The Barista's Beloved (The River Hill Series Book 4)

by Rebecca Norinne

  Max pushed to his feet with a groan, interrupting Ben’s walk down memory lane, and stretched his arms high above his head. His spine popped audibly. “The guys’ll be here soon. I should get the chili started.” Noah, Sean, and Iain were coming over later for their regular poker night.

  Across town, Angelica, Naomi, Jess, and Maeve were binge watching The Gilmore Girls. Or at least that’s what they said they were doing. Ben knew differently, though. Maeve had confessed to him a couple of weeks back that they only got through one episode before a second bottle of Noah’s wine was opened and Lorelai and Luke’s on-screen relationship was replaced with talk of real-life relationships. Their last gathering had been especially uncomfortable for her, since Naomi had decided to share some pretty explicit details about how talented Iain was with his tongue.

  He chuckled, remembering the horrified look on Maeve’s face as she’d explained that no sister ever needed to know what her brother was like in bed.

  Briefly, Ben’s mind flashed back to all the wicked ways he’d used his tongue on her. Would Maeve tell her friends about their night together? He raised his beer to his lips as he considered how he felt about the group knowing they’d taken their friendship to the next level. He figured Naomi would be supportive; after all, she’d been pretty vocal at Frankie’s about wanting him and Maeve to hook up. The conversation had been horribly embarrassing for the both of them, but he found it hard to wish it had never happened. After all, it had ultimately led to her begging him to come inside her house … and then inside her, too.

  “You have that look on your face again.” Max set a platter of various canapés and dips on the coffee table in front of Ben.

  Ben blinked and glanced up, hoping he didn’t look too guilty. “Sorry, was just thinking about some things.” He reached out and popped a mini red bell pepper coated in a bacon cheese dip into his mouth.

  “About Maeve?” Max’s hands were planted firmly on his hips and his lips were turned down in a scowl.

  Ben understood Max’s need to protect young women who weren’t the best at protecting themselves, but Maeve wasn’t Isabella. Hell, she was the furthest thing from Max’s sister. Isabella floated through life—jumping from one dead-end job (and man) to the next—while Maeve had her feet firmly planted on the ground. The woman ran her own freaking distillery, after all.

  “Look, man. I get that you want to protect Maeve, but she’s not your sister.”

  His friend bristled. “I never said she was.”

  Ben set his empty beer bottle on the table and pushed to his feet, clapping his hand onto Max’s shoulder. “No, but you’re doing that overprotective big brother thing with her, and you don’t need to. Maeve’s a big girl, capable of looking out for herself.”

  Max raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Yeah? Then what was that scene at Frankie’s all about? Seems to me she doesn’t have the best taste in men.”

  Ben tried not to wither under Max’s pointed stare. Surely his best friend didn’t put him in the same category as a douche like Steve Smith.

  Ben grabbed his empty bottle off the table and headed toward the kitchen, Max falling in line with him. “She made a mistake,” he explained, even though he felt he shouldn’t have to. “I seem to recall you making a few of them over the years, too, but you don’t see anyone trying to protect your virtue.”

  Max groaned. “Point taken.” Not too long ago, Max had been close to asking a beautiful, wealthy divorcée to marry him, only for her to run off with her ex-husband’s richer best friend, leaving Max with an expensive diamond ring and a broken heart. Since then, he’d seemingly sworn off relationships, settling for quick flings with locals who knew the score and tourists he’d likely never see again.

  “All I’m saying,” Max continued, “is that I’ve been your friend practically my whole life, and outside of high school, I can’t name one woman you’ve ever been serious about. Admit it, you’re kind of a player. And like I said before, Maeve’s not someone you fuck and run on. She’s the type of woman you marry.”

  “I’m not going to fuck and run.” How could he convince Max that he’d changed? You’d think the fact that he was still in River Hill instead of back in San Francisco—or New York, Boston, or Seattle—proved he wasn’t the same guy he’d been once upon a time. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had ample opportunity either; he had an inbox full of inquiries from big name firms all over the country wanting to fly him out for interviews. But the thought of going back to that life didn’t seem as enticing as it once had.

  He had a theory as to why that was, but he didn’t want to investigate those feelings too closely. Regardless, he knew deep in his bones that wherever this thing with Maeve was going, he’d never been the type of person to lead someone on the way Max was suggesting. Time to hit back.

  “And the fact that you think I’m capable of doing something like that to someone as special as Maeve says more about you than it does about me.”

  Max’s jaw flexed as he bit back whatever retort he’d been about to toss out, and his eyes flicked to the window where Noah, Sean, and Iain could be seen making their way up the walkway to the front door of Max’s mid-century modern house. “This conversation isn’t over,” he said, his gaze bouncing back to Ben’s.

  Ben disagreed. “Yes, it is. Maeve’s a grown woman, and I’m a good guy. Maybe I haven’t always been one, but I’ve changed, Max. If you can’t see that, I don’t know what I can say to make you believe it.”

  The doorbell rang, interrupting their discussion. Max stared at Ben for a beat and then nodded brusquely. “Okay, then. If you say you’ve changed, you’ve changed.” He brushed past Ben, stopping briefly to squeeze his shoulders, before moving to let the others in.

  When Iain shook Ben’s hand a minute later, he tried not to look guilty for the things he’d done to his younger sister the night before. He didn’t have anything to hide, but if Maeve hadn’t liked hearing how Iain and Naomi spent their nights together, he was doubly sure the affable Irishman wouldn’t be quite so affable if he was treated to a play-by-play of Ben’s night with Maeve. One he hoped to repeat again soon.

  “Wait, explain that again?” Ben took a bite of his hot dog as Maeve pointed out the various positions on the field. Several stories below, Ireland played Australia in an exhibition match meant to increase interest in rugby in the U.S.

  Back when he’d first started working in the city, Ben had known a few guys who’d played for a club in San Francisco, and he’d been to Kezar’s with them a couple of times to watch the big international matches, but he’d never seen anything like this in person. The men on the field were massive, making the guys Ben had known look like middle schoolers. He was pretty sure one of them was legitimately seven feet tall.

  And he didn’t even want to think about how banged up they’d be the following day. He winced and rubbed the bruise on his thigh he’d gotten when he’d accidentally banged into the small dining table in his apartment on the way to the bathroom last night. He was fit, and in good shape, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was not cut out for the gladiator-style shit taking place below them.

  “G’wan, Declan!” Maeve jumped to her feet and pointed at the field as a man in a green number ten jersey streaked past a mob of defenders and toward the end zone. Err, the try zone. He was still getting the hang of all the new terminology she’d tried to teach him on the drive down from River Hill “Help him out, lads!” she hollered, which was immediately followed by an angry roar. She threw her hands up when the player she’d been cheering for was tackled and the ball bounced out of his grip and into the hands of a waiting Australian. To her apparent relief, the Aussie was immediately tackled and the ref blew his whistle, signaling the end of play.

  Maeve dropped back down into her seat and let out a long sigh. “He had no support.” She was speaking to him, her Irish accent as thick as he’d ever heard it, but her eyes had stayed glued to the field, her face red and her hands balled into tight fists on her knees.
Her shoulders were up around her ears, and every muscle in her body was strung tight as she followed the action below.

  Watching her, Ben wondered if he’d made a mistake in getting the tickets for their date. He’d seen them on Craigslist for a steal, and had thought giving Maeve a taste of Ireland would be a nice treat, but now he wasn’t so sure. His kind, sweet Maeve was an entirely different creature here. While he’d seen her lose her temper twice with their friends, he’d never seen her this worked up.

  It was … kind of arousing, come to think of it.

  He had a feeling it was a side of her most of their friends, save her brother, hadn’t ever seen. She was the nice one, the do-gooder who tried to see positivity in every situation. And because of that, people often thought she was naive. She wasn’t. She was just a supremely decent human being. One with a tough streak a mile wide when it came to rugby, apparently.

  “Get him!” she shouted when the Australian fullback made a clean break, only to get crunched between four Irish players before being flattened to the grass. “Yes!”

  A couple of seconds later, the game was halted while medics made their way onto the field to treat a serious gash over his eye that had coated the front of his jersey in bright red blood.

  He glanced at Maeve, who had a wide grin on her face. As if sensing him staring, she turned to him and raised her eyebrows. “What? That guy’s a homophobic cunt who shouldn’t even be allowed to play given the shit he spouts on social media.”

  Ben felt his smile growing wide. “You’re amazing.”

  She did a double take. “What, why? That’s just common decency.”

  He chuckled, and shook his head fondly, lacing their fingers together. “You’re fun, Maeve Brennan.”

  She smiled at him and then dragged her attention back to the field. But instead of pulling her hand away, she leaned closer and rested her head on his shoulder as she watched the rest of the game unfold.

  In the grand scheme of things, a date to a rugby match wasn’t a huge deal. And sitting here with her hand twined with his was the most innocent thing in the world. And yet, it was a big deal. Max hadn’t lied when he’d said that Ben hadn’t been serious about anyone since high school. Hell, he hadn’t been in a real relationship since he was sixteen and Maisie Wagner had broken his heart right before homecoming. He’d almost forgotten how good it could feel to simply hold hands with someone you cared about, how … right. Yeah, that was the word. Everything about him and Maeve felt right.

  He just hoped he knew how to make it last.

  A cheer went up and Maeve surged to her feet, bringing him with her. “Whoooo!” she hollered as Irish players jumped into each other’s arms and slapped one another on the back. On the pitch and in the stands, players and fans alike celebrated Ireland’s win over Australia.

  Maeve tugged on Ben’s hand. “Come on. I have a surprise for you.” She bounced on the balls of her feet, barely able to contain her excitement.

  “Oh yeah?” he asked as they inched their way down the row to the exit.

  She nodded. “Yup.”

  He pulled her out of the aisle and into a cinder block alcove, wrapping his arms around her waist. “What kind of surprise?”

  “Remember when I said my family is one of the team’s sponsors?”

  Ben nodded. Sometimes he forgot that Maeve came from money. Brennan’s Irish Whiskey was to spirits as Guinness was to beer, and yet you’d never know it by looking at her. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved black cotton shirt with an Ireland scarf draped around her shoulders, she was the very picture of casual.

  She shuffled closer and smiled up at him, her green eyes twinkling in the glow from the stadium lights. “It turns out sponsors get a suite at the hotel down the street.”

  Ben tried to hide his surprise. On the drive there, she’d mentioned that she was glad he didn’t have work the next day, and Ben had hoped that meant she was going to invite him to spend the night when they got back to River Hill. Apparently, she had other plans.

  “Oh yeah?”

  She nodded. “I talked with my oldest brother this morning. It’s ours if we want it.” She glanced away, suddenly shy.

  Ben fingers bracketed her chin and he guided her face back around. Leaning forward, his lips hovered enticingly over hers. “Oh, I want.” And then he kissed her soundly, proving to her just how badly.

  15

  They stumbled giggling into the hotel room, and Ben stopped dead, making Maeve bump into him. She peeked around his broad shoulders to see what had surprised him and grinned. “That sponsor life,” she teased. “It’s pretty good, eh?”

  He blew out a breath. “You’re telling me. Here I was just going to take you home and hope you’d let me in the door. You’re kicking it up a notch, woman.”

  She laughed. The suite was gorgeous. She’d taken advantage of the perk once or twice before, although not recently. This particular room was definitely one of the nicer ones she’d been in. A crystal chandelier hung over their heads, lighting the way down a short hallway that opened up into a living area decorated with plush sofas and an armchair that made her want to open a romance novel and dive into it immediately. Champagne was chilling on the small dining table by the panoramic window that overlooked the city’s lights flickering off the water of the bay. She headed toward it. “Bubbly?”

  “Sure.” He prowled through the room, running his hand along the upholstery of the furniture. “But then let’s check out the important room.”

  “Oh, you mean the bathroom?”

  “Very funny.” He pretended to glower at her. “For all you know, I need a nice hot bath after all that yelling.”

  She felt her face heat. “I get a little excited about the game.”

  “So I noticed.” He came closer to her, eyes darkening. “I especially liked when you encouraged the Irish team to murder their opponents.”

  “I—”

  “I never knew you were so bloodthirsty.” He captured her waist and tugged her towards him. “I like it.”

  “You do?” It came out in a squeak, and she cleared her throat. “You do?” Her second attempt wasn’t much better.

  “Oh, yes. Maeve Brennan’s dark side. She seems so nice. Until you know…” he paused dramatically. “Her deep, dark secret.”

  “Wait, what’s my deep, dark secret?”

  “Um, your inclination toward murder, obviously.” He rolled his eyes. “I’d be in fear for my life if I played rugby.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re safe.” She giggled. “I have other plans for you.”

  “Ooo, I like the sound of that.” He dipped his head forward and kissed her thoroughly, leaving her breathless when they finally parted. “Thanks for showing me your dark side.”

  “Thanks for buying the tickets.” She laughed. “You brought this upon yourself.”

  “I’m glad I did.” He wrapped his fingers around hers and tugged her away from the table. “Let’s go check out that other room.”

  “Good plan,” she murmured, distracted by the feel of his hand on hers. When he touched her, it felt like she’d been covered in snow that was rapidly melting in warm spring sunshine. She wanted to melt all the way. “The bedroom it is.”

  They made their way through the suite, champagne forgotten, and paused in the doorway to the bedroom.

  “Good god, this room is made for sex.” Ben said it reverently, nearly whispering, as though they’d stumbled upon a hidden temple.

  Maeve couldn’t help but agree. The bed was the biggest she’d ever seen, dwarfing the king sized one her brother owned. She’d once been on a tour of a historic castle back in her school days; the bed here was oddly reminiscent of the one that had been in the lord’s bedchamber.

  While the fabrics in the living room of the suite were cool, beachy blues and grays, here in the bedroom it was all reds and soft browns. Most of the space was taken up by the giant bed, while a door to the bathroom was tucked off to the side. Next to it was a built-in gas firepl
ace mounted high on the wall, a long, slender rectangle filled with quietly flickering flames. A raw-edged wood mantle held a few candles, an ornamental dish, and a pair of solid crystal tumblers with a matching decanter full of what looked like it might be bourbon. And underneath that—Maeve’s eyes widened as they fell on the large faux-fur rug. It was more than big enough for two bodies, and she felt a shiver run through her at the idea of being under Ben, her back pressed into the downy softness.

  She glanced at him, and realized that he was watching her. His eyes flicked between her and the rug, and he raised one eyebrow. His smile was slow and wicked. “Having some thoughts?”

  She swallowed. “Maybe a few.”

  “Me too.”

  And then his hands were on her, and somehow her shirt was gone, and her fingers were clawing their way underneath his shirt to find his satin skin. His mouth fastened on her nipple, sucking gently through her bra until she was whimpering. His only response was to let her pull his shirt over his head as he switched sides to give the same attention to her other breast.

  She arched her back as he slid a finger around the clasps of her bra. Her breasts, now unconfined, flattened against his bare chest and she hissed in a breath at the vibrant contact. His mouth moved to her throat, nipping lightly, and she retaliated by working her fingers into the waistband of his pants. She slid her fingers as far as they could reach, working her way through silky hair to brush against the base of his cock. It was his turn to suck in a breath. She grinned.

  “You’re overdressed,” he muttered.

  “So are you.”

  “Mmm. Planning to do something about it?”

  She tightened her grip and he let out a quiet moan. “Maybe.”

  “God, Maeve.” He slid his thumbs into her jeans and yanked them down over her hips without bothering to unzip them, dragging her panties with them. She kicked them off and reluctantly let go of him to return the favor. The second his jeans hit the floor, his arms were around her waist and he was picking her up and lunging toward the bed.