by Maggie Way
“To the W-W-Winslow H-H-House and to—” Her voice broke.
The leg of his chair scraped on the floor when he stood abruptly. “And to introduce you to the groom’s brother.” He delivered a well-practiced smile. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Noah’s younger, more handsome brother, Luke.”
Soft laughter trickled around the table.
“And earlier this evening, I pulled our beautiful hostess aside and bullied her until she agreed to allow me to give this speech in her place.”
Across the table, Emily sank silently into her chair.
“You see, my brother, Noah, has spent the majority of our adult lives living overseas, and I wanted to take this opportunity to publically welcome him home and back into our lives.”
A murmur of approval ran around the table.
“As you can see by his choice of a wife, Noah is an extremely bright man, and with his return, our family is whole again. Not only do we have our brother back, but he’s brought Mina into our lives as well.” To his sister-in-law, he said, “Mina, if your patience and compassion are half as true as your smile, I daresay my brother is the luckiest bastard on this island.”
Amidst soft laughter and contented murmurs, Luke raised his champagne glass. “To Noah and Mina. May your love be the light to guide you when the twists and turns of fate darken your path.”
“To Noah and Mina,” the crowd enthused.
Luke drank and eased back down in his chair. With a smart-ass comment, Jack smacked him on the back.
He risked a glance at Emily to find a small smile played over her lips as she watched Noah and Mina share a kiss. Then, as though she felt his gaze, she turned her head and soulful brown eyes landed on him.
Her expression softened and her mouth moved. Thank you.
The warmth in her eyes tugged at his insides. He inclined his head, but then turned aside when Isobel leaned close to speak in his ear.
The party lingered over dinner, only breaking up once the plates had been cleared away and two of Shea’s bartenders started the free alcohol flowing at a makeshift set up in the corner. In the opposite corner of the room, a DJ increased the volume of the music.
Luke made his way to the bar.
“Hey, Matt,” he greeted Shea’s head bartender. “How’s the new place?”
“It rocks. The boys love the yard.” He held up a bottle of Guinness. “Are you looking for one of these?”
Just then, loud music kicked on and a corny song, at least three decades old, blared from the speakers.
“You know, I think I’m going to need something stronger,” Luke said.
Matt laughed and held up pints of rum and whiskey.
“I’ll take the rum,” Luke said. “Mind if I steal the bottle and two glasses?”
Turning away from the bar, Luke spotted her immediately, sitting alone at one of the tall pub tables situated before the fireplace.
When he approached, her dark eyes shimmered in the firelight as she gazed up at him. She didn’t quite manage to hide the chaos churning in their dark depths.
He plunked down the bottle and slid onto the stool next to her.
“Is this my free drink?”
“Impressed?” he asked, pouring two fingers of golden liquid into each glass.
“Only if your plan is to knock me out cold.”
“Nah, I like the challenge of a conscious date.” He lifted his glass. “Cheers.”
They drank. A sharp hiss escaped her as the liquid burned a path down her throat.
“Feel better?”
She shook her head. “Not even a little.”
He refilled their glasses, and together, they drank.
She licked a droplet of moisture from the corner of her mouth, and only the lost look in her eyes quelled his surge of lust.
He wasn’t sure, but he thought some of the color returned to her cheeks.
“I can’t read your face in the dark. You okay?”
“Uh-uh, no.” She waved a finger. “No confiding. I haven’t had nearly enough to drink yet.”
“In that case.” He repoured, tipped his glass at her, and tossed back the contents. She joined him and they returned the tumblers to the table with simultaneous thuds.
For a time, he feigned interest in the people embarrassing themselves on the dance floor.
Until her soft voice pulled his attention back to her. “Thank you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her expression softened. “You do, but I’m willing to pretend if you are.”
Heat from the fire in the fireplace warmed his back. “The truth is, I wanted to hear what you had to say.”
Toffee-colored eyes searched his face.
“No, I’m not teasing you, Emily.”
She snagged the bottle and poured a healthy splash of buttery liquid into both glasses. “I didn’t have anything to say.”
“Now I know that’s not true.”
Her gaze darted between him and her glass. “Nothing I wo-would’ve been able to get out.” Her sigh held a lifetime of heartache. “I’ve tried everything. Breathing techniques, word avoidance, speech therapy, antidepressants. Nothing ever fixes m-m-me.”
He was about to stop her right there, but she tilted her head back and drank.
The sliver of his anger curled through him when he lifted his glass to his lips. He wanted to argue with her, but what the hell did he know about it? He had no idea what it’d been like for her.
He returned his tumbler to the tabletop with a hard thump. “Okay, let me just say something. First, you don’t sound as bad as I think you think you sound, and second, having trouble coming up with the right words, on the spot, in a public setting, does not mean you’re broken or somehow need fixing. That’s just stupid.”
A smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. “Are you calling me stupid?”
He leveled her with a look. “You know I am most certainly not.
The smile lingering on her lips, she grew quiet. Thoughtful. “It’s not that I can’t find the words. It’s that there’s so much I want to say.” Her face grew animated. “And I can’t possibly say it all and-and-and the words jam and-and everything starts to pile up and-and—” She sagged back. “It’s so… frustrating.”
“You know, now that you mention it, I’ve noticed you sure have an awful lot to say.”
She laughed and his heart lifted. God, she was pretty when she laughed.
Her smile turned impish. “Wanna know what my favorite word is?”
“It’s Luke, isn’t it?”
She shook her head, laughing some more.
“Tell me,” he said softly.
“Fuck.”
The force of his laughter surprised him.
“It’s the best word ever,” she said. “I never stutter when I say it.”
“Filth flows fluidly, does it?”
He liked talking to her like this, and damn, but it felt good to feel something other than bruised and weary when talking to a woman.
“Okay, I got it.” He shifted on his stool. “The next time you’re struggling to get the words out, pretend you’re talking to me and I’ve just pissed you off again. You don’t have any trouble giving me a piece of your mind.”
She brushed away his idea with a wave of her hand. “You’re easy to talk to.”
Warmth broke like the sun over the horizon in the center of his chest.
She mistook his smile. “But don’t go thinking I’ve joined the ranks of your admirers. I am not, nor will I ever be, a Luke Nolan groupie.”
A grimace pulled at his features. “I do not have groupies.”
With a giggle, she laughed and slid her empty glass across the table until it knocked into his. “You really do.”
Rum flowed as he refilled both glasses.
“Hey, I’ve been wondering, why don’t you have an accent?” At his confusion, she pressed on. “It’s just, I noticed Noah and Shea have accents and you and Jack don’t.
Well, not really. I was curious why.”
“We left Ireland when I was seven, and after living here for a few years, it sort of faded. Maybe because they were older when we moved, Noah and Shea never lost theirs.” He dropped the timbre of his voice and with a thick brogue said, “Of course, I can turn it back on if ye’d like.”
“Oh my, don’t do that. Whew.” She fanned her face. “That made me a little light-headed.”
A chuckle shook his shoulders. They sipped their drinks in silence for a time. The rum sloped through him with lazy warmth.
“Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?” he asked. “Ireland or my accent?”
Amusement flickered in her eyes. “Ireland.”
“I don’t remember it all that much.” A wish from childhood came flooding back. “I think about going back. For a visit, at least.”
“You should.”
“I will. Someday.”
With the silence, they sipped.
“Wh-why did you leave?”
“My mom died and—”
Her soft gasp broke in. “You lost your mom when you were seven?”
“That’s right.” His voice sounded rough and he reached for the bottle. “My dad… he couldn’t take care of us, so they sent us here, to live with John.”
“Father John is your uncle, right?”
“Right. He’s my mom’s brother.” He swallowed a healthy gulp.
“H-how did she die?”
“She had cancer.”
“Luke, I’m so sorry.” Her voice soft, she looked at him with softer eyes. There was no real pity in them, just acknowledged pain.
One orphan to another.
“Thank you,” he said.
She slid the bottle back to her side of the table and added another splash to her glass. “Your dad… did you miss him?”
He snatched up his tumbler. “Nope.” He threw back the contents of the glass and reached for the pint.
Smart woman that she was, she understood that door was closed.
“I didn’t really miss my dad either, after the divorce. He used to come up with creative ways to try to make me stop stuttering. O-once, he made me talk with a stone under my tongue for a wh-whole month. It didn’t do any good, of course, but he was too stubborn to admit wh-when he was wrong.”
Luke stared into his glass to hide his scowl. “Sure sounds creative, all right.”
“This other time, he tried to take his n-name from me.” Her throat worked until finally she forced out the word. “Cole. I don’t know what it was, but I couldn’t say the name without a huge struggle. So he refused to let me say it or even write it for over a year, and every day he threatened to file the paperwork to permanently change it.”
Though she kept her tone light, Luke could hear the hurt in her voice.
A tiny hiccup escaped her. “Eventually he gave up and just hit—”
Luke’s head snapped up.
She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, as if to pull the words back.
His stomach gave a sickening wrench. “He hit you?”
She hesitated. “No. N-Not a lot. He had a temper and I… tried his patience.”
“Don’t do that.” His hand shot out and captured hers. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for his weaknesses.”
Large, dark eyes stared up at him. Her throat worked. “You’re right. That was silly of me.”
Of its own volition, his other hand reached out and he traced the fine bones of her face, from her fragile cheekbones to her small chin, imagining the damage a man’s fist could yield.
“You aren’t silly.” He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb, where her freckles should be, but weren’t.
She tilted her head, pressing her cheek into his palm. “Thank you for saying that.”
She slid off her barstool and came towards him. He straightened and she pushed her way to stand between his thighs. His cock took immediate notice, even as her fragrant perfumed scent filled his senses, kicking up a pang of frustration in his chest.
Warm whiskey swirls pulled him in.
“You’re so cool,” she said.
A soft laugh rumbled through him. “You’re drunk.”
“A little.” Her soft breath rushed over his skin. “And you have the most kissable lips.”
“You think so?” He reached up, wanting to feel the soft whisper of her hair around his fingers, but there were no loose strands for him to toy with. “Maybe you should prove it.”
Her body pressed against his and she touched his lips with hers. He held himself still while she explored his mouth with tiny tastes and tentative nibbles. A soft, slow lick.
Heat seared him.
She pulled back and gazed into his eyes for a long moment, as though searching for some clue.
He tossed up a smile, the one that charmed everybody, while his mind puzzled out the most efficient means of getting her naked. The bare bones of a plan formed, but before he could set it in motion, her expression shifted, growing serious, and her brown eyes turned all soft and slippery.
Unease stole over him.
“You’re so beautiful.” Her words slipped out on a whisper.
He froze. Her fingers touched the side of his face and he only just managed to stifle a flinch.
“Not just here,” she said, and then she pressed the flat of her palm to his chest. Above his heart. “But here.”
The air sucked from his lungs. He couldn’t draw breath, and his heart started to pound. Vines wrapped around his ankles to hold him rooted to the spot while she gazed upon him.
The real him.
It was the first time he could recall anyone bothering to see beyond his looks, past the accident of his gene pool and the mask of charm he kept in place.
For the first time, someone looked. And she found him beautiful.
Her name broke over his lips.
Then her plump mouth pulled down at the corners. “Except, of course, when you’re being a jerk.”
A song ended and through the speakers, the DJ invited Noah and Mina to take to the dance floor.
Emily pulled away, but his hands shot out to grip her waist.
He tugged and she fell softly against him. “Don’t go.”
Her heat soothed the aches his body had carried for all time. He was drowning in her softness.
Chapter Fifteen
“Dance with me.” He spoke low in her ear.
Gooseflesh chased up her arms. “I’m supposed to dance with Shea.”
Indeed, the oldest Nolan brother wove his way through the crowd toward them.
“Take my hand,” Luke insisted.
As if of its own volition, her hand settled inside his. The warmth of his skin sloped through her as he led her toward the dance area.
Slipping an arm around her waist, he pulled her close.
Her pulse thundered in her ears and she fixed her gaze on his chest, sneaking the occasional peek at the strong column of his neck.
His intoxicating musk, clean and manly with a hint of spice, overwhelmed her, and soon, her body hummed with awareness of him.
“There it is.” His breath rushed over the skin near her ear.
She turned her head. “What?”
He executed a small move to turn her toward the dance floor. “Shea and his wife are dancing.”
Emily spotted Shea a few couples away with Isobel wrapped in his arms. “They’re married?”
“They’ve got it into their heads that they don’t want to be together anymore.” The flat of Luke’s palm smoothed up her back.
Sweet sensation spiraled through her.
“They separated last year, yet they’re madly in love with each other.” His hand found the curve of her hip. “They’re driving everyone crazy.”
It was too much, his heady scent and heated touch. His electric, lingering gaze. She started to tremble. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Maybe it was the rum, but his beauty hurt to look at. His square jaw and pink lips. His ey
es that shone like jewels against his tanned skin.
His arm came more snuggly around her waist, drawing her closer, and heat rushed to all the places where her body pressed against the long length of his lean frame. Something pulled her gaze back to his face and she sucked a sharp inhalation between her teeth when she saw the fire blazing in his eyes.
She couldn’t stop herself sinking into him.
The smooth, bluesy ballad Noah and Mina had chosen for their first dance swirled around them as they swayed to the drowsy beat. Reaching up, his large hand cupped the side of her face and a dreamy intimacy engulfed them. In response, her heart fluttered against her ribcage.
Then his dark brows drew downward in a small frown. With the pad of his thumb, he stroked over her bottom lip. The caress, at first gentle, became rough, and his thumb dragged across her mouth with a ruthless swipe, rubbing away her lipstick.
She pulled her head back. “Stop, y-you’ll m-mess it up.”
His scowl turned nasty.
Disappointment hit her like a punch in the stomach. “I get it, y-you don’t like it.”
His palm closed around her bare shoulder, and his hand slid up the column of her throat. “It’s not that I don’t like it.” He pulled her close and his mouth brushed her temple. “It’s that you look hot as hell and I’m out of my mind with wanting you.”
Her heart slammed against her breastbone. “I can’t tell if y-you’re teasing me.”
“I’m not teasing you.” His hand inched upward beneath Kate’s artful chignon.
Emily protested, but his fingers tangled roughly through her hair and the heavy curtain fell over her shoulders.
“I want you back.” He kneaded her scalp. “The real you. Without the sparkles and the paint.” His voice dropped with to husky rasp. “Without the dress.”
Her gaze swung to his, and her breath caught at the vulnerability she glimpsed in his eyes. He let her explore, and she puzzled out the distinct swirls of emotion chasing through the green waters.
His dislike of her transformation, it wasn’t a preference for style or form. It was deeper, more profound than that. He looked for her, and couldn’t find her.
He thought he’d lost her.
“Please,” he rasped. “Don’t look at me like that.”
