her teeth and held them there.
He brushed his lips over the shell of her ear, and whispered, “I have a feeling we’ll both have plenty of time for ‘whatever this is’ later.”
Quinn moved back, and he dropped his hands from her waist. Disappointment seemed to flash across her face, but she quickly blinked it away and with a tilt of her chin, her expression turned devious.
“Because of the shitty weather, the cleaners can’t make it. You really want to help, then help me clean.”
“You’re joking? Clean?” When he’d offered help, he meant he’d help manage the contractors and vendors. Help make sure everyone was doing what they were supposed to do. Look at the fine details to make sure she hadn’t overlooked anything.
“You’re familiar with the concept, right? Mop, bucket, vacuum?”
“I’m not a cleaner.”
“You’re not a wedding planner either.”
“I’ll look at the spreadsheets, the contracts.”
“I don’t need that kind of help.” The finality in her voice told him now wasn’t the time to push it. “Unless you’re afraid of ruining your manicure, pretty boy.”
“Pretty boy?” He scratched the two-day-old scruff on his chin with clipped fingernails. “And here I was going for the rugged look. My team of stylists won’t be happy. I should fire them.”
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit—”
“But the highest form of intelligence.” He wanted to see her smile again. Wanted to see the way her face lit up, and how the worry line between her eyebrows softened when she relaxed.
“You keep thinking that.”
He laughed. “There’s research to prove it.”
“If Oscar Wilde were alive, I’m sure he’d be thrilled about you quoting him in a drafty castle in Ireland.” She tried to fight the smile tugging at her lips, he could see it on her face, but she couldn’t stop the corners lifting. His stomach all but bottomed out at her happiness. In the space of two days, he’d witnessed her every emotion from anger to embarrassment to elation. All of which he’d been partly responsible for.
She cast a glance over her shoulder and nodded toward the basement stairs. “The supply closet’s behind the kitchen. Have fun.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Without looking back, he strolled toward the basement stairs. Later on, when they were alone, he’d see what other emotions he could coax from her.
****
With Ronan off gathering cleaning supplies, Quinn touched her fingers to her lips. His kiss. That tongue. Those hands. Yesterday’s kiss had woken her hormones, but today’s kiss had molded those hormones into a lust monster that was now beating at her chest. A shiver of anticipation worked its way around her nerve endings, linking them up until her entire body hummed. Maybe he wasn’t the arrogant jerk he pretended to be, but she didn’t need the kind of help or advice he offered. What if he took over? Or tried to tell her what to do and where he thought she could improve.
There was no denying, he had many more years of experience in successful event planning than her, but this was her problem to solve. She had to prove to herself she could fix this and that Brady stealing her money and her dignity wasn’t the end of the world. And besides, what if Ronan’s seducing her was part of his plan? Once she fell for him and gave him what he wanted, would it be a case of see ya later, sista?
Ronan reappeared, laden down with mops, brushes, buckets, and bottles of cleaning solution.
“Happy now?”
“If event planning doesn’t work out, you can always start your own cleaning business.” She focused her attention on his lips and held her breath. Would he kiss her again? Do something more than kiss her?
An aura of self-assurance surrounded him. Everything from the way he walked, to the way he held himself, to the cheeky dimpled smile he gave were all designed to make her kick off her panties. He knew what he wanted, and she hoped he wanted her. All of her.
He dropped everything to the floor, the crash booming around the foyer, and then toed a bucket filled with supplies her way.
“Time to get stuck in.”
She glanced at the bucket and toed it back toward him. “Start on the first floor.”
“I’m not doing this on my own.”
“I didn’t say you were. I’m going to strip—”
“That’s something to look forward to.”
She rolled her eyes. “Strip the beds. And when I’m done with them, I’m going to scrub, sweep. You need to dust and vacuum everything.”
“There’re cobwebs over a hundred years old in this place. The spiders have probably mutated into beasts.” Ronan’s face turned as white as the snow outside. It seemed she’d found Goliath’s weakness.
He grimaced. “What if there’s a nest with thousands of baby spiders waiting to pounce?”
“Seriously? You’ve read Harry Potter one too many times. I promise you Aragog and his colony of Acromantulas aren’t hiding in the attic waiting to eat you.” She could be nasty and insist he dust the cobwebs and force him to face his phobia, or she could be nice… Relenting, she gave him a smile. “Fine, I’ll dust, but you’re in charge of the toilets.” She shuddered. “I can’t bring myself to clean them.”
“Too good for it?”
“You want to try your chances with the cobwebs, Spiderman?”
He shrugged. “Fair point.”
The phone in her front pocket vibrated. She knew it was Lily before looking.
FaceTime call canceled again. Ella at a party. Kill me now. Where’s Brendan with the wine list and dog food?
Hopefully, Lily would stay in her room all day with Max and her friends Pinot and Noir. Now that Lily was out of the way for a while, Quinn and Ronan would get a lot more achieved. She shot Brendan a text telling him the Queen requested an audience in her chambers.
Her phone vibrated again. What was it this time? The text wasn’t from Lily. It was from a number she didn’t recognize.
Miss me, babe? Hope all the wedding plans are falling into place. Keep your eyes open for a wolf dressed like a lamb. B.
What did he mean by that? Her stomach twisted into a crown of barbed wire. Not now. Please, God. Not now.
“Everything okay?” Ronan gave her a concerned smile.
“Fine. Everything’s great. Lily wants wine.”
More of the other contractors battled the weather and arrived by midday. They'd have to work through the night, but by tomorrow all of the rooms would have heat with fully working bathrooms. Plus, they’d plowed and salted the roads leading up to the castle’s entrance, and if nothing else went wrong, the guests shouldn’t have much more than a few flight delays getting to the castle.
She shoved Brady to the back of her mind and filed him under later. Worrying about him showing up was a waste of time and wouldn’t achieve anything. She should tell the police, but what could they do? They couldn’t trace him through the text. The phone, like all his phones, was probably a burner. Something he could dispose of when it had served its purpose. Much like he’d disposed of her.
The rest of the day passed
in a cloud of dust and cleaning solution. The room she and Ronan shared was functional enough, but some of the other rooms hadn’t been used since Brendan closed the doors over a decade ago. Oak Castle should have been one of the busiest wedding destinations in Ireland, but the place was as broken as Brendan’s heart—such a shame. Everyone deserved love, and she hoped Brendan would find it again.
Dusk had fallen by the time Quinn reached the tower room. She stretched out her aching back and yawned. Cleaning all day reminded her why she was allergic to the gym and exercise. Every muscle screamed from fatigue and overwork. A steaming, bubble-filled bath was in her future, and this time, she’d drink a full bottle of wine.
She heaved open the squeaking door and flicked on a light that cast a dim orange glow around the room. The small space held a twin bed and an overstuffed armchair which sat by a fireplace. Ribbons of cobwebs ticker-taped the blackened hearth and swayed in the chimney draft.
A tornado of dust motes circled her feet and legs every time she moved. To air the musty room, she opened a small window and inhaled the frosty air. Twisting trees silhouetted against the darkening sky, and the North Star shone beside an iridescent waxing moon.
Until a few years ago, she wished on the first star she saw in the night sky, but she no longer believed in magic and miracles.
For the hundredth time, she checked her phone. Brady hadn’t texted again, but that meant nothing. The devious shit was planning something. Something that would cause more headaches.
If she told Ronan about Brady, would he know what to do? Would he think she was being dramatic, that an ex texting her, even if he was the one who’d ruined her life, was hardly something she needed to worry about?
Ronan. She sighed. Another man causing her problems. A relationship with him would bring her trouble with a capital T. But, oh, those lips. Their touch had stayed with her all day. A few more kisses from him wouldn’t cause the apocalypse. A few more kisses would make the whole fake fiancée thing more realistic. After all, they were supposed to be besotted with each other. Sex with Ronan might help her forget Brady and his games for a while.
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.” Ronan’s deep lilt came from behind, and her heart raced. She glanced over her shoulder to see him leaning against the threshold. Dust stains covered his t-shirt, and his hair was a disheveled mess. He’d never looked hotter.
Rolled up sleeves exposed the delicious, sinewy muscles of his forearms, and she fought the impulse to run into his arms and beg him to lick every inch of her bare skin.
“You expecting a handsome prince to rescue you from your tower?”
Yeah, you. “A girl can dream.”
Ronan closed the door and sat on the unmade mattress, his blue eyes bright in the lamp-lit room. “You want to talk about what’s going on between us?”
“A few kisses doesn’t mean anything’s going on between us.” Quinn wanted to say she’d imagined getting down and dirty with him all day, that her lips still tingled and not throwing herself on top of him took more willpower than she thought she could ever possess, but she stayed quiet, and an awkward silence filled the room.
Ronan cleared his throat and watched her intently. “You can’t deny something’s pulling us together.”
“It’s not that.” She hesitated for a few seconds before answering. “First… thanks for all of your help today. As for what’s between us. I’m not looking for anything serious. Been there, done that—I don’t want the heartache or the hassle.”
“There doesn’t have to be any heartache or hassle.” He leaned back on his elbows, opening his body to her. “What’s to stop us from enjoying the rest of the time we’re here? No strings. No commitments or promises of forever.”
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“It’s a great idea.”
The earth’s crust moved, sending shockwaves up her legs, and when Ronan reached for her hand, she gave it willingly. He looked perfect laying there with his hair sticking up at weird angles and a dust smudge on his cheek.
“Aren’t you afraid it’ll mess things up even more? We’re rivals. You don’t like me.”
“We’re not rivals, and I do like you.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed them against her palm. “I can’t get you off my mind.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“A very bad thing.”
“Is there anything I can do to make my being on your mind a good thing?” One-night stands weren’t something she did, not anymore, but she’d made up her mind—she’d do it, or rather, she’d do him. Sex with the enemy could be a gigantic mistake, but she didn’t care. Not one bit.
“I can think of a few things.” One at a time, he kissed her fingertips. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. But I can’t help myself. You’re too fucking sexy to resist.”
She sucked in a breath and sat beside him. “Then what are we waiting for?”
“Nothing.” He eased her onto her back, placed a kiss on her neck, her cheeks, and her forehead. Everywhere but her lips.
Staying locked in this room with him forever wouldn’t be a hardship, but if he didn’t kiss her lips soon, she would jump on top of him and pin him to the bed. The lust monster beating on her chest was ready to break through.
Her back bowed off the mattress, and a moan sounded in her throat.
“Want something?” he asked.
“I’ll let you decide.” Damn right she wanted something. She wanted—needed—him to rip her clothes off and kiss her nipples, her stomach, and then lower. But, oh, no, Mr. Patient had something else on his mind. He’d taunt and tease her until she lost her sanity. Maybe if she begged him, he’d do something other than torture her.
“Was this your plan all along?" she asked. "Drive me insane and have me committed so you can take over?”
“A little frustrated?” He got on his hands and knees and knelt over her.
“We’ve shared a bed. You kissed me a few times. And it’s been a few months since… well, since whatever. So, yeah, I’m a little frustrated, and you aren’t doing anything to help unfrustrate me.”
“Tell me what’ll unfrustrate you?”
She laughed to hide her embarrassment. “What? No way. I don’t even know you.”
“And yet here you are, ready for us to fuck.” He swiped the tip of his tongue over her lips. “Do you want me to undress you?” He straddled her hips and pushed her sweater up and off her body, revealing a red lace bra. He unhooked the clasp and pushed the cups to one side. Whoever invented front-opening bras deserved a Nobel Prize.
“How about your nipples?” He leaned down and brushed his lips over the taut peaks, and a satisfied moan fell from her and ricocheted around the room.
“Can’t forget about your pussy, can we?” He stepped off the bed and stood between her splayed legs.
The sound of his dirty words mixed with his sexy accent meant one touch from him, and she’d come immediately. And coming was something she wanted to do again and again. She wrapped her legs around the back of his and dug her heels into his thighs.
“And what are you going to do to my, um, pu—down there.” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. Dirty talk wasn’t part of her repertoire. Catholic school was to blame.
He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Down there?” With a flick of his wrist, he opened the button on her jeans and pulled down the zipper. “I’m going to bury my face ‘down there’ until you scream my name.”
“Oh.”
She lifted her hips from the bed, allowing him to peel off her jeans and soaked underwear in one go. Nerves and pleasure raced through her body, and she held her breath. Who knew sex with a man she barely knew could be this intoxicating?
“You should walk around naked all the time,” he said.
“Then they’d definitely lock me up and throw away the key. There you go again, trying to get me out of your way.”
His eyes twinkled. “Caught me.”
“Take your clothes off? It’s not fair that I’m naked and you’re not.”
“Is that what you want?”
“You know it’s what I want. Stop teasing me.”
“Why would I stop teasing you?”
Reaching out, she ran her fingers along the waistband of his jeans. He sucked in a breath, and she shivered. Telling him what she wanted didn’t come easy, but showing him what she wanted did. He yanked his t-shirt over his head, and the musky scent of aftershave mingled with the scent of a man who’d worked hard all day infiltrated her senses.
“You smell like, God, I don’t even know what you smell like, but it’s amazing.”
“You think dust and sweat smell good?”
“On you they do.” Her gaze lingered on his hard muscles, on his chest and flat stomach, and she glanced down to where his erection stretched the material of his faded jeans, straining for release.
“You’re still not naked enough.”
“Soon.” He pressed her legs open, reached down, and gave a gentle caress, and arousal spiked through her body. “Beautiful.” He kissed across her stomach, up to her chest and down the center of her body, teasing her again, arousing her even more. Her nipples begged for his touch, but he ignored their peaked pleas for attention and pressed kisses along her upper thighs. What did she have to do? Beg him again, because if that’s what it took, she was getting close.
Finally. Finally. He latched onto one of her nipples and drew it into his mouth. His swirling tongue drove her wild, and she was more turned on than she’d ever been in her life. The warmth of his mouth on her breast and the cold air drifting in from the still open window chased goose bumps around her skin.
She scraped her hands through his hair and brought his mouth to her other nipple. Never in a million years would she have expected pleasure like this.
To add to her pleasure even more, he lowered his hand between her legs. The lightest pressure from his fingers was as powerful as a hundred volts and her back curved, pushing her pelvis into his touch, but then he moved away from her.