by Liv Rancourt
“There might be a science experiment or two in Chubb’s room, but otherwise I think you got ‘em.” Niall leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. He reminded Ryan of their father, gearing up to lecture him about making babies or doing drugs or something.
In no mood to deal with whatever his brother had in mind, Ryan jammed the dishwasher door shut. It hummed to life. “I was thinking I’d head over to The Park and pound on a heavy bag for a while.”
“Can I tag along?”
All the O’Connor boys knew how to box, although only the two of them had ever taken it seriously. Niall kept himself in pretty good shape for a guy of thirty-five, and Ryan figured a good workout would help his brother deal with some of his frustration with his soon-to-be ex-wife.
“Sure, man.” Ryan ducked into the hall, heading for his room. For the moment, he’d dodged whatever conversational bullet Niall had been aiming at him.
His brother called his name, and reluctantly Ryan paused. “Yeah?”
“How come you’re not over at Dani’s?”
Because if I’m not around her, she won’t get tagged with her third strike? Ryan came up with a halfhearted fib instead. “Dani’s got stuff and I wanted to get in a workout.”
Niall gave a subtle jerk of his head, a move that might get some freshly-arrested thug to keep talking, but Ryan wasn’t playing. “What? That’s it.”
“Nothing, bro. Just wondering what the deal is with you and Danielle.”
His tone of voice made Ryan glad he’d be hitting a bag soon. “I like her and for some reason she likes me, too.”
“For some reason … she’s the same age as Maeve, right?”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Niall.” Annoyance turned to anger the deeper it crawled into his gut. “You know the answer to that. If you have a problem with Dani and me, remember it’s your problem, not mine.”
“I didn’t say it was a problem.”
Ryan hated when Niall used his reasonable voice. “Good.” Ryan took a step back and let go of a breath, promising himself he wouldn’t punch anything with a pulse. Including his brother.
Niall must have picked up his vibe, because he sighed and rubbed a hand over his freshly-shaved head. “Kinda soon after Cherry.”
Ryan flexed his knuckles a couple times. “Cherry and I have been done for a couple of years.”
“You say that now.”
“I’d have said it a year ago.” His fist rapped the door frame, a piss-poor pop-off valve. “You never asked.”
Both hands raised as if declaring a truce, Niall started and stopped a couple times before finally responding. “You’re right.”
Ryan paused, eyes narrowing, shoulders tense. His oldest brother was too much of a cop to give in that easy.
“You know, on Christmas Eve I was pretty much a zombie,” Niall said. “And even though you and Danielle weren’t officially together, looking at you two made me want to kick something.”
A whoosh of laughter escaped before Ryan could shut it down. “I know I’m ugly, but…”
“Yeah you are, but you’re happy, too, you bastard, happier than you’ve been in a while.”
Ryan didn’t know what to say, so he kept his mouth shut. Next thing he knew, Niall would be trying to hug him or something. He met his brother’s gaze. After a few beats, Niall nodded. Moment over.
“So, um, The Park?” Ryan’s voice was gruff enough he had to clear his throat to get the words out.
“Yeah.” Niall interlaced his fingers and stretched his arms high over his head. “We can grab a pizza or something on the way home.”
“We could hit the Pig.” Ryan grinned, still leery that Niall would start to hassle him again. Chubb was likely to be at the Pig too, unless he’d hooked up with some no-life video gamer friend. Hanging out in pubs wasn’t really Niall’s style, and Ryan felt bad for his older brother. Being lonely sucked.
Maybe he’d give Dani a call later, too. They’d agreed to take an evening off, but she was in his blood, and he wanted her down to the marrow of his bones.
The strength of his feelings freaked him out a little.
Hell, it freaked him out a lot.
Over the course of the week, Danielle reached another conclusion. She enjoyed working on old houses. She might have started out motivated by guilt, but things had changed. She’d become fascinated by the hundreds of tiny gestures she’d made over the first two months at her Grandmother’s house, each move aimed at repairing a solid decade of neglect on top of several generations of wear. Working on the house took a different kind of discipline than caring for preemies, but the attention to detail felt familiar. Really, if a nurse did a good job with a baby, the baby got seventy-five years out of the deal.
If a carpenter did a good job on a house, it could take care of a family for generations.
Apples and orangutans, but rehabilitating a house had its positives.
Friday afternoon, Danielle worked on painting the two front bedrooms upstairs a shade of cream with a hint of sage, which gave her plenty of major muscle group action and freed her mind to think. She finished the last wall, wrapped the rollers and brushes in plastic, and covered the paint cans, ready to go for tomorrow.
By the time Ryan’s headlights sliced across her big front window, she’d progressed to slouching in the wing chair, debating whether the ache in her arms was a deal-breaker for starting a new project. Any half-assed ideas about what to do next died a fast and painless death when he carried in a couple bags from Panda’s Chinese Kitchen instead of his toolbox.
“We’re taking the night off,” he said, dumping the bags on the dining room table, daring her to cross him.
Danielle curled up and rested her elbows on her knees. “I’ve been painting.”
He took an exaggerated sniff. “Your new green highlights were my first clue.”
“Shit.” She tried to rake her fingers through her ponytail, but they got stuck hard enough to make her eyes water. “I need a shower.”
He took a second exaggerated sniff. “Yep.”
“Shut up.”
He grinned hard enough to show both dimples. “Food’ll get cold if you shower now.” He spread the top of one bag and lifted out a couple small white boxes. “Cashew chicken.” He set the boxes on the table and took out two more. “Smoked pork. Rice.” He opened one box and lifted out a small browned pocket of meat. “Pot stickers.”
Danielle’s shoulders hurt. Her neck was stiff. She had blisters on her thumb from wielding the paint brush. But when Ryan lifted the pot sticker to her lips, it didn’t hurt at all to open her mouth and take a bite. The fabulous mix of crisp and soft, salt and savory made her stomach growl. He fed her a second pot sticker, nodding encouragement as she ate. He lifted a six-pack of beer out of the second grocery bag, opened her one, and passed the bottle over. She downed about half, washing away the paint stink stuck in the back of her throat and loosening some of the tension in her jaw.
“Thanks, babe,” she said.
Ryan rested against the table and his smile grew. “Anything for you, Princess.”
“Shut up.”
He raised an eyebrow, a totally sweet and sexy gesture. His five o’clock shadow was heavier than normal, as if he hadn’t bothered to shave in the morning, and his hair fell in messy curls. Sensual curls. Bedroom curls. He grabbed a pair of chopsticks and picked up one of the white boxes.
“Here.” Slowly, he lifted a chunk of chicken from its pool of rich, soy and spice broth.
She allowed him to feed her one bite, and another. Hand feeding her Chinese food was its own kind of sexy. “Why are you being nice to me?”
“Because I’m hoping you’ll suck my dick.”
Danielle giggled, all but choking on her chicken at the abrupt change of subject. “You could have just asked.”
“Okay.” He cupped his hand over his crotch. “Now I’m asking.”
“Don’t you want to eat first?”
His dimples deepene
d some more. “I’m not starving.” He reached over and traced her lower lip with the tip of his finger. “I want your mouth on me.”
“In the dining room?” Every possible objection made a party in her head. “There’s a big window and no drapes.”
“It’s dark outside. Nobody’s going to see us.”
Says the voice of reason.
Except, he was right. Very few cars tackled Perkins Lane, and unless someone was looking, they wouldn’t see anything behind the laurel hedge. The gruff edge to his words wore down her resistance. All the negatives – anxiety, embarrassment, fear – were trumped by a craving to taste him, to take him down deep.
She sank down to her knees, jaw chattering, shivers running deep in her belly. He eased back, bracing himself against a chair. She lowered his fly, and he did a little shivering of his own.
Drawing out his thick cock, she stopped to admire it, running light fingertips along the knotty veins. He thrust toward her and groaned softly, his enthusiasm paying her a high compliment. She drew the smooth pink head to her lips, tracing the rounded edge with her tongue. He gasped and his hands flexed, gripped, and held.
“More,” he said, his voice stripped raw.
Danielle ran her tongue along his shaft. She couldn’t swallow it all, so kept hold of the base with one hand. The other she trailed up his thigh until she reached the thatch of dark hair surrounding his balls. She took as much as she could, set up a rhythm, synched her mouth to her hand, and caressed his balls.
Ryan’s jeans slid down around his thighs and he sighed from somewhere deep, rocking his hips in time with her motion. He scooted the chair out and sank to the edge of the seat. Her awareness was wrapped around him, his strength as he thrust against the back of her throat, his musky smell, the heavy velvet of his balls. He dug his fingers through her hair, his other hand clutching her shoulder.
When he gasped again she stopped, cupping both hands around his shaft and teasing the head with little bites. She flicked the band underneath with the tip of her tongue and grinned at the determined thrust of his hips. “’S good?”
“Shit.”
She opened up and took him deeper than before, increasing her pace, prompting Ryan to let loose a stream of muffled curses. For every shit or damn, there were multiple variations on Oh my God. So good.
She did feel good, amazing even. Ryan’s pleasure bathed everything from her soul to her sex in a giddy, warm, sweet sensation. Ryan’s hips lost their rhythm at the same time that his cock pulsed in her hands.
“I’m going to come.” He gritted the words out on a ragged exhale.
Her instinct was to draw back. She’d never let a guy come in her mouth before. But then, she’d never had a guy like Ryan before, a guy so real and so strong. A guy who tweaked every one of her expectations. A guy she might one day be able to love.
Instead of finishing with her hands, she swallowed him down, loving the taste of his salty release.
Ryan folded over her, landing on his knees. He lifted her chin and clamped onto her lips, sucking her tongue into his mouth. Her own need jumped up and claimed her attention. Desire soaked her panties, and she wanted nothing more than to lay back on the grubby hard wood floor and let him pound into her.
“Upstairs,” he said, pulling her onto his lap, nuzzling her neck, and stroking any part of her he could reach. “It’s going to take me a minute to get ready again, and while we wait, I want to return the favor.”
“Oh.” Stop blushing! Having his mouth on her sounded like the best idea ever. She scrambled up and offered him her hand, grinning as she led him up the stairs. Now she knew his secret. For a guy who wanted to be the boss of the bedroom, he was pretty docile after having his dick sucked.
Totally worth remembering.
An hour later, Ryan lay on the air mattress, Dani stretched out against him, his hand tucked around her waist. Between working hard all day and loving her hard all evening, a sweet, narcotic relaxation pinned him down. He loved being in her bed, loved the feel of her naked curves against his body, loved the addictive smell of roses surrounding her.
He nuzzled the soft spot under her ear, nipping the tender lobe. “It’s early to go to sleep for the night.”
The rumpled sheet muffled her giggle. “I’m not asleep.”
He pulled his hand free of hers and reached up to cup her breast, his lips still pressed to the side of her neck. He sucked in a small mouthful, likely hard enough to leave a mark, then grinned as she squirmed away from him.
“Stop.”
“Well we should get up then, because I’m in that kind of mood.”
“What time is it?”
He reached across her, grabbing her cell phone from the floor beside the air mattress. “Eight o’clock.”
He reached over her again, deliberately crushing her into the mattress with his body, a position very similar to one they’d both enjoyed a few minutes earlier. He set the cell phone back on the floor. Almost immediately it started to chirp.
Dani groaned. “Make it stop.”
Ryan picked it up and rolled onto his back. Answering would make it stop. He glanced at the screen, recognized his sister’s avatar, and tossed the phone onto Danielle’s chest.
She held it up long enough to see the screen before answering, her voice husky, muted. “What’s up?”
He shook his head, trying not to look as irritated as he felt.
“What?” she said. “No, I’m not asleep. Just … hanging out.”
He reached over, running a thumb over her nipple. He stroked back and forth, Up and down. He gave it one…two…three strikes.
She slapped his hand away.
He reached for his jeans.
“I’ve been painting and stuff.” Her voice was colder, sharper, like she’d turned into a bitchy movie goddess for real.
He sat up and flipped on the squatty little lamp that sat next to the head of the bed. The light brought out hard lines in her face.
“No, I just want to hang out here tonight.” She scooted over to the edge of the mattress and pushed herself up, turning her back to him.
Ryan got out of bed and pulled on his jeans. Part of him thought he should leave, give her some privacy. Part thought he should leave before he said or did something they’d both regret.
Part of him refused to go anywhere until she was off the phone.
“Ryan’s not here.”
Ryan’s fists tightened, though he had no right to get upset. So what if she lied about him to his sister? So what?
Her hunched shoulders shut him out more effectively than anything else she could have done. She sat for a minute after ending the call.
He waited, anger and pain fighting a death match, tearing him up.
“She’s mad at me.” She kept her back to him, her voice faded, distant.
“Really?” For some reason he needed her to spell it out.
Her shoulders rotated, twisting her upper body and giving him a profile view. “She wanted me to meet her at the Pig.” Her vacant expression didn’t match the tension in her body. “I hate lying to her.”
“But you did.”
“And you’re pissed.”
“Damn straight.”
“I’m sorry I don’t want to tell her I sound like I’m asleep because I’m in bed with her brother.” Danielle scraped the hair out of her face, her eyes tough, cold, and angry. “Damn it.” She let go and put her palms behind her head, hair falling down to shield her face.
“Damn it.”
She might as well have stabbed him in the effing heart. He was some dirty secret to her, not good enough to introduce to her friends from work, not someone she’d choose over his sister. A guy probably needed a sports car and a six-figure income to meet Dani Jacobsen’s standards.
A thunder clap of emotion broke over him, blasting his core like a bolt of lightning. “You know…” He stopped and cleared his throat, barely able to choke the words out. “I care about you a lot.” He had such a tight grip
on his sweatshirt he could have drilled his fingertips through the fabric. “And you’re treating me like a fucking booty call.”
That snapped her attention to him. “What?” Her gaze burned through layers of defense, leaving him naked.
“I spent the last two years dealing with Cherry’s crazy.” He crossed his arms, a lame attempt to protect himself from the shattered anguish in her face. “I can’t do it again, Danielle. I’m sorry.”
Though it carved him up with the worst pain he’d ever experienced, he left the room. He left the house. He left the woman he’d been in love with since he was nine years old.
Climbing into the truck with his shoes in his hand and his sweatshirt tucked under his elbow, he’d never felt so old.
Chapter Eighteen
The bubble of numb lasted through the weekend. On Monday, pain and shame moved in, grinding against the tension in Danielle’s chest, sapping her determination. She’d had an Eamon moment and tried to avoid the wrath of Maeve. Stupid. Ryan’s ongoing silence had become a weight, like a collar made from sandbags and wet cement. She didn’t doubt he’d meant it when he said he was done.
Her only hope now was that he’d change his mind once his temper cooled.
She also tried real hard not to compare her state of mind with those days six months ago right after Braden left. At least Ryan had given her a reason. Sort of.
About ten o’clock Monday morning, Danielle’s phone chirped with the text from Maeve.
Meet me for lunch.
Lunch with Maeve. Now that was an interesting idea. Interesting in a more-awkward-than-a-gynecological-exam-but-slightly-better-than-amputation kind of way.
In the end, the chance to get out of the house decided for her, though the chance to see someone connected with Ryan was also pretty compelling. Danielle promised herself she wouldn’t mention his name. At all. Not even once. No matter what Maeve said.
I’ll be there at noon.
Maeve responded by directing her to Cutters, the restaurant next door to her design firm.
To fill the empty hours, Danielle went from room to room, jotting down notes on everything that still needed doing. The list was long enough that even if Ryan worked fulltime until the end of the month, it wouldn’t be done. She hadn’t heard from him since the Chinese Food Debacle, and though she’d never expected a man to be her foundation, the house was a heavy load without him.
