They walked into a cozy room with a roaring fire with a well-loved leather chair on each end of it. Fiona half expected to see a hound on the floor in front of it. She loved the room immediately, it was comfortable and stylish without being pretentious. It was definitely a man’s room. There was a desk, bookshelves, various oil paintings and two Grammys on the mantelpiece. Tate watched her look around and hoped she liked what she saw.
“You and I need to talk this out, love. You can’t stay angry forever. Do you need some crockery to destroy?” She smiled at him.
“Your crockery is safe with me. Call Christie, I know you’re dying to.” Fiona stood next to the fireplace and put her hands to it. Tate stood next to her and kissed her. It began as a tentative kiss, he wasn’t sure if she was going to bite his tongue off, but it blossomed into something more for both of them. He thought she just might be ready to forgive him.
“I’m glad you’re here, even if you’re angry and cold,” she reached her hands under his shirt and put them on his belly. “Christ woman!” He shrieked and they both laughed as Mrs. O’Neill stepped into the room with the tea.
“Ah tea, Mrs. O’Neill takes such good care of me,” he smiled at her.
“And a great big child, he is, too,” Mrs. O’Neill said.
“And she keeps me grounded,” Tate said rolling his eyes.
“Someone has to. Ewing has taken your bags up. We brought what you said you needed from the country, it’s all unpacked for your time here,” she nodded and walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.
“You have a house in the country, too?” He looked at her and grinned.
“Among others. I’m overpaid, aye? I stay there mostly, but I want to be near me mam.” She nodded and poured the tea as Tate pulled out his phone and rang Christie.
“We’re here,” he said when she answered. “Yes we,” his eyes lifted to Fiona’s, “Fiona came with.” Fiona handed him a cup of tea and he sipped it smiling. He looked at his watch. “Okay, that gives us time to rest a little first. See you then.” He touched his screen and looked at Fiona. “Could you sleep a little? Everyone’s meeting at the house at four. I was hoping to be a little early, though, say three; miss the rush.”
Fiona was biting a biscuit. She nodded, she could definitely sleep.
“Why don’t you go on your own, Tate? I have plenty to keep me occupied.”
“I want you with me, unless you don’t want to go.”
“I’m here, Tate, use me,” his eyebrows shot up and he stood.
“I think we can manage that before we have a kip,” he took her hand. “That is if you’re not still angry.”
“I’m still angry, but you’re so damned cute.” He barked out a surprised laugh.
“I am so glad you came, Fi. I didn’t think I’d laugh at all this trip,” he leaned down and picked up the tray. They went up the stairs and to the back of the house to Tate’s room where a gas fire silently roared.
Tate’s bedroom was also masculine, but not aggressively so, with a giant bed taking center stage, with extremely white bedding. There was an antique bureau with an antique mirror over it that was blackened with age. Not a conceited fellow, her Tate, she thought. The rug on the hard wood floor was a soft, gray silk Oriental.
Tate watched her as she took it all in. She looked at him and smiled shyly.
“This is very nice, Tate.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he said as he put the tray down on a small table next to the fire. “You’ll be spending a bit of time in here, I think.” He grinned at her, then looked serious. “You’re the first woman I’ve had in this room. I just thought you should know.”
All this time she thought it wouldn’t matter, Tate’s past was just that, the past. The moment he told her she was here, where countless others were never invited, it made a huge difference, it mattered.
“Thank you, Tate.” He walked to her and cradled her face in his hands. She was so lovely. Without conscious thought he lowered his mouth to hers. It was like breathing, his body did it for him, and he was grateful. He pushed her coat off her shoulders and heard it fall to the floor but didn’t care, he had wanted her so badly for hours, and now he had her to himself for a few hours, in his haven from everything, he was going to take advantage of the opportunity.
Item by item, their clothes hit the floor around them until they were completely naked, still kissing, and pressed up against each other.
“I was so afraid, Tate,” she whispered to him.
“I was too, my love. But it’s over, you’re safe,” he lifted her off her feet, cradling her in his arms and took her to his bed. Lovely Mrs. O’Neil had the counterpane turned down and he set her on the sheets below, stood back and gazed at her. “You’re so bloody beautiful, you take my breath away, Fi.”
She reached her arms out to him and he knelt on the bed next to her and gathered her in his arms. He was going to take his time enjoying her, and then he might just enjoy her again. His lips found hers once more and he gently and lovingly toyed with her tongue, licked her mouth and nibbled her lips. When he pulled away briefly to once again gaze into her eyes she made a distressed sound and he grinned at her and went for the spot where her neck met her shoulder, where she responded enthusiastically every time, and he ran his tongue over it and sucked lightly, inciting a moan from her that went straight to his heart.
Feeling the perfect roundness of her breasts, he tweaked her nipples with delicate precision, he knew she was particularly sensitive there and the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her. Her gasps told him he was on the right track. Releasing one nipple he replaced his hand with his mouth and sucked at it, driving her a little wild and ran his hand down her body to her inner thigh.
“Tate,” she gasped when he found her opening and slid his fingers right in. She was ready for him, and he was dying for her. Not for the release, but for her, Fiona Brooks, his woman. It had been a stressful twenty four hours but right then they were both safe and she was in his arms and he was never letting her go. “Tate, please.”
“Let it take you, my sweet Fiona, I need to give you this small gift,” he said and moved his mouth to replace his fingers and Fiona mewled softly, loving the feel of his tongue inside her and cried out almost immediately, bucking up to meet his mouth. The climax rolled over her like a wave of warmth and her shivering stopped where her trembling began. “Well done, lassie.”
He moved up her taut body, loving the taste of her skin and slowly, so slowly eased himself into to her.
“So good,” he didn’t know if he had said it or if she had. Maybe they both did, for right at that moment they were one single entity. She inhaled, he exhaled, their hearts beat a rapid synchronous tattoo; they were joined, body and soul. As he moved above her, within her and all around her she stared up at him with those stunning blue eyes, shiny with unshed tears, looking straight into his soul. She saw the Tate Dylan few had ever seen. She saw his love for her because he couldn’t hide anything from the person who shared his soul.
His pace quickened and they climaxed together, silent but for a small sob which slipped from Fiona’s lips. There was naught to be said. While they got their breathing under control they clung to each other, still stunned by the intensity of what they had just shared.
Tate rolled to his back, still holding her tightly to him and cuddled with her after pulling the counterpane back up. Eventually her breathing became even and he realized she was asleep. He soon followed her, with her presence dancing through his senses, making him joyous.
Chapter Fourteen
“I can’t believe Tate brought one of his floozies to his mother’s death bed just days before Christmas,” one of the sisters-in-law said to the crowd in the kitchen. She and Tate had shown up early, but the house was already full of his family and they made it quite clear they weren’t going to welcome her with open arms.
“The man has nerve, I’ll give him that. He’s totally disrespectful of the situation.” Fiona suspected she knew full we
ll that she could hear from her perch in the sitting room not six feet away. The children who were still in the sitting room, there were at least a dozen, from eight to twenty five or so, swiftly dispersed once they heard the woman in the kitchen start complaining.
A floozy, that’s how they saw her. It was probably accurate enough, she knew what she was getting into when she took Tate to her bed that first night. She was his fling du jour, she just didn’t have the strength to end it before he did. Her plan was to spend as much time with him as he’d allow, and if that morning’s love making was any indication, she’d made the right decision. That didn’t necessarily mean staying with his family, however. The way she saw it, she had a few options. She could go into the kitchen and join the conversation, she could leave, or she could simply curl up on the couch and sleep a little more.
“I like her,” one of Tate’s brothers said in her defense. That’s nice, she thought, someone was coming to her defense, but they still left her in the sitting room like a leper. Tate was so lovely, how could the rest of them be so horrible? They would have to live somewhere else, preferably Washington, where her job was. What was she thinking coming to Dublin with Tate Dylan?
“Of course you like her, you’re just thinking with your pecker, men are all the same,” Fiona almost spat out her mouthful of tea. At least the tea was delicious. “That’s why she’s here, isn’t it? This way Tate doesn’t have to hunt around for it, she can warm his bed while his mam is sick.”
“Now Kelly,” the man said.
“You know why the Changeling’s attracted to her, doncha?” The Changeling?
“I do, indeed,” the same brother said with vigor and making everyone laugh.
“I do, too!” Another shouted over the laughter.
“Away. It’s because she looks just like wee Connor. I’d bet the farm our Tate-o’s a pouf.” There was more uproarious laughter.
“Gay? What about the countless women he’s had just like the one outside?” Another woman’s voice entered the argument.
“I thought if Tate’d be gay for anyone it’d be Razz,” yet another said. How many people were in that kitchen?
“And I suppose you’re going to try to tell me Ryan’s gay for Tate and that’s why he married Christie,” someone else declared loudly. “You’re daft, girlie!”
Fiona had enough and put her coat on and stepped out from to where a few men were smoking. They nodded at her without much interest. She didn’t want to hang around on the stoop with the smokers, and she didn’t want to sit alone in the sitting room listening to Tate’s brothers and sisters-in-law be unkind, so she started to walk around the block. The rain had stopped, but it was completely gray. Everything was gray, now that she thought about it. The roads, the houses and the skies, they were just subtle variations on the color gray. It would be dark very soon, she knew.
It surprised her how petty and mean those people were. They were teaching that crap to their children, too. Her fingers itched to pound keys, instead she made fists with her hands. She wished she knew which one was Kelly, she was horrible, but they all shared the blame, they knew she was within earshot. Fiona wanted a shower, she felt unclean.
A car pulled up next to her and she broke out in a cold sweat. Until the diamond people she was never afraid for her person, she didn’t like this new frightened Fiona.
“Fiona, lass,” she turned and looked at Ryan O’Brian climbing out of an Audi SUV. “Can I walk with you?” Christie waved from the driver’s side and drove the rest of the way to her mother’s house.
“Of course. I was just…” she waved toward the house.
“Running away from the witches?” Fiona laughed and nodded her head. “That’s what Christie calls them. I call them something else. I feel like bloody Dr. Seuss with all the rhyming.” They stopped and looked at each other and when Ryan cracked a smile Fiona laughed. He was pretty funny. “They take a little getting used to.” She looked at her feet. Ryan knew of their potential, had Tate? “Can I give you the neighborhood tour?”
“I’d like that,” Fiona said.
“Grand, the pub’s this way,” he steered her across the street as she laughed.
“And here I thought you were going to give me some line about famous people growing up here,” she said and he laughed.
“Twenty some years ago, when you were still in nappies, I’m thinking, we had a steady gig in this pub.”
“I’m thirty five, Ryan, I was out of nappies by then,” they laughed again. “Barely.”
He opened the door to the pub and steered her to the bar.
“Ryan, you gobshite, are you cheating on Christie?”
“Feck off, this is Dr. Fiona Brooks, Tate’s wee lassie. I’m showing her the sights.”
“Well then, be sure to have a keek at the ‘Wall of Shame’,” he gestured to seven pictures on the wall, most of them in black and white.
“Tate said there was a picture of my father here,” she slid off the stool and walked to the wall. She saw a few pictures of people she didn’t recognize, a snap of someone diving into a car with a cowboy hat on, her dad looking boyishly handsome with his motley band and one of Tate and the Grungies looking very young and beautiful. She looked at Ryan.
“Nice hair!”
“It was the style at the time,” he said only slightly embarrassed.
“Just who might your da be?” The bartender looked at Ryan who frowned and shrugged his shoulders.
“Billy McBride,” Fiona said tapping the photo. The barkeep was silent for a moment and then burst out laughing. Fiona and Ryan simply stared at him.
“What are the chances? He moved away to Boston, didn’t he?” Fiona nodded. “You’re an American, the daughter of the great Billy McBride, and you’re dating Connor Damon’s best friend.” He slapped his knee in merriment.
“I told you she was Tate’s wee lassie, not mine,” Ryan said but the bartender was still laughing. Fiona and Ryan looked at each other, but they were both confused.
Fiona took pictures of the photo of her father and the one of the Grungies with her phone.
“Her drinks are on the house,” he said when he could manage it, and pulled her a glass of beer. “How’s your da?”
“We don’t talk much, but my brother says he’s well.”
“Good for him, then,” he pulled a pint for Ryan.
“What are you not saying Padrick?” Ryan said to him. Padrick tried to look innocent.
“Nothing. Has she met Kathleen?” He said.
“Kathleen Damon?” Ryan asked.
“Aye,” Padrick said.
“No, you mixer, she has not.”
Padrick moved away and tended to a crowd that came in gawking at Ryan. Ryan escorted Fiona to a table in the back.
“Does Tate know you fled from the bitches?” She shook her head. “Don’t fret; Christie will enlighten him. What happened?”
Fiona laughed without humor. “I guess it could be kind of funny, but really it was pretty mean spirited.”
“Ah. We can only be rude to the ones we love the most. My brother and I got more enjoyment out of smacking each other around than we did doing anything else. Well…until we discovered the lassies.”
“They don’t love me enough to be that rude, yet.” Ryan laughed. “They made assumptions about me because I’m associating with Tate.” Her shoulders were slumped and she was close to admitting misery. Ryan was looking at her.
“They’re eejits, pay them no mind. I know Tate, love, he’s one of my oldest and dearest friends, hell, I can barely make it through a day without his sister. You mean a great deal to him, and it was kind of you to come home with him.” Ryan was very considerate, and she was suddenly very glad Tate had such good friends.
“Thank you, Ryan. So, tell me about your brother.” Ryan hissed ever so slightly.
“My twin, he’s passed on.” Fiona put her hand on Ryan’s wrist and noticed the narrow leather strap there.
“I’m so sorry,” she said looking
stricken. Ryan smiled at her and they both drank. Ryan surprised himself when he mentioned his brother, he never did; the pain and anger of his loss was still very raw, even twenty five years later. Something about Fiona made him altogether too comfortable, she’d have him telling her all his feelings if he wasn’t careful. “Was he named Alex?” Ryan’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair.
“Aye, lass,” he choked out. She simply nodded.
Fiona looked at her glass and then at Ryan’s glass. “Why do women get these ridiculous sized glasses and men get pints? I feel like a Hobbit.” Ryan chuckled.
“I see why Tate’s sticking so close, aside from the obvious. You’re funny once you break out of your shell.” Ryan caught Padrick’s eye and yelled at him. “Two pints.” He laughed at Padrick’s grumbling and turned back to Fiona. “So you were about to regale me with what the bitches made sure you overheard.” Fiona laughed.
“Aside from them questioning Tate’s and your sexuality, they were just a pack of bitchy women.” Fiona said and Ryan laughed again.
“What? They’d look at the stunning beauties we bring home and they question our sexuality. Harpies. Ah, here’s your man, now.” Ryan nodded to the door. Tate stood there looking around the pub and Ryan let out a shrill whistle which made Fiona jump and Tate look their way. By the time she stood, Tate had his arms around her. She was so relieved to be held, everything else became superfluous.
“Are you all right, lass?”
“I’m fine, how about you?” She touched his face, remembering why she was there. “How does your mom look?”
“She’s in a fair amount of pain. She says she doesn’t want to take the pain killers because she might get addicted, the silly old fool,” he rolled his eyes. “She wants to meet you, but the girlies ran you off. Daniel told me everything, love. I’m sorry they’re so horrible.”
“I think I left before it got too out of hand.”
“They think we’re gay, mate,” Ryan said with a big grin and Tate laughed out loud.
“For each other?” Tate asked picking up Ryan’s pint and taking a big swig of it.
Bassist Instinct (The Rocker Series #2) Page 25