Wild Irish_One Wild Finn

by R. G. Alexander

  “I’m trying to reassure you the situation was a one-off, and that you’ve no cause to worry about my virtue. You’ve never seen a more wholesome group of regulars sidle up to a pub in all your life.”

  “Your virtue?” Bronte’s mouth twitched again. “Poor William. They really did consign you to purgatory, didn’t they? A wholesome bar. The horror.”

  He moved closer, drawn to her the way he’d been from the start. A moth to a flame. “Nah, the Collins are good eggs. Old Pat’s a crack, as I’ve told you, but a soft touch when it comes to his grandkids. And there’s enough of them that wholesome might not be the right word at all, but only one of Pat’s sons has a husband as well as a wife. Not that it’s a competition or anything.”

  She snorted. “So no kinky orgies or bisexual stripper bachelor parties then? Just beer, sports and, um, snogging?”

  “Now I never said they weren’t kinky. But if they’ve had any orgies, I haven’t been invited. Come inside and I’ll introduce you.”

  She tipped her head as if considering the invitation and he tried not to stare like a smitten dope. She was a stunner, his Bronte. Part sprite, part siren with curves that went on for days.

  Her hair was still a short, sleek cap of black silk, framing big eyes and lips that weren’t as quick to smile as he would have liked. Whenever she relaxed enough to give him a grin, it was more of a rush than winning a fight had ever been. He wanted to feel that every day. To have the right to make her happy. The right to keep her.

  She already owned him, body and soul.

  “Why aren’t you asking why I’m here?” She asked, her voice subdued. “Aren’t you curious?”

  He grazed her cheek with his knuckles. “Well, you’ve missed my birthday by a few days, but I’ll admit to hoping you finally finished my blanket and wanted to tuck me in personally, to see if it fit.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” she asked, sounding upset, before dropping her eyes to his shoulders. “I’m sorry I missed it, but that’s not why I came.”

  She bit her lip and he gripped her chin between his fingers gently. “What has you so worn out with worry, Nightingale? What brought you all this way alone?”

  Had she met someone else? Would fate be that cruel? After all his hard work, and as close as he was to reaching his goal, was she really here to tell him they were over before they’d been given a chance to begin?

  “Tell me.”

  She looked around the narrow cobblestone street as if someone were watching. “Not here. When are you free?”

  “As long as no one needs me, I can take you back to my place as soon as I let them know.”

  She was already shaking her head. “I—there’s a cute little inn not far from here. The woman who checked me in kept trying to slip me a copy of her nephew’s CD, but she was sweet. Can you finish up and meet me there?”

  As much as he wanted to see her in his apartment, surrounded by his things, he had the feeling he would need to pick his battles carefully. Right now, getting her comfortable enough to tell him what was wrong was his priority. She’d be in his bed soon enough.

  He watched her weave in place and he cupped her shoulders to steady her, wanting to kiss the shadows from her eyes. “You are tired, aren’t you, darlin’? Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He sighed. “Text me the name of the place and your room number and go rest. I’ll be there in an hour.”

  She nodded, staring at his lips for one breath-stealing moment before she turned to go. He started walking backwards, unwilling to let her out of his sight.

  His wife had a glorious ass.

  When she turned the corner, he scowled, wondering if he should have walked her to her car. How far away had she parked, anyway?

  Forcing himself to turn, he made his way into the bar where Trevor Collins was cleaning a glass, speaking in low tones to his seated father.

  William’s cousin, Seamus, was a publican who knew how to build a pint, and a wizard of a chemist when it came to creating his own brews, but Trevor made William think of home.

  Old Pat’s training, he imagined. Or something he passed down in the blood that made the man a born tender. Easy to talk to, eyes like a hawk, shoulders broad enough to cry on or toss you out on your arse if you stepped out of line. In the old days, William would have steered clear of a man like that. He wouldn’t have been able to make a living under that kind of scrutiny.

  Trevor’s sister, Keira, was standing in the doorway that led to the restaurant, watching William with a question in her eyes. “You were gone a while.”

  “The situation is taken care of,” he assured her as he walked to Pat’s side. “Sent the lady home in a cab.”

  “And her date?” Trevor eyed him. “Does he still have the use of all his limbs?”

  William tried to look shocked. “As if I would harm a drunken hair on the poor man’s head.”

  Pat’s shoulders shook with suppressed amusement. “Heaven forbid.”

  William nudged the old man with his elbow and leaned closer. “I don’t think your son knows what a law-abiding lover of peace I am. It might have something to do with my pugilistic prowess. Or maybe it was our initial introduction.”

  He’d gotten the job thanks to Trevor’s brother-in-law and his contacts with the Finns and Ken Tanaka. He liked to think he’d kept it because of his sparkling personality, but he wasn’t quite that full of himself.

  Trevor smirked. “I don’t think your friend knows what a low tolerance I have for abusive men in general, Pop. I’m not sure he’d have gotten off so easily if I’d taken him outside.”

  William couldn’t help but approve. “Knew there was a reason I liked you. Now if no one is in desperate need of my services, my wife has showed up out of the blue requiring my attention. Think I can take the rest of the day after dealing with the afternoon clean up?”

  Pat turned around on his stool, beaming. “Bronte is here? Well, where is she, son? Why didn’t you bring her in to meet us?”

  William rubbed his jaw, his throat tightening at the old man’s ease with him. His own grandfather was around the same age, but while he knew the man secretly adored him, he’d hidden it with masterful skill for most of his life.

  Pat Collins wasn’t one to repress his emotions, and he had a talent for listening that few truly possessed. He did it so well that over the last month or two, William had shared some of his past and a few of his hopes for the future. Most of those were centered around one woman. Bronte Wayne.

  Bronte Finn.

  “This is the first time she’s come to see you,” Keira said, her curiosity bringing her closer to the bar. “Has something changed that you haven’t told us about?”

  That was the question. “She wants to talk.”

  “Talk, huh?” Trevor Collins shook his head regretfully. “That doesn’t bode well.”

  William was already forgetting why he liked the man. “It’s nothing like that,” he assured them and himself swiftly. “She has something to tell me and she thought it was important to surprise me by doing it in person, that’s all.”

  It sounded worse when he said it out loud. Fuck.

  Keira glanced at Trevor reproachfully. “Don’t tease him. Not about this.”

  William shook his head. “No, I can take it. To be honest, I’m not sure why she came. But whatever the case, she’s here and I have to hope that no matter what her reasons, I can work her thoughts around to other things.”

  Pat slapped his knee, his proud smile easing some of William’s fears. “I’m betting you can. You sound as determined as Trevor and Ewan were when they fell for their wives.”

  Keira wrapped an arm around her father, her smile matching his. “From what he’s told us, it doesn’t sound like an easy proposition, Pop. William did all his romancing in the wrong order.”

  “I don’t know about that.” William watched the voluptuous Bubbles take a seat beside Pat at the bar. “Wak
ing up married with a hangover has happened in your family before. That is how I met Riley and her man, back when I was a ‘ho in Vegas. That turned out all right for everybody.”

  William swallowed his laugh. This particular family friend was a firecracker. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.” He turned back to Trevor. “I know it’s last minute but—”

  “Go,” Trevor said, jerking his chin toward the door. “I’ll get one of the kids to cover for you tonight. Maybe Finn’s available. That way no one will even notice you’re gone.”

  William winked at Keira. “He’s a comedian, your brother.”

  “He thinks so. Before you leave—do you have any food at your place? If she’s here to talk, a good meal could go a long way.”

  He hadn’t been thinking about that at all, but after her long drive he imagined she’d be thankful for something to eat. But it wouldn’t be at his place. Yet.

  He told them what she said about where she was staying and Pat snorted. “That’d be Hunter’s aunt. She’s so proud of his success she can’t stop bragging. We all are.”

  “Maybe Bronte would appreciate a sandwich or two?”

  “After you dragged that couple out of here before someone called the police? We’ll have Riley make her the best sandwich she’s ever put in her mouth.”

  He’d already reached the door to Sunday’s Side when Pat called out to him again. “Did you tell her?”

  William felt his neck heat. “Not yet.”

  Pat shook his head. “Fix that, William. And we expect to meet her soon, son. Don’t let us down.”

  He nodded, his heart racing and his stomach in knots. He’d say he felt like a teenager, but not even then had he been this upside down over a woman.

  They were right. He’d done it all backwards. And there were more uphill battles ahead. His family and hers. His past and their future.

  There were only two things on his side at the moment. If her reactions to him were any indication, she still wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

  And he was completely and utterly in love with his wife.

  All he had to do was convince her that she loved him back and wanted to stay married before she found out what he’d been keeping from her.

  Was it greedy to ask for two miracles in one day?

  Chapter Three

  Bronte headed straight for the shower as soon as she got back to her room. Along with washing off the grime of the road, she was hoping the water would jumpstart her sluggish brain since coffee had not done the trick.

  Stupid shamrock.

  The extra care she’d taken to clean and lotion every inch of her body had nothing to do with wanting to look better for William.

  Throwing on a fresh pair of undies and a sturdy bra, she paused to stare at her reflection with a critical eye.

  He was right. She did look tired. His fault, she reminded herself, pinching her cheeks and adjusting her bra straps. She may not be at her best at the moment, but she would do. All in all, she didn’t look too bad for a woman in her forties.

  Her body had never been what she considered bikini-ready—her breasts were too heavy and she’d always had junk in her trunk, even before her sisters assured her it was in fashion. She might occasionally bemoan the faint stretch marks on her thighs that she’d had since puberty, but the lotion Austen had created especially for her kept her skin soft and supple, so she couldn’t really complain.

  Her hair was low maintenance, exactly the way she liked it, and she collected lip balms instead of having a makeup regime, which made life easier for her with the added bonus of driving her sisters crazy. She would never have Austen’s fashion sense or Shelley’s edge and she knew it. She was no muss, no fuss and no nonsense Bronte. No big deal.

  No shit.

  She’d accepted that about herself a long time ago, that she was born to be the favorite Auntie, not the femme fatale. So why hadn’t William gotten the memo? Why did a twenty-four—twenty-five-year-old man with the build of a boxer and eyes like the waters off the coast of Bimini kiss her the way he had? Look at her the way he always did?

  Like she was a four-course meal and he was starving to death.

  His effect on her was no surprise. Things might be dusty down in Hoo-ha-ville, but everything was still in working order. William Finn was one hell of a specimen and, as her nurses’ aides liked to say, he’d given her a thirst.

  Lord, was she thirsty.

  That’s not why you’re here.

  She’d keep repeating that until it sounded true. The problem was she was overtired and he’d kissed her last alert brain cells into submission. To be fair, he was a kissing savant. Gifted was too much of an understatement when the man nearly melted her panties right off on a public sidewalk.

  He’s gifted in other places as well.

  The voice inside her head that kept reminding her that technically they were already married so she could find out just how gifted needed to shut the hell up right now.

  She hadn’t driven here to find out if the man who’d spent an hour live-texting an episode of Vikings with her was as good in bed as she’d imagined. She’d come because an Irish thug had been trying to contact William through her, and he deserved to be yelled at for it. Simple as that.

  It had nothing to do with sex.

  The knock on the door made her jump. He couldn’t be here already. She hadn’t had the chance to lie down. She wasn’t even dressed yet.

  She must have stared at the open suitcase on the chair for too long, because her phone started ringing—a Salt-N-Pepa song echoing through the smallish room.

  Girls what’s my weakness? (Men!) Okay then.

  William’s triumphant laugh on the other side of the door made her blush and close her eyes in humiliation. Karaoke and margaritas. Never again.

  “I heard that. Let me in, Mrs. Finn. I’ve brought you the best sandwich ever made in Baltimore.”

  “Hold on,” she shouted. And stop calling me Mrs. Finn. Grabbing the sweater off the bed to hold in front of her—as if that would help—she ran over to open the door, hiding behind it.

  “I’m not dressed. Wait out there so I can throw something on.”

  She’d only taken a few steps when the door slammed shut behind her and she heard something drop on the floor. She looked over her shoulder to see William’s broad frame filling the doorway, lunch forgotten at his feet and his eyes riveted on her ass.

  “I said to wait outside.”

  “You left the door open. I didn’t want to chance anyone walking by.” He didn’t look up. “Go on and dress if you have to, but don’t hurry on my account.”

  “You could at least turn around or close your eyes.”

  “Why would I do that?” William smirked and she was reminded of the morning after their wedding when she’d finally given in to her desire to punch him. “We’re both adults, Bronte. Married adults,” he added huskily.

  “Fine. I’ve got nothing to hide.” She stomped over to her luggage and grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of terry cloth shorts before hesitating. She longed for her comfortable pajamas, but maybe she should put on something that covered more skin. Did she have a suit of armor in there? A nun’s habit?

  Anything is better than your old maid underwear.

  She turned toward him, hiding her now thoroughly ogled ass from view while she stepped into her shorts. “You think that’s a safer outfit, do you?”

  Bronte’s eyes rolled before she slipped into her t-shirt. “It’ll have to do.”

  He sucked his lower lip between his teeth, blue eyes darkening as they lingered on her thighs. “Are you hungry?”

  He was. And he was giving her that look again. The one that made her feel more feminine and desirable than she had since…

  The day he left.

  William’s slow exhale was shaky with restraint. “Bronte? I thought you said you wanted to talk. Let’s sit down and you can tell me why you’re here while we eat.”

  It sounded like a solid plan, but she cou
ldn’t make herself move. They were alone behind a locked door for the first time since she’d woken up in another strange hotel room—still fully dressed, Thank God—and married.

  There would be no sneaking out this time. Not that she wanted to.

  “You keep looking at me like that and I’ll forget what the word gentleman means.”

  “Sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She started to turn away in embarrassment. “Maybe we should talk tomorrow ins—”

  He was there before she finished speaking, his front pressed against her back, face buried in her neck. “You don’t want to send me away again, do you? Fuck, you smell so good, darlin’.”

  She was thinking the same thing about him. Something earthy and irresistible and all William. Damn Irish pheromones. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  His skin was hot enough to burn her, rough fingers setting off sparks everywhere he touched. “We really do need to talk, William.”

  “Not yet,” he breathed, his hands skimming her arms until they reached her hips, dragging her back against him. “Not yet, love. Unless the building’s on fire, you can tell me anything you need to later. Let me kiss my wife hello.”

  “You already did that.” But she was melting back against him and he groaned at the silent submission, fingers burrowing into her shorts to tangle in the elastic of her underwear.

  “Not when you’re skin’s still glistening and you smell like fresh peaches. I’ve been dreaming of you like this. Every morning in the shower I imagined you joining me. Did you think I sent all those pictures not to get one in return? All I’ve had to hold on to was the image of you on your back in your parent’s garage, waiting for me to make you come.”

  Bronte moaned and he tightened his fist on the cotton, rubbing the fabric against her clit in a way that made her want to scream. “You did send a lot of pictures. I thought you were…showing off.”

  “You never told me to stop. Showing off? Did you like them?” His thick length slid between the cheeks of her ass and even through her shorts it felt like a brand.

  “Yes.” She pressed back, needing more of him. Wanting him naked. “Jesus.”