Sweetest Mistake (Nolan Brothers #2)

by Amy Olle

  He snatched up her hand and hauled her to him. “No.” He dropped kisses on her face. “I’m so proud of you.”

  She sagged against him and his hand slipped beneath the curtain of her hair. He tipped her head back and his mouth found hers for a long, slow taste. She tasted better than whiskey.

  So he loved her. So what? He loved his brothers, his niece, and nephews.

  He wasn’t in love with her. If he were in love, well, that’d be a disaster. Though he’d better get some barriers erected between them before the disaster became the reality.

  “I can’t believe I did that.” A tiny hint of wonder crept into her tone.

  “You were amazing.” Without letting her go, he started toward the parking lot.

  She tugged on his arm. “Should we say good-bye?”

  “Fuck ’em.”

  Her watery laugh soothed his battered heart.

  Tomorrow, he’d start to work on those barriers.

  “C’mon, Mrs. Nolan. Time to get you home so you can fulfill your wifely duties.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Two days after their wedding, she discovered Luke sitting on the back porch stoop, staring into the setting sun, and, despite the thirty-degree temperature, wearing no coat. She said his name, and he turned his head to look at her, but his blank stare lifted the hairs on her arms.

  He’d smiled and followed her inside, but she soon spotted him stealing away to the library, a bottle of whiskey tucked under his arm.

  That night, he didn’t come to bed, and when she searched the house for him in the morning, she found the note he’d left her explaining he’d gone to work and would be tied up there all day.

  The cycle repeated itself the next day.

  The next morning, she staggered out of bed at first light and headed him off at the back door.

  She caught the shadow of unease that clouded his expression before he tossed up an easy smile. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

  She shook her head. “Are y-you going to work?”

  “Yeah, I’m trying to wrap a few things up before the long weekend. What about you? What are you up to today?”

  “I have a doctor’s appointment.”

  He winced. “That’s today? What time?”

  “Eleven.”

  The kitchen door swung open and Jared shuffled into the room in an undershirt and a pair of boxer briefs. “Oh, hey guys.”

  He trudged to the counter and plucked the carafe from the coffeemaker. While the coffee flowed, he reached around to scratch one butt cheek.

  A scowl deepened the lines of fatigue around Luke’s eyes.

  When Jared disappeared through the kitchen door, Luke rounded on her. “Why are they still here? Shouldn’t they be gone by now?”

  The two weeks Max asked for had now stretched into the third week.

  “They needed a few m-more days. They’re supposed to be done by the end of the week.”

  “How long does it take to get murdered by zombies?” he muttered.

  “Well, once they changed the direction of the film—”

  The full force of his singular attention knocked her back a step. “When did they do that?”

  “Um… a couple of weeks ago, I think.”

  “So they’re not making a zombie horror flick?

  At the snap in his tone, a shiver of alarm ran through her. “I guess not.”

  “What kind of movie are they making?”

  She fumbled for words. “Some kind of dramatic romantic…”

  At that, a spark lit in his eyes, but he waited for her to finish.

  She gulped down the fear rising in her throat. The other day, she’d witnessed a tiny glimpse of exactly one scene. There’d been some heavy breathing, and a fair bit of talk about the brightness of Honey’s headlights before the stench of Will’s cologne sent Emily darting for the bathroom.

  “This is a small town, Emily. If they’re making pornography, it will get out, and it won’t go well for you, or them.”

  Shifting sea-green eyes speared her, as if he knew she lied and would will her confession with the brutal force of his gaze.

  But she had nothing to confess. Yet. Max promised her he wasn’t doing anything illegal, and she’d chosen to trust him.

  She just hoped he didn’t prove her wrong for doing so.

  “They’re not… doing that. Max promised m-me.” Her palms grew clammy and she ran a hand down the thigh of her leggings.

  She considered telling him about the scene she’d witnessed, but the lines of exhaustion bracketing his eyes and mouth convinced her to remain silent. Besides, in a couple of days, Max and the crew would be gone and none of it would matter.

  Luke went on to work, but when Emily arrived at her doctor’s office a few minutes before her appointment time, she found him reclined in a chair in the waiting room. He smiled at her and her heart gave a desperate, ravenous wrench. She’d gone too long without seeing that smile.

  The doctor was an affable man who quickly put Emily at ease with his upbeat manner and relaxed way of relaying facts. According to her last period, Emily was around her ninth week with an expected due date of mid to late July.

  He handed over tomes of literature for her and Luke to read and then approached her with a small, handheld device. He smoothed one end of the instrument over Emily’s stomach, and a moment later, the furious echo of a heartbeat filled the room.

  Listening to the light, frantic beating, laughter bubbled up, even as equal parts wonder and terror filled her. Seeking a stable point amidst her rioting emotions, she looked to Luke.

  His complexion pale, his eyes appeared glazed, like glassy jewels. The mix of emotions she expected to see on his face was absent, and instead he appeared expressionless. Blank.

  Their appointment ended and at her car, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll probably have to work late again.” An emptiness rode the top of his voice. “Text me if you need me.”

  She didn’t need him, though an aching hollowness opened up in the center of her chest and stayed with her throughout the day.

  Late that night, she woke from a dreamless sleep when he moved over her. The warmth from his skin soothed her weary bones and the press of his erection between her legs aroused her longing for him.

  He eased himself inside her and she bit down on her bottom lip to stifle her needy moans. Buried to the hilt, he peered into her face. His eyes blazed.

  Then he started to pump his hips. Long, languid strokes turned urgent and fierce. He drove into her, again and again, while his green gaze bored into her.

  She swallowed back a sob as sensation tore through her. He gripped her hips and plunged deeper, wresting all the fear and sorrow from her. A tear leaked out and she squeezed her eyes shut. She whispered his name and when she found the courage to look at him, she watched as something in his eyes shifted, from desperate to pleading.

  Her orgasm shattered over her, but no joy came with her release.

  He dropped his head to her shoulder. With one last series of pounding thrusts and a guttural growl, he emptied himself inside her.

  She toyed with the hair at his nape while their breathing slowed. He lifted his head, but her weak smile fell on his back as he rolled off her and stood.

  “Wh-where are you going?”

  “I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on.” He pulled a pair of running pants over his lean hips.

  “Right now? But you just got home.”

  He was already at the bedroom door. “Don’t worry about me. Get some sleep.”

  The door eased shut behind him.

  On Friday, two days before Christmas, Max finally wrapped filming and the crew began to leave the inn.

  Will was the first to go, and Emily inhaled a deep breath of cologne-free air once he’d gone. Jared and Ian left shortly thereafter, confiscating the box of doughnuts on their way out. Around lunchtime, Drew picked up Honey, and Max, having decided to stay at the inn another week, was closeted away in his room upstairs
working on film edits.

  The estate didn’t remain quiet for long.

  Luke and Emily celebrated Christmas with Noah and Mina, and Shea and Isobel. While Shea and Isobel’s teenage son, Finn, hid behind a hoodie and an electronic device, the uncontainable excitement of Maisie and Connor delivered a smile to Emily’s lips. Though it was quickly squashed by the obvious frustration and exhaustion of their parents.

  Throughout the day, Luke was kind and charming, and that night, he seemed determined to give her as many orgasms as a girl could possibly withstand. Emily opened for him eagerly, hoping that he might taste her love for him and it would turn his heart toward her.

  Afterwards, he slipped from her bed, mumbling something about work and the library.

  The weight of her loneliness pressed down on her. When she’d agreed to marry him, she’d expected the loneliness would end. Instead, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever felt more alone in all her life.

  A week later, on New Year’s Eve, Noah and Mina had gone out, and Luke was on duty. So two weeks after her wedding day and two months pregnant, Emily sat home alone.

  The Christmas tree she’d dragged home remained propped up before the front window in her living room. She wandered over to it and fingered a few of the ornaments she’d brought with her from the house in Tucson.

  Her favorite, a red bulb with a small photograph of her and her mom, hung on a branch at the front of the tree. She peered at the photo. She’d probably been in first or second grade when the picture was taken, and her mom, newly divorced.

  She recalled feeling such joy. Harrison had left and Christmas grew near. The anticipation and presents were great, but for Emily, the elation of staying home from school for two weeks was intoxicating. No speech therapy, no teasing schoolmates, no terrorizing dread.

  Her thumb brushed over a small button on the ornament and the long-ago recording of Emily and Audrey singing a Christmas carol filled the quiet room.

  The singing stopped and Emily’s second- or third-grade voice carried through the crappy speaker.

  “I love you, Mama.”

  “I love you, baby girl.”

  It was the only recording she had of her mom’s voice.

  Tears falling, Emily pushed the button again.

  Turned out, there was a reason Luke only drank whiskey at home. Alone.

  He was a mean drunk.

  The knot between his shoulder blades ached and he rolled his head, trying to chase it away. He should be happy. After all the delays and rounds of second and third interviews, he was perfectly positioned for the job he’d spent the last ten years working toward.

  Not only that, but in the two weeks since he and Emily married, he’d managed to put a little distance between them. A fact that should calm him. But the more space he wedged between them, the more lost and empty he became.

  An uneasy churning in his gut lingered, and he attempted to drown it, once and for all, with alcohol. More alcohol. As much as it took.

  A group of men Luke knew to be fishermen from the wharf played pool at one of the tables in the back. Justin Sloane was among them.

  “You like that, Jimmy?” Sloane’s voice rose above the pub noise to reach Luke. “Wish you had my skills, don’t ya? Watch this—hey, hey, Tommy, watch this one.”

  Luke sipped his whiskey and tried to ignore the little prick.

  God, he missed Anthony. Big-hearted and teller of outrageous stories Anthony.

  Sloane kept it up, and soon guys started slinking away from the pool table to avoid the blowhard. Good, hardworking guys didn’t deserve Justin ruining one of their rare nights out to relax.

  Drink in hand, Luke slid off his barstool and approached the pool table. He chatted with Tommy and JJ until Sloane barked at them.

  “Hey, JJ, you done stroking your stick over there? It’s your shot, man.”

  With a grimace, JJ stepped up to the table. He sunk two balls before missing.

  A sleazy grin split Sloane’s face. “Another one bites the dust. Who’s next? How about you, Gary? You ready for your ass whooping?”

  Gary held up his hand. “I’m going to sit this one out.”

  Sloane nagged Gary for a bit, coming around the pool table to stand in the man’s personal space.

  “Hey, Sloane,” Luke jumped in. “I overheard Big Mike taking bets on the game this weekend.”

  “And?” Sloane rubbed chalk on the tip of his pool stick.

  “And I thought you might want to get in on it, that’s all.” Even though Sloane stood a short distance from him, Luke had trouble focusing on his bullish features.

  “First, I’m gonna finish taking JJ’s fifty bucks,” Sloane said. “Then I’m gonna take Gary’s fifty bucks, and then Tommy’s fifty bucks.”

  Luke’s hand balled into a fist. “I think they’ll probably hand over the money just to get rid of you.”

  The men howled with laughter.

  Color rose on Sloane’s cheeks. “You think so?”

  “I do.” Luke sipped his whiskey.

  “What the hell are you doing here anyway, Nolan? Lost interest in your little wife already?”

  Luke set his tumbler on the ledge. “Don’t talk about my wife.”

  One of Sloane’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t get mad at me. You’re the one that knocked her up and had to marry her.”

  Luke’s fist crashed into his weak jaw. The men scattered when Sloane stumbled back.

  He maintained his feet and lunged, his fist connecting with Luke’s lip.

  Luke laughed, the stinging pain a welcome relief to the blinding panic and excruciating numbness. He planted his shoulder in Justin’s chest and swept his legs out from under him. The prick hit the floor and Luke went for his throat.

  But hands grasped him from behind and pulled him away.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Shea bellowed in his ear.

  Disappointment slashed through Luke. “Just having some fun.”

  Sloane staggered to his feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Luke shook the ache from his hand. “C’mon, admit it, that felt good, didn’t it?”

  “Fuck you.” Sloane touched the red welt on his cheek.

  “You’ve been wanting to do that as long as I have.”

  Sloane’s dark eyes burned bright. “You’re gonna regret this, Nolan.”

  “Not half as much as I enjoyed it.”

  Firm hands clamped down on his shoulders. The room tipped on its axis and Luke twisted his body, trying to gain steady ground.

  Cool night air smacked into him when Shea shoved him through the pub door and sent him hurtling into the parking lot. He slid on the loose gravel and his stomach pitched.

  “He doesn’t look too good,” Noah said.

  Luke tried to stand but rocked back. He fell against the brick wall.

  Shea planted his hands on his hips. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

  “I’m in love.” Luke spit a splotch of blood onto the ground. “With my wife.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “How unfortunate for you.”

  While Shea chuckled, Luke glared at Noah’s smug face. “It’s not funny.”

  Noah’s expression turned serious. “No, you’re right, it’s not funny. I share the same misfortune, and I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s a terrible fate.”

  Behind him, Shea stared at the pavement, shaking his head. “Nothing can prepare a man for that kind of misery.”

  Luke’s head dropped back against the hard brick of the building. “You guys are a big help.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?”

  Luke waved Noah on.

  “Give up.”

  Luke groaned.

  “No, I mean it. It’s a losing battle that you stand no chance of winning. Why fight it?”

  Shea’s boots shuffled over the asphalt as he shifted his weight. “Well, there’s always the possibility for makeup sex.”

  “Fair point,” Noah conceded.

&nbs
p; A rush of anger and terror flooded Luke.

  Just then, the pub door opened and noise from inside spilled out with the bartender, Tony. “Hey, Shea, that new tap’s jammed again. Can you come take a look?”

  “You got this?” Shea said.

  Noah inclined his head and Shea disappeared behind the pub door.

  Darkness churned inside Luke, causing the world to tilt to one side. His back against the wall, he sank to the ground. He slung an arm across his knees and dropped his head.

  Into the silence, Noah asked, “Would it be so bad if you just love her?”

  “Yes.” He couldn’t think of a worse fate.

  “Why?”

  Luke lifted his heavy head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me anyway.”

  The words rushed to the surface and propelled into the night air. “Because I’ll ruin her. Or she’ll ruin me. Shit, she already has.”

  The bastard laughed, and Luke considered planting a fist into his jaw as well.

  “Yeah, you two are a couple of real toxic personalities,” Noah said. “You know, now that you mention it, I can already see your corrupting influence on her. She’s becoming a tyrant. The other day, she even made us eat off plates.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m done.” Noah eased himself to the ground to sit beside Luke. “What’s got you so convinced you’ll ruin her?”

  “Darth Vader.” Luke laid his head against the wall. “I understood him. He was the only one that made sense to me.”

  “That’s hardly—”

  “More serial killers are born in November than any other month.”

  “I was born in November,” Noah said dryly.

  “I know that. We both were. Convinced yet?”

  “Nearly. What else you got?”

  Luke stared into his brother’s face for a long moment while the words rolled around in his mouth like sour balls. “I’m the most like him.”

  Noah’s gaze glittered. “Like who?” he asked carefully.

  “Dad.”

  The air changed, as if a live wire suddenly ran between them.