Unlike how I just leaned into Kieran’s touch.
But I can tell from the strains of music pouring out of this place that’s not the kind of dancing Kieran has in mind. And that’s exactly the kind of dancing I’m terrible at.
He catches my hand in his and leans close. “Don’t worry, Siobhan. I have excellent rhythm.”
It’s so bad, so ridiculous, so inappropriate.
So very Kieran.
I can’t help it, I’m laughing again.
In the restaurant, a table is waiting. The servers seem to know Kieran and are friendly but curious about me. When I move to order a salad, Kieran grabs the menu out of my hand and orders two burgers. When the server leaves, he gives me a horrified look.
“Never eat the salad in places like this. That’s how you end up with salmonella.”
“Does that go for the Kildare, too?”
He gives me a very serious look. “You bet it does.”
We both laugh.
He seems to know the band and they drag him up on stage. Drag is maybe the wrong word. Issue half an invitation and he’s launching into action, clearly excited for the chance to play. He plays a few songs, all popular covers the crowd seems to love.
I watch him with a renewed interest.
Kieran Doyle is a very talented musician.
Technically, he’s excellent. His fingers move deftly across the guitar, perfectly in tune and perfectly in time with the rest of the band. It’s even more impressive since this is a pickup and I don’t believe he’s had a chance to practice with them.
His performance skills are excellent. He moves easily, taking up the space and engaging in that give-and-take with the audience that helps bring music to life. My eyes are locked on the way his body moves, unconsciously, in time with the music.
But there’s something else, something that one of my teachers once said is the difference between a born musician and someone that’s simply passionate about the art. She had looked at me and said very calmly, “It’s in the heart, Siobhan. Some people have it. And some people don’t. There’s a part of your soul that only comes to life through music, a part of yourself that’s impossible to share in any other way.”
Before tonight, it wouldn’t occur to me that there was any part of Kieran Doyle not on offer to the world.
That good-humored, easy-going, take charge guy seems to put everything front and center. But now I see, with growing interest, that’s just part of the story.
There’s something else, depth, an edge, a darkness. It’s there, roiling just beneath the surface. He’s singing songs about broken hearts and hard times and the possibility of redemption with so much heart that it convinces me this is a man that’s lived through things I can only begin to imagine.
It’s a thought that attracts and repels me, that excites me and concerns me, and that reminds me. Carney and Doyle. Polished violinist spending just a few weeks on Martha’s Vineyard and the second oldest son of one of Boston’s toughest families who took on four of my brothers without flinching.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice he’s done playing.
Eyes flashing, hair even wilder than it was before, a little overheated from all the exertion. Without speaking, he reaches out and grabs my hand and for some reason I let him pull me onto the floor.
It’s the middle of a fast song, and he moves so well that for a second I just stand there.
Frozen, almost in horror.
For one moment, he’s confused and then I see the cloudy look on his face clear.
“Don’t worry, Siobhan,” he says, his voice a bass rumble in my ear that sends shivers along the entire length of my body. “You’ll know exactly what to do.”
When I let go and follow his lead, it’s like my body reads his and we dance together like we’ve been doing it for years. Fast songs melt together, and then the band switches its tune. It’s a slow love song, and I feel self-conscious as he pulls me close.
“I love the way you move your body,” he growls in my ear.
His arms are looped around my waist and mine are hooked around his neck.
For some reason, Mother Mary help me, I’m back in the mood to tease him. Our bodies are swaying together, and I lean back and say mock severely, “Leave some space for Jesus there.”
He barks a surprised laugh.
It’s a funny thing. My sister Catriona once said that she never felt more alive than when a man thought she was sexy. Men always think Catriona is sexy.
But I’m beginning to believe that it might be even more intoxicating to find a man that understands you so completely, that he finds you sexy and he also finds you funny.
Looking up into those dangerous, dark blue Doyle eyes, I’m beginning to think that I’ve jumped into the deep end.
16
Kieran
What I should do is bring Siobhan back to her cottage.
What I should do is head back to Vinny’s for a repeat performance in the guest room.
What I should do is blow off some of this frustration with more physical labor.
It’s well after midnight.
Siobhan must be exhausted. She commanded a room full of music lovers at rapt attention for hours, and then came dancing with me.
The dancing was a last-minute decision, a desperate move to provide a distraction.
This woman is such a delicious, confusing, maddening mix of innocent and temptress.
Temptress.
I almost snort at the word.
It sounds like she’s leaving me powerless in my decisions; but, it also might be just a bit true.
During the meet and greet after her performance, I had been content to stand to the side and wait patiently while she worked her way through adoring fans.
Our eyes had met, and I gave her an encouraging smile.
She looked beyond beautiful. I won’t lie and say there’s not something about her that I love when she’s fresh-faced and relaxed in a sundress.
But the dark dress she wears molds to the curves of her body, the up sweep of her hair showing off her long thin neck and expert makeup casting every feature into near perfection.
In other words, holy fuck.
Couple after couple lined up to greet her. At first, it had seemed innocent enough. Then I noticed the old creeps moving in for too many hugs, the comments that could be taken for harmless but were actually disgusting.
The feelings that slammed into me were so strong it took everything I had to stay in check.
Protective, possessive, and more than that.
Moving closer, I try to use my presence to deter without crowding her space.
But the closer I get, the more aware she is of me. At first, I seem to be making her nervous.
And that’s when she started to touch herself.
When her hands slid down her body and over her nipples, I almost came in my pants.
That hasn’t happened since high school.
I am very much in danger of being brought to my knees by this woman.
Sometimes, I would tell you it’s unintentional.
But she looked at me and licked her lips so wantonly that I was half a step away from caveman throwing her over my shoulder.
Under normal circumstances, that would be fine. However, there were three points of consideration that became immediately apparent to me.
First, we’re not together.
Second, we were in a public place, her surrounded by dozens of adoring fans who could not give a shit less that she’s giving me a raging erection.
Finally, she is a Carney and I am a Doyle.
And regardless of this explosive chemistry, “us” is not something that can ever happen.
I don’t start things I can’t finish.
And it’s pretty clear to me that one night with Siobhan Carney will not be enough.
Yet for some reason, I drive my truck in the opposite direction of where we’re supposed to be headed. Eventually, we get to a quiet, isolated beach,
and I pull over and turn off the ignition. It’s a good place to sit and talk and look at the stars.
I turned toward her, with every intention of saying something clever.
She’s pulling the pins from her hair, sighing in relief as long glossy strawberry blonde locks tumble free. Just like that, every good intention I’ve ever had paves the road straight to hell.
I’ll gladly walk it.
“Come on, Siobhan, there’s something I want to show you,” I say, my voice rough and thick with desire. I meant the beach, and the night sky, but her look seems to say, oh I bet you do. She’s not wrong.
But when I walk around to her side of the truck, she’s already out the door. And I move toward her almost as if with muscle memory, remembering our bodies pressing together on the dance floor. She seemed a little nervous at first, but when she stopped thinking and let go, her body moved with such ease and grace that I knew this too would end up on that long list of Siobhan Carney moments I wouldn’t forget.
The love song, about star crossed lovers and forgotten chances, seemed like the perfect opportunity to hold her close.
Grind off a little tension.
Except that as I looked down into those wide green eyes and saw that in this moment she was totally at ease, totally alive, and totally here with me, I had a very unexpected response.
My heart pulled tight. My throat went dry. For a second, it was hard to breathe.
I actually almost panicked.
My thoughts go back to when Owen started dating Molly, and he’d shown up at my house late one night after they went out. “Dude, I think I’m in serious fucking trouble.”
He looked like a man that was drowning. Drowning in his own emotions, drowning in the possibility that his life could never be right without her, drowning as things changed around him faster than he wanted. And all he could do was watch, and wait, and trust that if this was the thing his heart wanted, there would be a way to make it right.
At the time, I didn’t really know what to say. I’d given him a stiff drink and said encouraging things and had known he would figure it out.
But on the dance floor of some shady Martha’s Vineyard tavern, holding one of the world’s most talented musicians and the daughter of one of Massachusetts’ richest families in my arms, I understood exactly what Owen felt.
It didn’t matter that she was a Carney and that I was a Doyle. It wasn’t just that she’s breathtakingly beautiful or made the most exquisite music I’ve ever heard.
Something in me, something far more primal than I’ve ever felt, just said “mine.”
Other than my apartment, my truck, and my dog, very little in my life is actually mine.
The bits of time I get for music.
Mostly, I focus on what I need to get done for everyone else and it’s enough.
Suddenly, though, I’m wondering if I might need more.
The innocence and desire in those eyes. The perfect way that our bodies fit and move together. The way she laughs at my stupid jokes. The understanding I’d seen on her face as she watched me play.
Through some strange twist of fate, this woman really sees who I am as a man and likes it. And as improbable as that is, I knew that there might be no going back.
Leaning against the pickup truck, she pulls me to her and there’s absolutely no way that I could resist.
I don’t want to fuck Siobhan Carney on the hood of my pickup truck in a desolate parking lot just steps from the ocean. But I will, if it will make her happy.
It’s very clear where this is going, and it’s very clear that neither of us have the self-control to make it back to a bed.
“One second,” I say, my voice pure graveled desire. I reach back into the truck and pull out a blanket. It’s not great, but it’s the best I can do. Sex on the beach sounds amazing, but no one wants to deal with the sandy aftermath.
She leads me to the beach. The moon is almost full, and the waves are crashing in a moody, almost decadent way. It’s like the kind of night you’d create in a movie.
She’s looking up at me with those big eyes, her long curls twisting on the breeze and her body shivering just a bit against mine.
I spread the blanket and pull her down. My body moves over hers, as I contemplate the possibilities of kissing her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She stops me, with one hand to my chest. At first, I think she might be holding the line of sensibility for both of us. I should be relieved, but I think I might be heartbroken.
But she pushes me over onto my back, and then straddles me. It becomes immediately clear that underneath that floor length black dress there’s absolutely nothing.
Nothing.
I am in serious danger of losing my mind.
One by one, Siobhan unbuttons the long line of buttons of my shirt, unbuckles my belt and goes for my zipper. The waves are loud and it smells like salt air, and there’s a very real chance that I’m never going to be able to be near the ocean again without remembering the feel of her skin on mine.
The ocean being an instant lifetime boner is going to make living on an island and a coastal city a challenge.
And if we get caught here, we could get arrested.
For some reason, the thought of that, and the slightly untamed and aggressive look in her eyes solidifies my fate.
She leans down, a tumble of long hair covering my face, and whispers, “Take off all your clothes.”
Just like that, I’m bareass on a beach with the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever seen sliding up and down my body. When she finds my nipple piercing, she lets out a squeak of delight.
Look, it seemed like a good idea after the Coast Guard. And I’d meant to take it out. But as her warm lips close around cold metal, all thoughts evaporate. Siobhan’s tongue works its way across my nipples, down the plane of my stomach, and toward my cock.
She grabs my cock, giving a small growl of pleasure.
“Do you remember the library?” she asks sweetly.
Like I could ever fucking forget.
“How you just made me come and come?”
The best damned day of my life.
“Your turn,” she says.
There are some interesting perceptions of orgasms in the world. Women as multi-orgasmic. Men as one and done. Despite the fact that I expected to be showing her a thing or two, I suddenly get the feeling like Siobhan Carney has a thing or two to teach me about possibilities.
She takes the tip of my cock in her mouth, and she looks up at me shyly. I want nothing more than to tell her exactly how to take me with that pretty mouth of hers, but not here, not like this. Tonight is about both of our pleasure.
I sit up, in one swift move, and my cock is against her warm, wet core. The core that has nothing – nothing at all – stopping it from being bared to sea, man, and moonlight.
Jesus above.
Focus.
“Kieran,” she says, uncertainly.
Clearing my throat, I look into those gorgeous eyes. And kiss her, because I can’t resist her lips. Working my way along her jaw, I nibble at her ear and get a wicked stab of pleasure at how her body jerks in response.
So fucking sexy. So fucking amazing.
“Tell me,” my voice is practically a growl in her ear.
Her tongue darts out and she licks her lips, looking nervous.
“I’m not the most experienced,” her voice trails off.
We had so much fun and didn’t even have to take our clothes off. She’d said that, earlier.
My eyes snap up to hers.
Siobhan squirms. “I mean, not totally inexperienced, but I just never met the right guy to really enjoy myself.”
She buries her face in my shoulder. “Ugh, this is so embarrassing. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.”
Embarrassing?
Never met the right guy.
Does that means that she thinks I’m the right guy?
A night that I’d expected to go one way just went in a comp
letely different direction. One I’m not prepared for. But then, it doesn’t seem I’m prepared at all for the things Siobhan Carney throws at me.
“Look at me.”
She does, and I’m fairly sure that I’ll be haunted by this woman’s gorgeous face outlined against the moonlight for decades.
“Let’s introduce each other to some new possibilities. Discover some things together,” my voice is thick with emotion.
There are things I suspect I might feel that I’m not ready to say – that I might not be ready to say for a good long time – but I’m ready to show her, if she’ll have me. She gives me a small, knowing smile.
Two people reveal something of themselves then.
She looks at me and says softly, “I’m so glad we met. I never expected us to end up here.”
For a second, I rest my head against hers. “Expectations are a strange thing, sweetheart. We tell ourselves a lot of stories about who we are, who others are, how the world works and what it all means. I’m glad we’ve gotten a chance to really get to know to each other.”
It’s a rare thing, really getting to know and understand another human being.
The feel of this woman in my arms is like heaven, her hair a tangle around us and her lips on mine. I can’t decide where to put my hands first, but my instincts say: Slow down. Savor this. Remember this.
Our kisses are soft, deep, inquisitive and the warm breeze off the ocean swirls around us. I could get lost in those kisses. Somewhere, the line gets more heated, and there’s more urgency as my hands slide up along her body to cup her breast through the front of her dress.
Slipping her dress down over her shoulder, I take one pale pink nipple in my mouth and she grinds against me. There’s nothing between us except that thin scrap of dress and it’s doing nothing to dull the sensations. I shift Siobhan off my lap and onto the blanket, pulling the dress off in one quick motion. No bra. No panties.
God help me again.
I’ve never wanted someone this badly.
I kiss my way down along her body again, stopping to kiss each breast in turn. Right, left, right left. There’s something I could do forever. Her tongue slides over her lips and she moans, arching up against me. My hand finds her soaked pussy, and she’s an electric charge waiting to explode. I know exactly where to go, like we’ve been doing this for a lifetime. My fingers find her clit and rub featherlight circles.
Thug: The Doyles: A Boston Irish Mafia Romance Page 9
