Christ, she had gotten under my skin, and I had known her for all of three minutes.
And why is this turning me on so much?
“Hey, just calling it like I see it,” she said, casually lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. Her sweater fell down an inch, revealing the tattooed lines of tree branches.
“Canvas & Ink is next door,” I replied with a hard edge to my voice, reminding her of what she was doing here in the first place. Before she disrupted my day of important card games and sketchbooks.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. My mouth gets carried away sometimes,” she said, shrugging. The sweater drooped a little more, and I could see more of those branches.
My curiosity was piqued, but my nonchalance remained intact. “It’s fine,” I grunted, clicking around the screen as my mind wondered what else her mouth enjoyed doing.
As I worked to ignore her, my hand rounded to the back of my neck to relieve an itch.
She took a couple steps back toward the desk. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” I grumbled indifferently.
“On your wrist?”
The arm of my shirt had slid upward, revealing just a peek of the sleeve inked to my skin.
“Ehm, tattoos?”
“Can I see?” Her eyes sparkled with excited intrigue, and because she had asked, I rolled my shirt sleeve to my elbow. “Impressive.” She bit her pretty bottom lip and nodded her approval, as though I needed it, and for some reason, I felt that I did. “What about the other arm?” And because she had asked, I rolled the other shirt sleeve up too. Again, she nodded, before rolling the sleeves of her sweater up, as far as they would allow. A mural of black and white painted both arms, an eye-catching contrast to her snow-white skin.
“Impressive,” I said, mimicking, but I was also honest. In fact, I was thoroughly impressed, and even more turned on. If I was hard before, I was now made of stone. So … I decided to pry. “What else do you have?”
Her hands gripped the edge of the desk, and she leaned forward a bit. The neckline of her sweater dipped lower, flashing the rounded tops of tattooed breasts. “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,” and she grinned in that coy little way.
At that, all residual effects of her demeaning my job flew out the window, and I was ready to bend her over my desk right then and there. My groin throbbed with a lustful desperation that told me it had been too long since I had gotten laid, and that if she didn’t get out of there soon, I was going to give my boss a very good reason to replace me.
She smiled, as though she were considering something, and then she nodded. “I like you.”
And what in the hell was I supposed to say to that? I mean, Christ, I had been with my fair share of women. Too many women, some would say. But, of all the women I had been with, or even known, none of them had ever possessed this remarkable ability to honestly speak their mind without being coaxed.
“Do you like me?” she asked, her eyes flashing just the faintest hint of hope.
“I don’t even know you,” I said with a laugh that floated somewhere between a giggle and a chuckle.
What the feck was that? The woman had made me giggle. Have I ever giggled before in my life?
Her crystalline eyes flashed with confident delight. “Come on Ryan. It’s not a hard question. You can know in a few seconds if you like someone or not. It’s not a freakin’ marriage proposal.” She bit that lip again—hopeful, coy, and so feckin’ sexy.
That much was true. It wasn’t a proposal, and I actually knew I liked her the moment she walked through that door. All of that black and those soft pink lips, and so I shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I like ya.”
“Good,” she said, satisfied, and turned on her heel. “I’ll see you around, Mr. Secretary.”
❧
Later that night, as I I left through the front door, the cool winter air whipped against my forehead and bit my nose. I squinted my eyes to ward off the sting, and as I locked the door behind me, I fantasized about the cigarette I was going to have before heading to my apartment in my grandmother’s basement.
I braced myself against the gust of wind, turned in the direction of my bike, and stopped dead in my tracks.
My motorcycle waited for me at the curb, the chrome glinting under the picturesque lamppost, and … there she was. Sitting on my bike, like she already held some claim over it.
Over me?
I noticed her raven hair immediately, gleaming under the streetlamps. Her hands were wrapped inside the long sleeves of her black sweater, while her legs bounced rapidly against the sidewalk. From the looks of her, I would have guessed she was freezing. Her eyes were shut, her cheeks were wind-bitten red, and her lips had turned a deeper shade of pink. But she was also happy. A serene smile stretched from ear-to-ear, and it was in that moment that I found her not only intriguing and sexy as hell, but I knew that I had done it again.
I was attracted to yet another woman who wasn’t quite there.
I never liked to call it crazy, and I never liked to call it unstable, because what would that make me? But it was something, and I was attracted to it—it was attracted to me. And together, we made a mess. There was no balance. No boundaries to keep our out-of-control personalities contained.
And this woman and me? There was no doubt in my mind that we would make a mess.
But dammit, I couldn’t keep myself from getting dirty.
“Hey. That’s my bike.” I walked toward her, keeping my gait steady, though my brain willed my feet to run far, far away.
“I know.” Her eyes met mine, she smiled, and I hunkered further into my scarf, reaching into my pocket for my smokes.
She simply crossed one leg over the other, solidifying her resilience to move. I sniffed a chuckle, hidden by the wind. I could have moved her myself. I could have wrapped one arm around that tiny waist and hauled her right off without breaking a sweat. But I just couldn’t stop my itching curiosity, and I had to know what kept that arse sitting on the seat of my bike.
Her eyes flickered with temptation at the sight of the cigarettes, her tongue darting between her lips, and I held the open carton out to her. Without speaking a word, she plucked one, eyed it critically, then slid it back in and selected another.
I raised my pierced brow. “What’s wrong with this one?” I pulled her reject from the pack, placed it between my teeth, and stuffed the smokes back in my pocket.
She shrugged, swinging her foot around in small circles. “This one looked better. You have a light?”
“Nah, I thought I’d stand here and pretend to smoke while I freeze my balls off,” I grumbled through clenched teeth, my cigarette dancing as I spoke, and I grabbed my lighter. Flipping it open, I lit mine, and held the light out to her. She leaned into it, cupped her fingerless-gloved hand around the dancing flame, and set her cigarette alight.
We enjoyed our cigarettes together, and while we smoked, I eyed her through my play of indifference. Standing over her, sending smoke curling above her head, I wondered what her deal was. But instead of asking, I took note once again of her rosy cheeks and wind-stung nose.
“Aren’t you cold?”
“No, I love the winter.”
“So do I, but loving winter doesn’t mean you can’t freeze to death. You should have a coat on. It’s freezin’ out here.”
She closed her eyes as she took a long drag and held the smoke in her lungs before sending it dancing into the air. Then she opened her eyes again, stabbing me with the stained-glass icicles in her irises.
“I’m okay, but it’s sweet that you care,” she said to me, bouncing her one boot against the sidewalk, the other dangling in the air. “You know, I was actually waiting out here for you.”
“Oh, yeah?” I smiled, intrigued. “Why didn’t ya just come inside, then?”
“Where are you from?” she asked, changing the topic entirely.
My arms spread out wide, cigarette dangling between my lips. “You’re lookin’
at it.”
She shook her head, her mouth spreading into a little smile. “That accent is definitely not from around here. It’s weird.”
I laughed. “Weird, huh?”
Her eyes narrowed a bit in concentration, smoke framed her face and faded with the wind. “Yeah, weird. Like when people mate a couple random fruits together and call it something stupid, like a tangelo or grapple or some shit like that, and they label it Designer, when really, it’s just a science experiment that happened to work out really well.” She sucked in a long drag, cheeks hollowing. She dropped her hand, exhaled. Smoke spiraled in the air. She let loose a little amused smile. “You’re … Not Quite American. That’s your designer label.”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” I said with a low chuckle, clenching the cigarette between my teeth.
“See, weird like that … Talkin’,” she mocked playfully. “A word gets thrown in there, and you’re suddenly Scottish.”
“Hey,” I pointed at her. “I’m definitely not Scottish.”
“You have something against Scottish people?”
“Not at all.” I took a drag and released. “Just don’t want to be labelled somethin’ I’m not.”
“Then,” she said, pointing her toe in my direction, “I ask again, where are you from?”
“Born in Ireland, moved here as a baby, and was raised by a wild pack of Irish people.” I rolled my eyes up to the billowing cloud of smoke that wafted from my mouth and nostrils, watched it for all of two seconds, before the fresh winter chill could rob it of life and it disappeared.
I expected more questions, because there usually were. Women loved the accent, as slight as it might have been more often than not, and they always loved to know more. About my family, my upbringing, the “homeland.” Or, better yet, they liked to throw words at me, to demand I say them with the learned, dormant brogue that would most likely land me a night between their legs.
It was my secret weapon; always getting me into trouble.
But this woman? Nah, she wasn’t like the rest. I already knew that, but she was about to make that point exceptionally clear.
“So …” She shifted slightly, rolling her soft-looking, pink lips between her teeth. “What are you doing tonight?”
“What am I doing tonight?”
“Is there someone else here I’m not aware of?” she teased with a quirk of a brow.
I snorted, scratching the back of my neck. “Just makin’ sure I heard you right. Why? Did you wanna, ehm …” I didn’t know what to say. Offer to take her to the Ol’ Tavern for a drink? I didn’t drink. Maybe suggest checking out the William Fuller statue? Too touristy for my tastes.
She had ideas of her own, though. “I’d actually like to have sex with you tonight.”
She looked up at me expectantly, and with the cigarette between my fingers, I took a long drag, staring down at her through relaxed hooded eyes that I hoped weren’t giving away the serious freak-out happening inside my head.
But Christ, that was something new.
In all my years of partying and having women toss themselves at me, I couldn’t think of a time when one of them had just come up to me and so plainly said exactly what they wanted. Sure, I knew my cock had been on their minds when they hung from my arm or wrapped themselves around my neck. I knew sex was ultimately what they were after, but in some desperate need to behave as the little ladies their mamas had raised them to be, they never said it. Not like that. Not sober. Not without even batting an eye. No, they needed it to be my idea—my fault, if it went badly, if it was awkward.
Hell, I almost thought this woman was joking. A twisted deadpan line that I wasn’t finding particularly funny. I waited for a laugh, the telltale glimmer of amusement, but you know what I saw? Cold, icy eyes. They frisked my bundled-up body, checking for signs of my own arousal. And she saw it, and her eyes twinkled with anticipation.
“So, you’re serious?” My voice was tight, strangled. I had held the smoke in too long, and I coughed.
“Nobody’s ever propositioned you for sex before?” she asked, and there was that lip bite again. “I somehow doubt that.”
My cheeks puffed around a sigh. I chuckled awkwardly. “Ehm, well, they usually want me to at least buy ‘em a drink first.”
“But if all you want is to sleep with someone, why go through all that? Why not just go straight to the good stuff?”
I laughed again. Less awkward, more surprise. “Because it’s the right thing to do?”
“According to who though?”
She tipped her head to one side. Her long black hair slid off her shoulder, and the streetlamps illuminated the white skin of her neck, peeking out through the tangle of tattooed tree branches. They came around from the back, and I wanted to see what they were attached to. I wanted to sink my teeth into them, trace them with my tongue.
I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose, because I didn’t have an answer to her question. “All I know is, women typically prefer it when men at least make a bit of an effort before sleepin’ with ‘em.”
“What if I don’t want effort though? What if I just want to get laid?”
“I don’t do one-night stands.”
She raised a disbelieving eyebrow, crystal-blue eyes staring right through me. “Come on Ryan, you don’t know me … there’s really no reason to lie.”
“And you know me?” I asked laughing, and scratched the back of my head, cigarette pinched between my fingers. I was officially perplexed by that tiny woman with the frozen eyes.
She slowly licked her lips, considering her next words while teasing me. “Okay, look … What is the first thing you want to do when you see an attractive woman? Do you want to bring her flowers, take her out to dinner, make her fall in love with you, and then have sex?”
I gripped my neck. When had I started sweating? “I, ehm—”
“No,” she cut me off with the raising of one finger, “because you want to know her in a carnal way, because you’re an animal before you’re human, and animals fuck, Ryan. You want to make her yours, mark your territory, make sure nobody else gets to her first, and only then do you get to know her.”
“Jesus feckin’ Christ.” I cleared my throat, shaking my head and pushing my hands back through my hair.
She chuckled a little under her breath. “Ireland, life is too short to have shitty sex. What happens if we fall in love, and then find out the sex is horrible? Then what?”
She had nicknamed me, and to top it off, she had mentioned being in love, as though she expected that to be a real possibility in our future. She did all of this, brought me to a personal level, and I didn’t even know her name.
Red flags galore.
“Then, we’re in love, and we have shitty sex,” I offered weakly.
“Spoken like a guy who’s never been in love with a woman who knew what she was doing.”
She threw the butt of her cigarette to the sidewalk, and got off the bike, further proving how much smaller than me she really was. I could’ve taken that tiny woman and shoved her in my pocket, if I wanted to. But instead, I just watched as she stomped the cigarette remains into the pavement, and she looked up at me.
“Come on Ryan. You’re really gonna tell me you haven’t wanted to sleep with me since I walked through that door?” She confidently reached two little fingers forward, hooked them into the belt loops on my jeans, and pulled herself forward. Her body pressed against mine, and I didn’t move, if only for the sake of keeping her from freezing to death. But I didn’t touch her. Didn’t react. Didn’t even feckin’ breathe.
If I wasn’t wearing my leather jacket and a thick sweatshirt underneath, I knew I would have felt the mounds of her breasts pressed against my stomach. The thought of her tits, the thought of what they might look like outside of that sweater, the thought of what she might look like on the brink of orgasmic bliss at the mercy of my hands, or dick, or mouth, or hell … all three. This is what had me
standing there on the sidewalk, hard as steel, and considering the unexpected offer laid at my feet.
I knew it was an arsehole move to even consider it, and I knew there was a pretty good chance I would later kick myself had I gone through with it. Because it had been two whole years since I had promised to turn over a new leaf, and the last thing I wanted to do was break my streak of good behavior.
But … I was also a man. And I was intrigued by this enigma of a woman who was confident and capable of being honest, who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to say it.
“What’s your name?” I asked, almost breathless in a voice gruff with carnal intent.
She smiled smugly. Soft, pink lips tilted upward; the confident smile twitching at the corners.
She knew she had me.
“Snow.”
My lips twitched with amusement. “Snow? Really?”
“Yes.”
“Okay then.” I dropped my forgotten cigarette to the ground, crushing it underneath my boot, and walked toward my bike. “Get on.”
And that was how I met Snow.
CHAPTER TWO |
HONESTY & DISAPPOINTMENTS
When I was seventeen, my older brother Patrick had a momentary lapse of judgment with a girl he couldn’t stand, and as luck would have it, he had gotten the chick pregnant.
The night he was told about the pregnancy, he came home and with his head in his hands, he gave our parents the wonderful news. I walked in on that cheerful little conversation, coming in from a night of partying with my friends. I had looked at him—ghost-white and panicked. Then, I looked at my parents—fuming and also panicked. The three of them had acted for a time as though they were the only ones being affected by it all, but in truth, it was a defining moment in all of our lives.
For our parents, it was the shock of being handed their Grandparent Card before they felt they were ready. It was the reality that their oldest son, their first baby, was having a baby of his own and embarking on a journey of life that would take him places they weren’t permitted.
To Fall for Winter Page 2
