Hope to Fall (Kinney Brothers Book 4)

by Kelsey Kingsley

  “Sorry, Pad,” she giggled, putting her glass down. “Okay, let me just get this thing in the oven.”

  A few minutes later, the cake was on its way to baked perfection, and we retired to the living room. I sat on the floor, taking her drink from her hand and pulling her down to sit beside me. Padraig made himself comfortable, waiting like a good boy for his dinner, and I began unwrapping sandwiches and containers of salad.

  “What kind of sandwiches do we have?” she asked, leaning against my shoulder.

  “Ah, well, ham and swiss on toasted rye. I didn’t bother to ask what ya liked, so I hope that’s fine.” Her breath caught in her throat, and I looked to her, to find tears welling in her eyes. “Emma? What’d I do wrong?”

  She shook her head, touching her fingertips to her trembling lips. “You know the sandwiches are fine,” she said, resting her head against my shoulder. “You read my blog; you know that’s my favorite.”

  “Aye,” I said, nodding. “That’s true. I just hope ya like the way I made them.”

  With a deep breath and gentle wiping of her eyes, she excused herself to grab her camera. She wanted to take pictures, and when she returned, I was surprised to find she didn’t bring any of her props with her.

  “No bitty picnic baskets?” I teased as she sat back down beside me.

  “Not tonight,” she replied with a smile that nearly stole the breath from my lungs. “This is already perfect.”

  She snapped a few pictures before diving in, and the three of us ate. Padraig inhaled his dinner and promptly fell asleep, but Emma and I … We gorged ourselves on sandwiches and green salads, drank more than intended and kissed whenever there was a lull in the lively conversation about nothing much at all.

  And when we were sufficiently wrecked on alcohol and lust, I pushed the dirty wrappings and containers aside, just in time for her to pounce on me.

  “God, I need you so bad right now,” she groaned with urgency, making a sloppy show of pulling at her top and getting tangled in the sleeves.

  “Ya need a roadmap to get out of there,” I laughed as I assisted her in pulling the damn thing off. “I’m gonna instate a law right now that you are never to wear clothes again, just to avoid any more trouble.”

  “I will second that law, but only if you have to a-a—oh my God,” she said, covering her mouth and giggling wildly. “I can’t remember the word!”

  “How ‘bout we just don’t talk?” I suggested, cupping the back of her head and pulling her to my waiting mouth.

  She nodded against me, moaning happily against my tongue as I licked the caramel from her lips. I intended to devour her, to take my time, to show her exactly what I could do. Delving into her mouth and tasting the burn of the alcohol and the crispness of the apple, I resolved to making her want only me for as long as she lived. Even long after I was gone and back in my hovel in Ireland, I wanted her to think of me when she kissed anybody, fucked anybody. But somewhere in those possessive thoughts, I began to think that I wanted her to kiss only me, fuck only me, be with only me.

  Only me, only me, only me.

  I snapped my eyes open and shook my head. I pulled my tongue from her mouth and wrenched my lips from hers.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, sobering at the horrified expression I must’ve been wearing.

  “Nothin’,” I said. “Or, at least I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

  “Do you feel okay?” she asked, and the motherly bone in her body took over for a moment as the back of her hand laid over my forehead. “You don’t feel warm. Maybe you should lie down anyway.”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted, reaching to cup her face in my hands.

  “You look so pale though,” she worried, shaking her head.

  “Emma, I swear to ya, I’m f—”

  And the power went out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO |

  DARKNESS & TEARS

  EMMA

  I was drunk, and it was dark.

  It was dark, and I was scared.

  “Malachy.” The wind howled outside and something heavy fell, clattering loudly against the roof. “Oh my God, Malachy, what was that?”

  He gripped my arm. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

  I reached forward, wrapping my arms around his neck and lying my head against his shoulder, and I found that it really was, all right.

  His arms banded around me, holding me close, and then Padraig whimpered. “Pad? Ya okay, boy?”

  Padraig panted, stressed and worked up, as he found his way over to us. He bumped his head against my shoulder, and I unwrapped one arm from Malachy’s neck to lay it over Pad. He sat down, relaxing beside us, and I scratched behind his ear. Listening to nothing but Malachy’s heartbeat, the panting of his very, very big dog, and the sound of branches beating and scratching the side of the house.

  “Maybe we should just go to bed,” Malachy said, breaking the dead silence in the cottage that all at once felt large and terrifying, when in actuality it was neither.

  “You could light some candles?” I suggested.

  “Not sure there’s much point,” he protested, his voice sounding exhausted and lazy with the alcohol. “Not when we’re goin’ to bed soon. Might as well go to sleep and wait out the storm.”

  I nodded, reluctantly agreeing, when the last thing I wanted was to wander through the dark, in a house that suddenly felt strange and haunted with loud, scary noises.

  Malachy nudged me off of him and stood up. “Give me your hand,” he instructed, extending a hand down to me, barely illuminated by the faintest slivers of moonlight.

  I grasped his palm, and he pulled me up onto my shaky legs, with little thanks to both my anxiety and the booze. He led me through the living room and toward the stairs, with Padraig on our heels. We climbed the creaky steps to the upstairs hallway, and I let him lead the way down the short distance to my bedroom.

  “Wait,” I stopped him with a quiet voice before he could bring me to bed.

  “Yeah?”

  “I, um … I have to pee,” I said in barely a whisper.

  Malachy cleared his throat; to mask a laugh or his own awkwardness, I didn’t know. “Ehm, well, ya know where the toilet is.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to go alone.”

  This should have been the moment when he rolled his eyes, called me a baby and accused me of being ridiculous. It should have been. That’s exactly what I would’ve expected from the grumpy Irishman I met on the plane. But instead, he sighed, elongating his breath with a gentle chuckle, and pulled me back along the hall.

  We stopped at the bathroom door and he pushed it open. “Ya think ya can handle the rest yourself?”

  “Will you wait right here?” I asked.

  I saw his silhouetted nod in the near-darkness. “Not goin’ anywhere, m’darlin’.”

  At the pet name, I sighed happily, while wishing so badly that were true.

  ❧

  I was woken by the crack of whistling wind and another thud against the roof. Gasping I snapped my eyelids open to daybreak passing through the lace curtains on my window. I found my body restricted by a pair of strong arms, and the rough beating of my heart relaxed. Raising a hand, I laid it over the red-tinted hair on his, and I exhaled a breath that coursed a stab of pain to my heart.

  “That wind is wicked,” he mumbled from behind me, his breath passing through my hair and caressing my neck.

  I nodded. “I’m scared to see what it looks like out there.”

  “I’ll check the damage later when the winds die down.”

  My eyes closed, listening to him breathe. Listening, feeling his heart beat against my back. Listening, hoping the ache in my chest could subside long enough to let me sleep again. But it was persistent, growing with every second, and I stirred, gently lifting his arm away from me.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I explained unnecessarily, and he released me.

  “Hurry back,” he grumbled against the pillow. “I sleep bette
r with ya.”

  Every word pierced my heart as I climbed out of bed, nearly tripping over Padraig’s massive body, stretched on the floor along my side of the bed.

  My side. I inhaled a jagged breath, asking myself why I immediately reverted to labels. His side, my side. We didn’t have sides. It was my bed, mine, and that’s all it would be, I told myself as I shuffled along the floorboards to the bathroom.

  I closed the door behind me and tried the light switch. Still nothing. I sighed and went through the motions of relieving myself with only a slice of early morning sunlight to guide my way. A bough of a nearby tree tapped against the bathroom window and I hurried, imagining it smashing through with another strong gust of wind, and ran back to the bedroom as soon as I was finished.

  “It’s not a race,” Malachy laughed from the bed. He was now propped against the headboard. “Power’s still out.”

  “Yeah, I noticed,” I said, walking around to get back under the covers.

  My reflexes told my arms and legs to wrap around him, to rest my head against his chest, and I hummed at the weight of his arm hugging my shoulders. “God, I can’t believe we fell asleep so fast last night.”

  “Well, we did drink a lot,” he mumbled, his fingers walking over my shoulder to stroke my cheek, “and you can’t handle your alcohol.”

  I laughed. “God, I hardly ever drink.”

  “Sure had me fooled,” he laughed, and his fingers caressed my cheek, moving toward my lips.

  They touched the corner of my mouth, and I turned my head to kiss his fingertips, and he hummed happily as I took his hand. Kissing his palm, kissing his wrist, and I pulled myself up along his body to hover my mouth over his.

  He dared me with his eyes, coaxing me to inch forward, and to press my lips to his. He wouldn’t kiss me; just like the first time, he wanted me to take control, to do what I wanted. And in that moment, all there was, was the aching need to cover his mouth with mine. And I did, slowly at first, slipping my tongue into his mouth and moving my hand to touch the graveled curve of his jaw. The momentum was built at a gradual pace. Kissing, moving closer. Kissing, straddling his lap. Kissing, his hands gripping at my hair. Kissing, rolling my hips against his.

  His hands slid over my back to the hem of my shirt and pulled it up, breaking the kiss as it slipped over my head. I stared into his eyes as he unhooked my bra, letting the straps droop over my shoulders before tugging it off and tossing it away.

  “Lay back,” he coached in a graveled voice, taking back control, and I obeyed, moving off of him and settling against my pillow.

  Rolling to his side, Malachy looked down at me, blazing a trail over my body with his eyes. They settled on the yoga pants I fell asleep in, humming thoughtfully as he pulled himself up to kneel beside me. And looking at him in the pale glow of the morning sun, not even the howling wind could escalate the gentle, steady beat of my heart.

  Because Malachy Shevlin was beautiful, with his fiery hair and soul, and I knew that it was only he who could calm my soul in this way, and make me feel perfect without trying.

  I closed my eyes at his touch against my bare stomach. The patient glide of fingertips against my skin pulled the whispered breath from my lungs, acutely aware of the yin-yang contrast of his calluses against the softness of my belly. His fingers traced over my waist, dipping beneath the band of my pants with the concave of my hipbones. Back and forth, and back again, until my neurotic brain made me ask if something was wrong.

  “No,” he said gently. “Nothin’ at all.”

  His hand pulled away, but I didn’t open my eyes to see where he went. Instead, I listened to the distinct sound of cotton being pulled along skin, listened to it travel through the air and hit the floor. The clicking of a zipper came next, seeming almost as loud as the wind, and he moved from the bed, dropping his jeans to the floor.

  I smiled when his weight was returned beside me, and he chuckled. “Ya could’ve taken these off while I was gettin’ undressed,” he said, laying a hand over my pubic bone.

  “You seemed to be taking control,” I answered, opening my eyes to find him staring at me. I smiled into his gaze. “I didn’t want to take that away from you.”

  He grunted a laugh as he clambered back to his knees, gripping at my pants with an excited rush. “Yeah, well, now I’m just impatient.” He grinned and pulled them off my legs, along with my underwear. As he threw them to the floor, I extended my arms and spread my knees, and he smiled, laying over me and cupping my face in his hands.

  With his kiss, he lowered into me, and although he said he was impatient, the lazy pushes and pulls of his hips said otherwise. A stark contrast from our first time together, when we were frantic and desperate. When I hadn’t been with anybody since my ex-husband. When all I wanted was a body to fuck, when all he wanted was to be fucked.

  This was more. This was a mission to feel every part, every inch. Every beat of my heart felt so powerful, I feared my skin was made of paper and I would tear.

  “Malachy,” I whispered against his shoulder.

  My voice was high-pitched, shaking. Scared—I was so scared. I worried I would always be scared with him, until he left, and then what? The fear that I would never see him again?

  “Feckin’ hell, Emma,” he groaned against my skin, his lips moving against my neck.

  I tipped my head back, squeezed my eyes shut, and a single tear trickled from my eye and over my ear. He licked it, tasted the salt, and lifted his head. Gripping my face, brushing his thumbs over my cheeks. Never stilling his hips.

  “Emma.” He said my name again, and I opened my eyes. I felt horrible to be disappointed that he wasn’t on the brink of crying, but I saw it just the same—his sadness.

  I pulled my hands to his face, holding him as he held me, and with his eyes locked on mine, we chased a simultaneous climax as my tears unapologetically fell into his palms.

  All because, despite my heart’s relentless warnings and pleas, I’d fallen in love with him.

  We laid there afterward, his chest heaving against mine. Our hands, attempting to touch every inch of skin, every strand of hair, all at once.

  He lowered his forehead to mine and swallowed before asking, “Have I told ya how beautiful ya are, m’darlin’?”

  “About three hundred times,” I whispered, smiling as I stroked my fingers through his hair.

  “Ah, so not enough,” he said, and kissed the tip of my nose. “Would ya believe me if I said you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “But I want to.”

  “Well, ya should believe it, because if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a liar. Do ya believe that?” With nothing but sincerity in his eyes, I couldn’t help but nod, and he replied, “Then ya have no choice but to believe that I’ve never seen anythin’ more beautiful than the way ya look right now. And I feckin’ wish my mobile wasn’t dead, because I’d take a picture of this to keep with me forever.”

  I begged my tears to not return as I replied, “Maybe some things are just meant to be kept in our hearts.”

  Dragging his teeth over his upper lip, his eyes searched mine for a scrutinizing moment. They put me under a microscope as my heart begged for him not to see the truth in my words. For a second, I thought he wouldn’t respond at all. I thought maybe he would kiss my nose, climb off the bed, and use the bathroom before going back to sleep. And I thought I was right, when he really did kiss the tip of my nose, but he didn’t climb off the bed to disappear into the hallway.

  Instead, he ran his fingers through my hair, and nodded, “Then, I guess I’ll just have to keep ya there forever.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE |

  THANKSGIVING & APOLOGIES

  MALACHY

  It was like a wrecking ball had passed through her yard.

  Two downed trees; one that had fallen across the driveway, blocking our escape. Scattered branches throughout the place. A broken car window. Rooted plants from her g
arden. A segment of fence, blown against the side of the house.

  Nothing horribly tragic, but it was a bloody mess, that was for damn sure.

  I went back into the house and found Emma sitting on the couch, dwarfed by Padraig beside her.

  “How is it?” she asked, working her hands into Pad’s neck nervously.

  “Well, it’s not terrible, but it’s not great.” I gave her my assessment of the damage and asked for her car keys. “I can charge me mobile out there and give Paddy a ring. If none of the roads are blocked, he might be able to come by and help clean up.”

  So, I found myself sitting in her SUV, hoping Paddy hadn’t lost power and the battery on his own phone.

  “Hey, Mal. Glad to see ya survived.”

  I chuckled at his carefree tone. “How is it over there?”

  “Ehm, well, not terrible, considerin’. No damage to any of our houses, a few downed trees in the area. Nothing catastrophic. Are you guys okay?”

  “We are, but we’re a bit stuck,” and I told him about the tree across the drive. It didn’t take much convincing for him to hang up and hop in his truck, and twenty-five minutes later, he was there with Sean and Ryan. The three of them piled out of the truck, coming to stand with me at the end of the driveway, and I found it hard to accept there’d be a time when I couldn’t just call them up to be with me when I needed them.

  “Hmm,” Paddy nodded, checking the tree out, kneeling beside it. “It’s not too big. We should be able to take care of it pretty quickly.”

  “Ya know how to use a chainsaw?” Ryan asked me, and I gave a thumbs-up. “Good, ‘cause Sean and I sure as hell don’t.”

  Emma came outside to greet them, and at the immediate sight of her yard, she covered her mouth with a trembling hand. “Jesus, Malachy. You kind of downplayed it a little bit.” She turned to the Kinneys and managed a smile. “Hey, guys. Thanks for coming over.”

  “It’s no problem,” Sean said, speaking for them all. “Ya know, actually, Paddy has a vacuum in his truck. I’ll clean the car up and cover that window for ya, until you can get it repaired.”