by Cecy Robson
This is home to me, with all its dark wood, plaster walls, and charm. This is my happy place. Evan’s home is his work. I can tell by how at ease he was in that environment, despite how sterile the marble tile and expensive modern furniture felt. I don’t fault him for it. We’re just different. Maybe too different.
“You look stunning,” he tells me.
Okay. We’re different. But he’s still a fucking sweetheart.
He steps forward with the roses in his hands. Suddenly, I’m thirteen again and waiting on Connor McGillis to kiss me before my brothers catch us and stomp his ass. “These for me?” I ask, my face flushing.
He does a subtle one shoulder shrug. “I’d say they were for Sauron, but I don’t typically reward children who ask me, ‘What the hell are you doing here, asshole?’”
My jaw pops open as I reach for the flowers. “He said that?”
He nods, thoughtfully. “It would seem I sparked his protective nature.”
“And his evil side.” I groan. “I’m sorry about that. He and me, we’re going to have a talk.”
“It’s all right. He was . . . charming.”
“Charming?” I ask.
He frowns. “Perhaps that’s not the best word. But I commend him for looking out for you.”
“Most people would have kicked him to the curb. Just last week I had to pull one of the neighborhood girls off him who challenged him to a fight. But give them a few years, my guess is he’ll take her to prom.”
I take another look at the heavy coat he’s wearing. God Almighty, he makes everything look yummy. “If you want, place your coat on the railing,” I say backing away. “It’s warm in here and I want to put these in water. We have time, right?”
“Take as much time as you need,” he says.
My steps slow to a stop when he tugs off his coat. We’re going to a nice place for dinner that much I know. I expected him in a suit, but I won’t complain about what I see. As he slips the coat from his shoulders, I get my first real look at his body.
Not that I can help it, not with the dark green V-neck sweater clinging to his frame. There’s definition in his arms and shoulders, something I didn’t notice in his business clothes. But I notice it now. Maybe a little too much.
He smiles, tilting his head as my attention lingers. “I went with casual attire this evening.”
“I can see that,” I say, inching forward. I want to brush my fingers through his hair and feel the moisture leftover from the melting flakes. I also want to feel the fabric slide against my palms as I pass my hands along his chest.
Somehow, I refrain. Not that he makes it easy.
The deep green of his sweater borders on black, but I catch enough of the color despite the dim light from the family room. It’s brings out the green in his eyes and fades the gold away, tempting me forward to see if I can find those flecks. It’s a hell of a thing, considering how shaken I was before he arrived.
“I’ll only be a minute,” I say, turning in the direction of the kitchen. Hey, it beats drooling and by now I’m pretty damn close.
There’s just enough space in the hall for him to walk beside me, and that’s what he does. “You have a lovely home,” he says when we step into the kitchen. He slides his hand across the white granite counter with silver swirls, noting the stained cabinets with interest.
“Thank you. My sister-in-law picked everything out. She has a gift for these things. I have a gift for telling her she’s crazy.” I retrieve an ice bucket from beneath the counter. “I should know better than to doubt her by now.”
He watches me as I fill the bucket. “Sorry, it’s all I have,” I explain. “And I need something big to accommodate these flowers. Christ, Evan. I’ve never seen blooms this big.”
“Do you like them?” he asks.
“I really do,” I reply, realizing how much I mean it.
Men I’ve dated in the past have mostly bought me lingerie. Sometimes even on the first date. Those dates have ended before they started, and they sure as hell never had a second opportunity to make up for the insult. The last time someone gave me flowers was at my high school graduation, and they came from my mother. Yet another reminder of how different Evan is.
“Your sister-in-law, is she married to your brother who’s a police officer?”
He remembered me mentioning my brother the cop. “No, Curran is married to Tess, an assistant D.A. My other brother Killian is married to Sofia, the interior decorator.”
“You have two brothers?”
I laugh as I reach for the first rose. “No, I have six.”
This gives Evan some serious pause. “Six?”
“I’m the only girl.” I wink at him. “I guess that explains a lot, huh?”
He laughs. “I suppose I can see where your strength comes from.”
“Strength?” I wonder why of all things, he honed in on that.
“It’s one of the first things I noticed about you.” He leans forward, appearing surprised that I’m so surprised. “You’re a very strong woman, Wren, in personality and demeanor. I’m stunned no one has ever pointed that out to you.”
No, they usually point out my ass, I don’t bother mentioning. “It’s not that I don’t consider myself strong,” I say, ignoring how scared I was before he arrived. “But it’s different to hear someone say that’s the first thing they noticed about you.”
He smiles softly, his gaze holding me in place. “There are many compliments I can give you, and perhaps I should have shared them first. But your strength has captivated me from the start. I suppose it’s why I remind you of it now.”
He’s not bull shitting and it absolutely floors me. “You’re really not from around here, are you?”
“I suppose not,” he answers.
I reach for another flower and a few more after that. It’s better than reaching for him and kissing him the way I really want to kiss him. “What about you?” I ask, shoving a rose between the others I placed. “Any brothers or sisters?”
“No. It’s always just been me.”
“I take it mom and dad discounted the rhythm method as an adequate mean of birth control.” I laugh. “Unlike my parents.”
My hands drop away from my work when I realize he’s not laughing with me.
That trace of sadness he carries is barely visible enough to notice. But I do. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“You didn’t. My parents simply had different ideas.” His mind seems to wander, but it’s brief. “It’s the reason I hope to have a large family one day.” He chuckles. “If the time is ever right.”
“I would think you’d want maybe two kids at best, seeing how it’s not something you’re used to.”
He examines me. “Does this mean you don’t want any, because it’s something you know too well?”
“No, I want a million of them,” I tell him, grinning.
“Is that so?” he asks.
“Yeah, there’s sort of this unspoken motto in my family. Keep having them until you burst, or until your uterus drops to your ankles.” I shake my finger at him. “That shit should be on a bumper sticker.”
He drops his head and shakes it, all the while laughing. “We should add it to a T-shirt as well. I’ll be sure to bring it next time instead of flowers.”
“Next time?” I ask, lifting my brows. “I don’t know, Evan. We haven’t even gone out yet. I might piss you off, make you curse the day you met me, or send you running out of the restaurant screaming.”
The smile he gives me is just as genuine as the last, but a whole lot sexier than the first. “I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know much about you,” he says, hooking a strand of my hair and letting it slide through his finger. “But what I see is lovely,” he adds, his gaze never leaving mine. “You don’t piss me off, I’m more than glad that we met, and there shall be no running. You’re a breathtakingly beautiful woman, Wren. I want to know everything about you.”
CHAPTER 7
&nb
sp; Evan
I proved to Wren how much I wanted to know her over a five course meal I never wanted to end. I can’t remember the last time I spoke at length to woman I barely knew. But everything she had to say made me crave more.
I roll to a stop in front of her garage, barely managing to park with how hard I’m laughing as she shares another story from her childhood.
She slaps at my arm as I set my Explorer in park. “I’m serious,” she says. “I’m like fifteen, Finn’s thirteen, and the rest of my brothers are practically grown-ass adults. But holy shit, my mother and Grammie—God rest her soul—walk into the house, see half the neighborhood kids in the living room, and Angus lifting Seamus up for a keg stand, and it’s like the world stops spinning and we know we’re all fucked.”
I cup my hand over my face, barely able to catch my breath. “Evan, my mother is five feet nothing and Grammie’s osteoporosis had kicked in so bad by then, we could have legally registered her as a midget in thirty-two states. But they might as well have been mutant lumberjacks swinging axes by the way everyone was jumping out the windows, trying to get away. ‘You’re supposed to be in Florida,’ Finn says like a dumbass, half a second before my mother grabs him by the throat.”
“And what were you doing?” I manage, my hand falling away.
“What do you mean what was I doing? I was running for my life like everyone else!” She grips my arm. “Picture this, hordes—I’m talking hordes of teens racing down the street like some kind of freak evacuation. I was knocking people out of the way, speeding ahead, and Grammie still caught me—by the hair!”
The visual alone is enough to make me laugh uncontrollably.
“That tiny woman snatched me off the street, two blocks away, and dragged me back home, yelling that I was going to hell and begging the God Almighty not to strike me dead and take her with me.” She holds out her arms and throws her head back, her voice morphing to that of an elderly woman with a thick Irish accent. “It’s not me time, God. It’s not me time, Jesus. Oh, sacred Mother, keep me from killin’ this child.”
I fall forward, holding onto the dash for the support.
“Just so you know, her prayers weren’t answered,” she says. “She still knocked me on my ass, and I spent the rest of the summer teaching the Sacraments to kids who looked like rejects from The Grudge.” She makes a face. “But it was either that or be sent straight to a convent, so I went with the creepy kids and prayed I wouldn’t find one lurking under my bed. God, I think at least two of them grew up and joined the circus or some shit.”
I’m no longer laughing. You need air to laugh and I ran out long before this. “You think it’s funny,” she says, wagging her finger at me. “But you’ve never had your ass kicked by an old woman with ninja-like reflexes capable of wielding Catholic guilt like a light saber.”
I wipe my eyes. My God, I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this hard.
Wren could be a comedian, but she could also be a model if she wasn’t busy ruling the car sales empire. As our laughter fades, once more the silence encompasses us.
I return her soft smile. This is simply one of many quiet moments we’ve shared this evening, where we simply watch each other, our eyes doing most of the speaking.
It should appear ridiculous, two grown adults taking each other in as we do. But I enjoy this side of her and I find myself torn between which of the Wrens I like best, the one who quietly regards me now, or the one who allows me to laugh and mean it.
I remind myself she’s one in the same, and I don’t have to choose. Perhaps that’s what widens my smile.
“What are you thinking?” she asks. Her head falls against the seat rest. “I can usually read people pretty well, but I’ll admit, you have me stumped.”
I lift her hand, kissing it. “That I can’t imagine a more perfect evening with a more beautiful woman.”
“Did you read that shit somewhere?”
“What?”
She leans forward as if she’s finally figured me out. “What you said has to be from a book, movie, or some poem no one but nerds have read.”
My thumb grazes over the delicate skin along her jawline. “Why?” I ask.
“Because men don’t say things like that and mean it.”
“I do, but only to you.” I wink. “Even though you think it’s shit and called me a nerd.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I just . . .” She shakes her head slowly. “You’re a lot different from the men I’ve dated.” Her voice softens, erasing almost all traces of her thick Philly accent. “But that’s a good thing.”
“I’m glad,” I reply.
Again, silence takes hold. It’s different this time, as if we reached a standstill.
“It’s cold out here,” she tells me. “Do you want to go inside and warm up?”
“I would.” I switch off the ignition, holding her in place with my voice when she reaches for the door. “Wait until I come around.”
“Why?” she asks.
“I want to open the door for you.” I chuckle at her quizzical look. “It’s what all decent men should do in the presence of a lady.”
“You still consider me a lady?” she teases. “Even after all the swearing I’ve done?”
“Wren, there’s no denying your vocabulary took me by surprise when we first met. But you don’t curse to shock or intimidate. You’re simply being true to who you are, and I very much like who you are.”
She stills in place, her expression softening. “Thanks, Evan.”
I frown slightly. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Yeah, you have,” she tells me gently.
She averts her gaze, alerting me that a lot went unsaid in those simple words.
I want to question to her about it, but choose to open my door instead. The last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable. “Alfred, watch,” I say, slipping out.
“Watching,” Alfred answers.
I walk around and open the door for Wren. She hooks her thumb behind her as I help her out. “Our security system wasn’t good enough for you?”
The lights flash, signaling Alfred’s technology has activated the security system. “You’ve seen where I work and what I do,” I say, offering her my arm. “Would you expect anything less of me?”
She leans her head against my shoulder, causing her hair to bunch and sending a whiff of her perfume into my nose. “No. But tell me this. Why Alfred? Are you secretly Batman?”
I angle my head. Her aroma is delicate, like gardenias following a spring shower. It makes me want to pull her closer. I wait instead, allowing her comment to makes me laugh as she intends. “If I was Batman, I couldn’t tell you. A superhero must guard his secret identity at all costs.”
She pulls out her key from her purse and opens the front door. “At all costs?” she asks. “So nothing I’d say or do will make you spill the location of the Bat Cave or give me a peek inside your utility belt?”
I follow behind her when she steps inside, shrugging out of my coat as I consider her comment. I dismiss it as innocent flirting as she clicks the lock behind me. “No, for the sake of Gotham and the world, I must protect my super secrets.”
“Hmm, so you are Batman.”
I chuckle and place my coat over the rail. I don’t expect her to close the distance between us or to drop her coat off her shoulders in one slow seductive move.
That doesn’t mean I object to what follows.
“Hi,” she says, linking her arms around my neck, her voice barely above a whisper.
I don’t feel my arms circle her waist. They’re just suddenly there. What I do feel is the relentless desire to kiss her, something I can no longer deny myself.
My body curls forward, welcoming her tightly against me. Her lips are soft and silky, melting like sweet chocolate over mine. I push my tongue inside for a deeper taste, causing her to moan.
“Damn, Batman,” she says when we come up for air.
We started out slow, getting sense of
each other, but as my mouth returns to her, a primal need I’ve never experienced erupts. My hands travel along her back and through her hair in smooth, quick motions, the force of my weight, arching her back.
I think I should edge away, slow down, and not overwhelm her. But I can’t stop and she won’t let me.
Wren lifts her chin, exposing her throat for me to glide my tongue against. She shudders, but it’s the gasp that accompanies my nibbles behind her ear that make me crave more than her skin.
Need. That’s what this is. My need to touch Wren.
My hands slide down and around her back, returning to her waist to grip her hips. I leave her mouth to catch my breath. “Is this what you meant about coming inside and warming up?” I rasp against her ear.
Her breath hitches when my teeth skim along her jaw. “It’s a start.”
“A start?” My breath is ragged and my heart is battering my ribcage. I want more. But that can’t be what she said, because women like Wren—gorgeous, intelligent, sexy women like her don’t exist. Not in my reality.
She pulls away, her eyes glazing with raw desire. She lifts my coat from the rail, walking backward and up the stairs, her focus trained on mine.
“Come on,” she says, smiling with enough sin to set me ablaze.
She’s almost to the landing and I’m merely standing there, dumbstruck. This isn’t real. It’s a miscommunication of words, thoughts, desires—
“Evan?” she calls, her grin widening. “Are you trying to tell me I should sleep alone?”
I don’t walk up the stairs. I run.
Two at time, that’s how many steps I take, my body colliding against hers. This kiss is frantic and desperate, but also teasing and lustful. I morph into a horny teenager, grinding against her when she hooks her leg around my back.
The quick surge of lust between us isn’t one I’m familiar with. Her head lolls back, sliding against the wall, her eyes scrunching tight as she swivels her hips with each measured movement of my groin.
“This feels so good,” she mutters. I start to agree, but she cuts me off with, “Let’s get naked.”