by Zara Keane
She leaned across the table and took his hand. “You’ll be fine, Gavin. You’re a talented architect. You’ll find a way out of this mess.”
He slid his fingers over her thumb. Her hands were incredibly soft and smooth. And the skin on her wrists…
She inhaled sharply and withdrew her hand.
“Sorry, Fiona. I don’t know what came over me.” He thought of Muireann and her cold perfection and the life he should’ve, would’ve, could’ve had. And then he remembered the callous way Muireann had severed her connection with Wiggly Poo, who at this very moment was likely running wild at Jonas’s parents’ house.
Their eyes locked. She leaned across the table, close enough for him to smell the fresh scent of her perfume and the wine on her breath.
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
Chapter Twenty-One
“KISS ME.” Was she out of her mind? What had she been smoking when she’d invited him round for dinner?
Gavin’s mouth touched hers, eradicating any hope of her forming a coherent thought for the foreseeable future. His kiss was gentle, soft. The tenderness broke her. She stood, trembling, her mind and body at war.
He also stood, breathing heavily. “Fiona, I—”
“Don’t say it,” she said. “Don’t say we shouldn’t have done that. I’m sick of us kissing and regretting it afterward.”
His blue eyes were cloudy with an emotion she couldn’t pinpoint. “Speak for yourself. I regret a lot of things, but kissing you isn’t one. Did you kiss me and regret it?”
“No,” she said with an assurance that surprised her. “Never. What I regretted was your reaction.”
“I called you,” he said. “I left messages. You never replied.”
“No.” Her voice broke on a treacherous quaver. “You walked away.”
She both felt and heard his intake of breath. “You’re talking about Vegas. I was talking about the cave. Fiona, I didn’t walk away after the cave. You did.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat but didn’t break eye contact. She couldn’t, even if she’d wanted to. What should she do now? Ignore the weirdness between them and bid him goodnight? Or throw caution to the wind and screw him senseless?
Her decision, when it came, was swift and decisive. She closed the space between them, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him close. His heart beat against her chest, and his rapid breathing warmed her throat, her ears, her neck.
She deepened the kiss, matching his tongue move for move.
He slid his arms down her torso, molding each curve with the palms of his hands. When he reached her backside, he cupped her buttocks and lifted her onto the hard granite surface of the kitchen counter. She moaned—a primal, instinctual reaction from a place deep inside.
“Are you sure?” His words tickled her neck.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure. Are you?”
“Yeah.” He looked her in the eye. “This time, I am.”
She slipped her hand into his. “Let’s go into my bedroom. I can’t shag someone with a statue of the Virgin Mary looming over me.”
He roared laughing. “That’s what I always liked about you, Fiona. Your sense of humor.”
“Oh, yeah?” she cocked an eyebrow cheekily. “Here was me thinking it was my breathtaking beauty and killer curves.”
“Those too.” He pulled her into her bedroom and kicked the door shut.
“The shades are open—” Her protest fell on deaf ears. The kiss increased in intensity, and she forgot about potential indecent exposure. Hell, the whole of Ballybeg could come for a gawk if it meant he wouldn’t stop.
Gavin’s hands slipped under the thin fabric of her skirt and skimmed her thighs. The tender flesh of her inner thighs shivered at his touch, sending tiny electric shocks shooting through her body. He slid his hands higher, finding her knickers. Hooking his fingers in the sides of the panties, he slid them off.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said. The words kneaded her like an erotic massage. “But I’m pretty sure Mrs. Cotter’s curtain twitched. Time for privacy.” He closed the curtains and shoved her onto the bed with a playful push.
She landed on the soft mattress with a laugh. “No fair,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows. “I’m half-naked and you’re still fully dressed. If you want me to take my bra off, you’d better give me an incentive.”
He grinned, and his gaze roamed over her body. “Good thing I’m a dab hand at getting my shirt off in five seconds.”
His fingers flew over the buttons, revealing a couple more centimeters of male chest with each movement. A light sprinkling of blond hair snaked to his navel. His hands strayed to the zipper of his jeans. Her breath caught, and her eyes widened.
“Go, on,” she said hoarsely.
“Isn’t it your turn?”
“Oh, no. You owe me, Maguire. Consider this payback.” She leaned against the pillows to enjoy the show.
He undid the button and eased the zipper over the bulge in his underwear. He tugged the jeans over his hips and down his legs. He kicked them to the side.
His erection was clearly visible through the stretchy material of his underwear. The wetness between her legs increased. She wanted him. She wanted this. And she wanted it now.
As if reading her mind, he slid his underpants to the floor.
Whoa. He was rock hard and bigger than she remembered.
She sat up on the bed and unhooked her bra. She let the straps slide over her shoulders, watching him the whole while. Slowly and deliberately, she tugged her breasts free from the cups and attempted to toss the bra to the side. It ruined her sleekly seductive strip tease by catching on her wrist. She made a few vain attempts to shake it free. “Well, feck.”
He laughed and came to the bed. “Here,” he said and freed her hand. He kept his thumb on her wrist and stroked, dancing his fingertips across her pulse then up her arm along her vine tattoo. The pressure in her groin was building.
“Touch me,” she demanded.
He grinned. “I am touching you.”
“Lower,” she said. “I mean, higher.”
Running one hand across her breasts, he used the other to caress her inner thighs. “You mean both.” He kissed her shoulder and trailed kisses over her breasts, down her belly, between her legs. He stroked her, teasing the sensitive flesh around her clitoris, exploring her clit ring. “So you are pierced down there.”
“Had you wondered?” she asked with a laugh.
Gavin’s grin was wolfish. “Oh, yeah.”
He increased the pace. Jolts of electric ecstasy flowed through her. She didn’t want this to stop. She didn’t want him to stop.
“Faster,” she gasped. “With more pressure.”
“Show me.” He pulled her hand down and placed it over his. “Show me exactly how you want it.”
Fiona guided his fingers, applied the right pressure in the right places. Meanwhile, his other hand strayed to her breasts, teasing her nipples, pinching hard.
She groaned, sensed her peak near. “I want you inside me.”
“Your wish, my lady, is my command.” He got off the bed and pulled his wallet out of his jeans.
She watched him lazily while he rooted for a condom wrapper. When he returned to the bed, she tickled the silky-smooth skin of his penis. “Can I put it on?”
“Of course.”
She rolled the condom over his shaft, teasing his balls with every movement.
Flipping her onto her back, he positioned himself between her legs. He nuzzled her neck and nipped her earlobe. She guided him inside.
The first thrust was a shock. She gasped sharply and felt him fill her.
He stilled for a moment, then began to move. She wrapped her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his buttocks. The thrusts were gentle at first, soon increasing in power and intensity. Fiona’s hands roamed over his muscular torso and traced the lines of the shamrock tattoo at the base of his neck.
The sensat
ion of skin against skin was electric. He trailed angel kisses along her neck and across her shoulders. When he nipped her earlobe for the second time, she cried out.
“Not good?” His words were a hot rumble against her neck.
“Too good,” she whispered. “Do it again.”
He laughed, the sensation reverberating on her shoulder. He increased his speed, each thrust bringing her one step closer to release. She went with it, relished the slow build to ecstasy.
Finally, he shuddered and came with a guttural groan, propelling her to her own climax.
She swallowed a scream when it hit and clung harder to his muscular body.
When it was over, she collapsed against the cushions and let the aftershocks ripple through her. “Damn, that was good.”
He wound one of her dark curls around his hand. “I hope I didn’t wear you out.”
“No. Why?”
“Because that was round one.”
She laughed. “How many rounds are in this game?”
“As many as I can manage.” He smiled. “Sadly, I’m not eighteen anymore.”
She reached for him and drew him close. “No,” she said. “Nor am I.”
Their tongues were enjoying a mutual exploration match when her phone rang.
“Ignore it,” he murmured. “Let it go to voice mail.”
When the insistent buzz started for the third time in five minutes, she groped for her phone. “It’s from an unknown caller. I hope Bridie’s okay.”
“Fiona?” Sharon’s usual chipper tone when Fiona hit the answer button was absent, replaced by panic.
Fiona threw her legs over the side of the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“The police are after coming round to my house. They didn’t have your mobile number, and Bridie’s is switched off.”
“Sharon, calm down and tell me what’s happened.”
“Someone’s vandalized the Book Mark,” Sharon said, sniveling. “And the police have gone and arrested me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“WHAT A MESS.” Gavin cast his gaze over the wreckage. He and Fiona were standing in the Book Mark with Liam O’Mahony, Jonas’s father. Liam ran a small building firm and had agreed to help with the repairs.
And a number of repairs were needed. Shattered glass lay strewn across the café floor, leaving the wind howling through the empty window frame. A couple of chairs were broken, and the front door was busted.
Fiona sucked in a breath. “Who would do this to Bridie?”
“We don’t know the vandalism was specifically aimed at Bridie,” he said, putting an arm round her shoulders. “It might have been kids messing.”
“On a night like this?” She shook her head. “I don’t buy it.”
Neither did Gavin, but he was at a loss to come up with another explanation. Bridie was popular in Ballybeg. Yeah, she’d pissed off a few of the old biddies with her sharp tongue, but he couldn’t imagine the likes of Nora Fitzgerald smashing windows and breaking locks in an act of vengeance.
He picked his way carefully over the shards of glass and the scattered books from the window display. “Damn lucky most of the books are kept in the back two rooms, or you would have lost a lot of stock.”
“I’m going to check the book rooms and the stockroom.” Fiona pulled a pen and notepad out of her handbag. “I’ll make a note of anything missing. You okay to deal with Liam?”
“No worries,” he said, grabbing a sweeping brush from the café kitchen. “Let me know if you need a hand.”
Liam was standing before the broken shop front, busy with his measuring tape. He was an older, gruffer version of Jonas, but a few centimeters shorter and wider than his son. Despite being in his midfifties, his barely lined face and stray silver hairs made him look a decade younger. “I have plywood in my workshop,” he said when Gavin approached. “Once I’ve measured this out, I’ll go home and cut it to size.”
“It’s not too much work for you?” Gavin swept the debris into a pile.
“Nah, it’s no trouble.” Liam pulled a pen from behind his ear and scribbled figures on a notepad. He jerked a calloused thumb at the window frame. “I’d tell you to put up a few bin bags until I get the plywood, but with wind this strong, there’s no point.”
“How long will it take to get a replacement window?”
“Couple of days,” the older man mused, creasing his tanned brow. “Three at most. One of my men will come by in the morning to fix the lock on the door.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you coming out so late.”
“No problem. Glad to do Bridie a favor. She’s a fine woman, is Bridie Byrne.” Liam glanced in the direction of the book room and lowered his voice. “Shame I can’t say the same of her bastard of a brother.”
Gavin had to smile. In the eight years he’d been with Muireann, Liam had never said a word about his infamous falling out with her father. Now they were no longer engaged, it appeared the gloves were off. “There was a dispute about payment, right?”
Liam scowled and slipped his measuring tape back into his coat pocket. “He stiffed me on a bill.”
“What happened?”
“Bernard hired me and my men to deliver and install windows for his holiday home in Cobh. After the job was done, he claimed we’d done shoddy work and he was only prepared to pay half the sum we’d agreed.” He snorted. “Bollocks. There was nothing wrong with those windows, but what could I do?”
“Take him to court?”
Liam gave a bitter laugh. “You, of all people, should know what Bernard Byrne is like. If I’d tried to sue him, his fancy lawyers would’ve crushed me. To top it off, he’d have blacklisted me across the county. It was cheaper for me to suck up the loss.”
Gavin’s jaw tensed. Flaming Bernard. The man had no moral code. “Let me guess. He told you he was interested in hiring you as a contractor for his company, but he wanted to try you out on a smaller job first.”
Liam grimaced. “That’s about the size of it.”
“I’m sorry you were taken in. You’re not the first person Bernard’s fecked over, and I daresay I won’t be the last.”
The older man hunched his shoulders and pulled his raincoat tight around his broad torso. “I’d better get to work on the plywood. I should be back within the hour. I’ll bring Wiggly Poo with me.”
“I hope he hasn’t given you and Nuala any trouble.”
Liam grinned. “He’s an active pup.”
After Liam left, Gavin went in search of the Book Mark’s cleaning supplies. He’d a hunch he’d once seen Bridie take a mop out of the small room at the back of the shop. He flipped the light switch in the stockroom. Yes, here they were. Mop, brush, and pan, and a variety of cleaning cloths and fluids. He grabbed the broom and returned to the main room of the shop.
He brushed the broken glass into one pile and the soggy books into another. Better leave the books for Fiona to sort through. They were beyond salvation, but she’d need to make a note of the titles destroyed. He fetched the brush and pan and scooped the broken glass into bin bags, careful not to cut himself or miss stray shards on the floor.
Visions of Fiona’s lush curves and soft moans replaced the mess on the floor.
They’d had sex. They’d had amazing sex. Sleeping with her had to rank right up there with one of his crazier life decisions, along with their drunken Vegas wedding. So he should regret it. Yet he didn’t. Not for a millisecond. Fiona made him laugh, made him forget his worries. He felt good when he was in her presence. She saw him for who he was, flaws and all, and not for who he had the potential to become. And yeah, the fantastic sex was a definite bonus.
Spending time with her was a sharp contrast to the life he’d almost had. The stable, secure, stress-free life with Muireann as his wife. And the sharp realization that what bothered him most about his engagement wasn’t the fact that it ended, but how it ended. He’d never been so financially screwed in his entire adult life, but neither had he felt so emotionally free.
“Nothing was taken from the book rooms.” Fiona stood on the threshold that marked the divide between the café and the shop proper, a thin worry line showing between her brows. “Not that I’d expected to find anything missing. Who’d be desperate enough break in to nick a few books?”
He gestured to the cash register. “You’re sure no money was stolen?”
She shook her damp curls. In spite of her raincoat, she’d gotten soaked on their sprint from the car to the shop. The moisture weighed down her hair. He hadn’t realized how long it was. He yearned to touch it, itched to tug at one of her curls and stretch it to its fullest length.
“We only keep a few rolls of coins in there,” she said. “I always drop the day’s takings off at the bank. There’s no excuse not to—I pass the night safe on my way home.”
“Do you want me to drive you to the police station? We can come back here and finish tidying once Liam’s fitted the plywood and we’re not downwind of a gale.”
A small smile broke through her tense expression. “Yeah, I’d appreciate a lift. I need to talk to the police about Sharon and fill in whatever paperwork they need for the break-in.”
The storm had increased in intensity over the course of the evening, and heavy sheets of rain pounded the car. Lightning zigzagged through the sky, illuminating the overflowing potholes in the road.
“I appreciate this. I don’t fancy driving my Polo in these conditions.” Fiona snuck a glance at Gavin, noticing the light stubble dusting his jaw. A mere hour ago, that stubble had been teasing her skin.
“Not a problem.” He slowed his car when they drove through a heavily flooded crossing. “And you can stop thanking me. I’m glad to help out.”
She twisted her fingers in an anxious knot, then laughed. “I’m babbling, aren’t I?”
“Just a tad.” He gave her an amused sideways smile.
The easy camaraderie they’d established over the past few hours had hit a post-coital speed bump. What should she say? What should she do? They needed to define what had happened between them and establish boundaries. Was this a friends-with-benefits situation? Or a hormone-spiked one-off?
