Hope to Fall (Kinney Brothers Book 4)

by Kelsey Kingsley

  I pulled my hand from his leg and wished there was somewhere I could run to, a way to get away from him, but I was boxed in. Held captive. I turned away from him, looking to the wall décor for a distraction, as I said, “Well, I just assumed—”

  “Ya wanna know what I’m thinkin’?”

  “S-sure,” I stammered, taking in the display of Revolutionary War replicas. Muskets, hats, canteens. My camera was so close, just underneath the table, and I thought about maybe grabbing it, to divert my mind from attractive men and feelings.

  But Malachy pulled me from thoughts of décor by covering the better part of my thigh with his hand. I turned to face him, to find his eyes and soft lips framed by a smattering of copper stubble.

  “I’m thinkin’ about me walk with Helen yesterday,” he admitted, which wasn’t at all what I’d expected, but I encouraged him to go on with a relaxed nod. “She told me that I wasn’t an accident, and—”

  My heart fractured at the word, and I shook my head. “You think you’re an accident?”

  His smile broke his serious demeanor, and he said, “Emma, when you’re told that you’re the bastard child of your mother’s whirlwind summer romance, ya kinda can’t help but think you were brought into this world by mistake.” Before I could say anything more, he continued, “But, on our walk, Helen told me she doesn’t believe in mistakes, and I can’t tell ya what a relief it was to hear her say that. In fact, I almost feckin’ cried. Feelin’ accepted was all I wanted out of this trip, and to know I had people somewhere in the world who cared about me.”

  “I care about you,” I found myself saying, and his head bobbed as he whispered, “I know.”

  My heart begged for me to not raise my hand, to not press my palm against his rough jaw and to not let my gaze fall onto his lips. But it’d been so long since I’d felt the heat of a man invading my space, and the tangled web of hormones was a hard one to ignore. Even harder than the ear-piercing screams of my heart.

  I thought about that kiss back in the café—Devin and Kylie’s kiss in front of the little stage. The passionate urgency. The carefree need to feel, taste and touch each other, without a care about who was watching. I wanted that so badly then, and in that booth with Malachy, it had escalated to a despairing need.

  “Emma,” he graveled, overpowering my thoughts with his voice.

  “Yeah?” I asked, unable to move my hand from his face but my thumb raked through his stubble.

  “Remember when I almost kissed ya?”

  I nodded; it was hard to forget. Hard to forget the shame brought on by my ex-husband. “Yes.”

  “Do ya want me to kiss ya now?”

  “No,” I stated, and my heart rejoiced for just a sliver of a second, right before I added, “I want to be the one to kiss you.”

  I surprised myself with my own honesty. In fact, I’m not sure I’d ever uttered a more truthful thing before in my life.

  “Then ya better do it,” he practically growled, squeezing his hand around my thigh, “because in just a few seconds, I won’t be held accountable for the things I’m gonna do to ya.”

  I nodded my understanding, and sighed as I edged myself forward in what felt like slow motion. I closed my eyes, tilted my head gently to one side and brought my lips to within a millimeter of his.

  “I’m so scared of you,” I confessed in a whisper, finally giving my heart a chance to speak.

  “I’m scared you’re not gonna let me leave,” he whispered back, throwing in his own confession.

  “Me too,” I breathed out before closing the gap between his lips and mine.

  Your ex-husband is the last thing you want to be thinking about when kissing someone new, but that’s exactly what filled my head when I first kissed Malachy. I remembered being that starry-eyed girl, smitten with an older boy with a new car and a real job. I remembered waiting, anticipating and wishing he would kiss me, imagining all of the fireworks that would blast off somewhere in the distance when it happened. But, when it finally did happen, after our second date, there were no fireworks. There was lust, there was excitement, but any confirmation that he was the one was absent from those forty-five seconds.

  I was convinced they just didn’t exist—the fireworks—and when anybody spoke of them, I accused them of lying.

  But, while there weren’t fireworks when I first kissed Malachy, or when his lips parted, initiating a welcome for my tongue to taste him, I could’ve sworn I heard my frantic heart sigh and settle. I melted against him, humming my approval when his arm wrapped around my shoulders. I coiled my tongue around his, as my hand slid over his cheek and into his hair, threading my fingers into the strands and pulling him against me. To hold him and deepen our lock on each other, and he responded with a groan that had my toes curling in my boots.

  My attention was brought to his hand, as it slid toward my knee and the edge of my skirt. There was a fine line that we were dangerously close to crossing as his fingers slipped under the hem, slowly sliding up over my leg until he reached the top of my thigh-high pantyhose, and his mouth pulled away from mine.

  He threw his head back and released a throaty groan as his fingers tickled along the lacy edge. “You’re an evil woman,” he declared, bringing his forehead back to mine.

  “Oh?” I asked, unlacing my fingers from his hair to grip the collar of his shirt.

  “These are me biggest weakness,” he growled, running the tips of his fingers back and forth over the lace. “And if ya tell me you’re wearin’ a garter belt, I won’t be able to stop meself.”

  “Well,” I said, dropping my voice to a whisper, “maybe we should get out of here, so you can find out.”

  His eyes opened and searched mine. “Remember I told ya, Emma. I don’t—”

  “I remember,” I nodded, holding his gaze, “but I think you’re a liar.”

  “Oh, do ya, now?” His lips curled into a devilish smile. “How so?”

  I brushed my lips over his, sighing as though I’d already begun to miss them. “You said you don’t do relationships, Malachy, but I think you could, if you met—”

  His fingertips dug gently into my thigh, and I stopped speaking. His eyes, dark and impassioned, bore into mine with an intensity that caused my spine to flatten against the bolstered back of the seat.

  “You’re also a liar,” he accused, one side of his mouth lifting into a half-smile.

  “Oh, am I?”

  He nodded slowly. “Ya told me ya wouldn’t get attached.”

  I smiled, holding my confidence while my heart whispered and whined. “Well, then … I guess you’re right.”

  His hand slid out from under my skirt, his arm left my shoulders, and he stood up from the seat. He extended a hand, and I accepted the invitation, knowing very well where it would lead.

  “And,” he whispered against my ear, “I suppose maybe you are too.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN |

  TRUST & MESSES

  MALACHY

  Collin and Helen had given me a key to the house shortly after I’d arrived, and I was finding it useful as I crept inside to collect Padraig to spend some time at Emma’s place.

  Christ, it made me feel like a teenager, tiptoeing through the living room, calling Pad’s name in an urgent whisper, and with every second that passed, I feared Emma was second-guessing in her car.

  “Padraig?” I hissed up the stairs, peering up toward the dark hallway, and as my luck would have it, the light turned on.

  “Malachy?” Helen sing-songed as her slippers shuffled over the carpeted hall, and there she was, standing at the top of the stairs in her robe.

  “Ehm, hi, Helen. Do ya have Padraig up there?”

  “We do. He decided to come to bed with us, the sweet thing. Do ya know how much room that boy takes up? He’s certainly big,” she said, smiling as she tied the sash of her robe around herself.

  “Ah, yep, he’s pretty big,” I agreed with a smile and nod.

  “Ya should see him. He wanted to get him
self right between us. Reminds me of when the boys were young, especially Seanie,” she continued, smiling with reminiscence. “I miss those days sometimes, but then, the grandbabies stay over, and I’m reminded all over again why we got the King-sized bed.”

  Then she asked, “Are ya comin’ up?”

  I’m a forty-year-old man, I had to remind myself as I felt my cheeks burn with the shame of sneaking away with the pretty woman from the plane. “N-not exactly,” I said, fumbling on the words. “Emma’s waitin’ in the—”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, not even bothering to hide her embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Malachy. I’ve been here, yammerin’ on, and all ya wanted was to collect your dog to … well, just wait there. I’ll go get him, but I gotta say, I’m gonna miss havin’ him there. He’s such a dear.”

  I’d brought Padraig home as a pup when he was eight weeks old, nearly six years ago, and we’d been inseparable ever since. I had never spent an entire night away from him—never had a reason to, nor did I ever have someone other than Mam I’d trust enough. But looking up the stairs toward Helen, I realized there was nobody I could trust more to take care of him, and I smiled, feeling the ache of letting go for the first time.

  “Ya know what? Maybe I’ll leave him here with ya. I’d hate to wake him,” I said. “If I’m not back by the mornin’, would ya mind lettin’ him outside?”

  Her face lit with delight and happiness. “Of course not! We’ll take great care of him. Will ya be home for dinner tomorrow?”

  Home is where family is. My exhale deflated my chest, leaving me empty and aching. “I will,” I promised with a nod.

  Helen nodded with an adoring smile. “Have a good night, Malachy. Tell Emma that I said hello.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that,” I said, swallowing and waving my hand before she disappeared down the hallway, turning off the light.

  I walked back toward the door, leaving my dog and things behind, and I wondered why I hadn’t felt this homesick when I stepped on that bloody plane.

  ❧

  “You’ll have to excuse the mess,” Emma told me, sliding the key into the lock.

  “Somehow I doubt your house could ever be messy.” I chuckled, boxing her in with my arms against the door. Bowing my head to kiss her neck, and breathing in the floral scent of her hair and perfume.

  She giggled, sounding a little less like an excited Padraig, and she nudged her elbow against my sternum. “Malachy, you’re making it very hard for me to unlock the door right now.”

  “And you’re makin’ other things very hard for me by takin’ your precious time,” I growled against her ear, but she was having none of my filthy mouth and mind, and she proved that by nudging a little harder. “Fine, fine. Unlock your feckin’ door.”

  And then the bloody woman hesitated, turning her cheek to look over her shoulder at me. “You know, maybe I should, um … Maybe I should have you wait out here for a few minutes while I straighten up.”

  I shook my head in complete disbelief. “You’re jokin’. Ya should see me house. It looks like a herd of cattle ran through it.”

  “That’s because you don’t have someone else around to clean up the place,” she pointed out. “You’re still just a bachelor in his little bachelor pad.”

  “Well, at this rate, it’d be faster to just toss your arse on a plane and fly ya back to Ireland with me. Then, I would have someone there to help me tidy up,” and I smirked at the threat. “Now, open the bloody door. If it’s that bad, I’ll say so and leave, how’s that?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Malachy, don’t even tease me like that, okay? You can’t do that to me.”

  I shook my head. “Ya try too hard, ya know that?”

  Reluctantly, she nodded. “But it’s what I have right now, okay? All I ask is that you respect that.”

  With a heavy sigh, I conceded. “Fair enough.”

  With a small, determined nod, as though she were silently coaching herself into opening the door, she finally turned the key and pushed the door open. Her hand reached inside and she flipped a switch, casting a soft light over the living room as she first stepped in, and I followed.

  My smile stretched over my face at the sight in front of me. Camera equipment was haphazardly teetering against chairs. A heap of clothes cluttered the couch, including a bra draped over the back, and a dirty plate of cookie crumbs sat on an end table with a half-full cup of tea.

  I looked at her and saw her lower lip, pulled between her teeth as she bit furiously. I sensed something, a deeper reason behind her manic need for pristine perfection, and I stepped forward.

  “So,” I began, and she stiffened at the impending words, “you’re human.”

  She shook her head frantically. “I was taking pictures for the blog today—I have a few fashion pieces going up over the weekend—and I was in the middle of cleaning up, when I remembered I promised I’d meet with you tonight. I didn’t have time to finish, and I didn’t think you’d be coming back here. If I’d known, I would’ve spent a little more time putting this stuff away, and—”

  “Jared liked a clean house, didn’t he?” I dared to say, stepping forward to press my palms to her cheeks.

  Her gaze fell to the floor as she wilted with her sigh. “It wasn’t just him. I like things neat—”

  “But this, this crazy need for perfection … that’s him?”

  She shrugged, then nodded. “I guess it, um … I guess a lot of it comes from my life with him.”

  I dropped my hands from her face and smirked as I stepped over a pile of shoes. I grabbed the plate of crumbs and held it up as her eyes widened.

  “What are you doing with—” I flipped it over, sending the crumbs to the floor in a scattered mess. “Malachy! Oh my God, why the hell would you do that?!”

  “Because it’s just a little mess, Emma,” I pressed, putting the plate back onto the table, “and messes can be cleaned up. But drivin’ yourself crazy, tryin’ to be the most perfect version of yourself every step of the way … that’s gonna make ya sick, and that’s a mess ya can’t so easily clean up.”

  Then, I watched in horrified awe at the sight of a grown woman in thigh highs and possibly a garter belt, stumble backward into a chair. She crumpled, pulling her knees to her chest as a deluge of tears began to stream down her cheeks.

  “Feckin’ Christ,” I muttered to myself as I stepped toward her, kneeling down at the foot of the chair. “Emma, I’ll clean them up, okay? I thought I was just provin’ a point; I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head, hugging her knees tighter. “I-I try so fucking hard,” she sobbed, falling apart in front of my very eyes. “I fucked up my marriage, I fucked up my kids’ lives, and I … I try so hard to be everything I couldn’t be for them when Jared and I were together. And now, people all over the world rely on me. They expect me to be perfect all the fucking time, but I’m not. I am such a f-fucking wreck, Malachy. I am a mess.”

  I nodded, reaching out to touch her arm. “I can see that.”

  “Oh, God,” she cried in a blubbered mess, tipping her forehead to her knees. “I don’t even know why you’re here. I don’t know why I-I thought this would be a good idea. Y-you should go.”

  “Well, maybe I would, but see, I don’t necessarily have a way of leavin’, so I guess you’re stuck with me for now,” I spoke gently, pulling myself to my feet. Without a second’s thought, I leaned down, scooped her into my arms and lifted her up. Surprised, she looped her arms around my neck and gripped tight. “Where’s your bath?”

  “W-what?”

  “Ya need to relax, Emma, and somethin’ tells me ya haven’t done that in a long time,” I told her. “So, again I’m askin’, where’s your bath?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN |

  BATHS & COMMITMENT

  EMMA

  What is happening to my life?

  Five days ago, I met a man on a plane from Ireland, and then, he was in my house, drawing me a bath, while I sat on the edge of my bed with mascara s
treaked down my cheeks.

  I felt strange and weak after my embarrassing breakdown in the living room. Pathetic and unworthy, and it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t mentioned Jared. How had he known? How could he have guessed?

  “All right,” he announced, walking into the room with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. “You’re all set.”

  “You don’t have to do all this,” I insisted for the fifteenth time as I stood up.

  He shook his head. “It’s nothin’. Come on,” and he turned to walk back down the hall to the bathroom, and as if I didn’t know my own house, I followed behind him like a little girl. He stopped at the open door, extending an arm into the room, and I walked inside to find my whirlpool tub nearly overflowing with bubbles, and illuminated by candles.

  “Oh my God,” I uttered on my tripped exhale, pressing my hand to my chest.

  I turned to look at him in time to see him turn around, facing the door. “Ya can get undressed,” he said, surprising me with his willingness to give me privacy.

  “You’re not going to watch?” I asked, untucking my shirt from my skirt.

  “Emma, I just watched ya freak out over cookie crumbs. Sex isn’t exactly the first thing on me mind right now,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Maybe the second or third, but not the first.”

  I let myself laugh lightly as I double-checked to make sure he wasn’t going to turn around at the last second. Letting my clothes drop to the floor, I stepped into the tub, naked and exposed, as I settled into the hot water.

  “Okay.” I leaned myself back against the side, and he turned around, grabbing a small towel from the sink.

  “Here,” he said, rolling it up as he knelt behind the freestanding tub. He lifted my head and hair, put the towel under my neck, then laid me back.

  “You are going to very extensive lengths to get laid, I must say,” I teased, laughing softly, and then his hands were on my shoulders. His fingers kneading, thumbs running the length of my neck. “It was a guaranteed thing, you know,” and I moaned, closing my eyes. “But you can keep doing that, if you want.”