Oh, it was happening. And soon, or he might not survive the night.
A few hours later, William was wondering if a man really could die from prolonged arousal. He’d given her space at the bar, talking to a few regulars who were lingering out of pure curiosity, or in order to give him a hard time. Probably a little of both.
Every time he heard her laugh he wanted to toss her over his shoulder. Each smile she aimed in his direction had him ready and willing to drop to his knees. He wanted her to be his in every way.
His family was a strange bunch, but no one could say they didn’t go after what they wanted. “All in” was their battle cry, and for them it was more than big talk. If they loved a man or two, or a man and a woman, it was all the same to the Finns. And as the patriarch, Uncle Shawn accepted them all without judgment, though his own twin had never been able to do the same for his sons.
William only wanted one woman, and she was complicated enough. She also seemed to finally be ready to give in to the fire that burned between them. But getting her to believe his feelings were true, getting her to trust in their future together, would be a challenge.
You could start by telling her the truth. All of it.
He couldn’t do it tonight. She looked too beautiful and she was enjoying herself so much.
William watched her knock back what looked like a shot of whiskey. Maybe she was enjoying herself too much. Another one of those and his plans for tonight might have to be put on hold.
He walked over to where she was huddled with Bubbles and Old Pat. The smile on his face was wider than he’d ever seen it. Riley’s son, Finn, was leaning his elbows on the bar beside them, both men thoroughly enjoying whatever it was the women were talking about.
“Is this a private party?”
Bronte spun around guiltily at the sound of his voice. “William. No, I was just—Bubbles was telling me all about Aaron and Riley’s wedding and…things.”
“Things?” That sounded intriguing.
Bubbles sent him a wink. “Stories of younger men and stamina.”
God love her.
William sent a speaking look towards his wife. “Younger men, Nightingale? Did you forget our earlier discussion?”
The expression on her face told him she hadn’t. “I said I’d try to stop,” she emphasized. “And I wasn’t the one who brought it up.”
Finn Young shrugged. “She’s right. Though I didn’t know one teasing comment would lead to such an educational conversation.”
“I didn’t know we’d be hearing so much about your family and their complicated love lives,” Pat added impishly. “It’s been fascinating.”
William smirked. “I’m sure.”
“Is it true you flooded the police chief’s house then stole his car while he was in the hospital?”
He crossed his arms at that, eyes back on Bronte. “A misunderstanding. And at the time he was between jobs. I see Mrs. Finn still gets chatty when she drinks.”
Bronte covered her face with her hands.
“Bronte, love?”
“Yes, William?” He swallowed a laugh at her muffled response.
“Are you done for the night? If you have any more problems with me or embarrassing stories you’d like to share, this is the right place. Here in front of the owners. Where I work.”
He was sure he heard her whimper. “I’m good.”
William couldn’t resist twisting the screws. “You sure about that, darlin’? Nothing else you need to get off your chest? Or should we sing some karaoke? I’d love to have witnesses this time.”
She lowered her hands, somehow managing to glare and grin at the same time. “Other than you being a punk ass-leprechaun-pain in my ass? No, that’s all I feel like sharing.”
Pat, who’d just taken a sip of his beer, choked at her reply. Bubbles hopped off her stool and went over to him, patting his back.
“I’m fine,” he hacked. “I’m not going to die from one pint.” He eyed Bronte as they all relaxed and took a step back. “I think the two of you fit together better than you know, Mrs. Finn. And now that I’ve met you, I think it’s time for me to go home.”
Bubbles was ready with her purse and a quick hug for Bronte. “Nice to meet you, girl. If you ever want to have lunch with me and Riley, we’ll make it happen.”
“I’d like that,” Bronte said sincerely, throwing a challenging glance at William before reaching for her glass.
He put his hand over the top and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Any more of that and you might find yourself married again. Why don’t you let me take you home so we can get to the honeymoon instead?”
“Oh lord,” she breathed. “How is it possible for you to be so irritating and so damn sexy at the same time?”
“It’s a mystery for the ages. Did you bring your car?”
“I walked. Pat’s was so close by and the waterfront is beautiful at night.”
“You walked?” He took a calming breath and lowered his voice. “You should have let me know, Bronte. I could have joined you.”
“I had my pepper spray.”
Pepper spray. And those heels and that dress in a strange city at night. William ground his teeth together in order to hold his tongue.
He helped her into her quilted jacket and took her hand without another word, waving toward the men at the bar before holding the door for her to pass through.
“You had a good time?” He slowed his stride to keep pace with her smaller steps.
“I did. They’re such a fun group. And there are so many of them.” She chuckled. “I used to think the Waynes had that market cornered. Big family, close ties, one of us always in the other’s business. But the Collins might have us beat. I mean, they work together, literally live above the bar, and they love it.”
“Half of them don’t even work there, and it’s only a few of Pat’s grandkids above the bar now. Besides, you lived and worked with Hugo until he married my cousin.”
Bronte shrugged. “Hugo is different. We understand each other. If I actually spent twenty-four seven with the other five? Heads would roll.”
William quirked his lips. “The Collins are a rare bunch. Though you wouldn’t know it from what I’ve seen since I’ve been in the states.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Finns, your family and now this lot? I’m surrounded on all sides by large broods.”
She nudged his arm. “I’m used to my big family. The Finns are the all yours, like it or not.
He wanted them to be. “What I mean is I haven’t seen much of that nuclear family I hear Americans are so fond of. The couple with two kids and a dog, the white picket fence.”
Bronte’s smile was soft. “Sounds nice, but a little old fashioned now. The new normal is that there is no normal. Still, I bet that family never had to fight over the shower or check out three carts full of groceries at one time.”
He laughed. “I only had two siblings and a crazy old man to contend with. I can see now that your parents deserve a medal at the very least.”
She hesitated, biting her lip. “I’d like to hear about that. You said you’d tell me.”
Now?
“Bronte, I’m planning to strip that tease of a dress off and have my way with your willing body, those are the only sins I want you thinking about tonight.”
“William.”
He let out a frustrated breath. “What do you want to know?”
“You said you raised them?”
Her gaze on him was a soothing balm. “Our parents died when I was twelve and our grandfather had a bad leg and a head full of shrapnel from some war or another. Never clear on which one or if he’d made the whole thing up, but the result was the same. He gave us a roof and, as the oldest, I had to get work.”
“At twelve?”
He dipped his chin. “Most shop owners reacted the same way, which meant the only opportunities to be found were under the table. I was fast and hungry, so I became a messenger for a man who
wanted to keep his financial transactions confidential. He gave me a chance because he’d known my father.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “In a Dickens novel, I’d be playing the role of the Artful Dodger. At least, until I hit a growth spurt and showed a natural talent for fisticuffs. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Seriously? That’s all you’re giving me?”
His shrugged, not knowing what to tell her. “I can’t change what I did or who I was while I was doing it, can I? But that’s not who I am anymore. Now I’m trying to move forward. To be a better brother than I was. A better man.”
She slid her arm around his waist and he had a hard time concealing how shaken he was by her easy affection and acceptance.
“You get bonus points for the Dickens reference and using the word fisticuffs in a sentence. But I don’t think you need to worry about being a better brother.”
He snorted in blatant disbelief.
She ignored him. “That’s not me saying that. That’s Matthew and Kate. The one Finn Again dinner Hugo talked me into while you were gone? Those two showed up specifically to corner me and make sure I was good enough for you.”
He caught his breath. “I told them to behave around you.”
“Oh, they did. It was the most polite and invasively thorough interrogation I’ve ever experienced,” she mused. “They’re protective and I get why they would be. Despite your…alternative career choices, you managed to raise two very smart, determined and slightly intimidating twenty-somethings that probably aren’t serial killers. If it were me, I’d call that a win.”
Her teasing smile faded when she caught his expression. “But you don’t.”
He shrugged. “I tried to keep them away from all the shite I was up to my neck in, but Matthew was a nosy bugger and my sister’s nickname is Calamity for a reason. I’m not sure how things would have turned out if we hadn’t come here when we did. At least now they have a better chance.”
She squeezed his arm. “What about you? Have you thought about giving yourself that better chance? I know you’ve been behaving yourself in Baltimore, but I also recall having to patch you up once or twice before you came here. And I heard a few things from Younger.”
“I remember that patch job. It’s hard to forget a woman’s laugh when you’ve got your pants around your ankles.”
“That was a perfectly natural nervous reaction, but still rude.” She blinked at him innocently before glancing down at the sidewalk. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” And I love that about you.
“You’re right, I’m not,” came her instant reply. “Never propose to your nurse when you’re half naked and bleeding in the ER. It throws people off.”
She hadn’t seen him at his best, had she? But she was still talking. Still touching him. It gave him hope. “That won’t happen anymore. I told you before that marriage had me turning over a new leaf. I think I was a bit wary of my welcome into the family fold when I first arrived. Old habits and all that. Things are different now.”
“I thought it might be about that woman who broke your heart.”
He stopped walking. “The who that did what?”
Bronte patted his side soothingly. “Younger told me she’s the reason you wanted to come to the states in the first place. Believe me, I’d be pissed too if I found out someone I loved was married to someone else with a baby on the way.”
William pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck me. Is that what you’ve thought this whole time?”
Her hands dropped away from him and landed hard on her hips. “That’s what I know. Are you calling Younger a liar?”
“No, that would be me,” he said ruefully. He’d completely forgotten.
Shit.
He took a step back, ready for her anger. “Before you go off half-cocked, you should know that Owen and Seamus were strangers to me then. And when I met them, they were each wading hip-deep in romances of their own. Owen was on his damn honeymoon. So when I mentioned wanting to come for a visit, I thought love would be a reason they’d understand.”
Her mouth opened and closed several times as if she couldn’t remember how to speak.
Then she did. “You lied about why you wanted to come for a visit? To your family?”
He held out his hand as if to shake hers. “Pleased to meet you, distant relations I’ve never seen before. I’m from the poor, criminal branch of the family tree and I’ve flown across the ocean to sleep on your couch without any money, formal education or job prospects on the horizon. Would that have been a better introduction?”
When she continued to stare at him he swore under his breath. “I knocked the girl up and married her off as soon as they mentioned it again so I could put an end to it. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“She can’t be knocked up because she doesn’t exist. And that story manipulated them into feeling sorry for you. Made me think I was—no. No, it doesn’t count at all.”
Bronte started to turn away but he reached out and spun her around, his grip tight on her shoulders. “Made you think you were what? My rebound green card wife?”
If looks could kill, hers would set him on fire first to watch him suffer. “Yes.”
He wanted to shake her. “Was that something else you added to the list of reasons why we couldn’t fit? William’s too young, too much trouble, and still in love with somebody else?”
William saw the answer in her eyes. “I’m sorry for that. Sorry I let you think for one second that anyone was or could ever be competing with you for my attention. You have all of it. I don’t have room in my head or my heart for anyone but you.”
“Is that a lie?”
The door to his apartments was in sight and he lost all patience, lifting a surprised Bronte off her feet so her arms and legs had no choice but to wrap around him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded breathlessly.
But she wasn’t struggling to get away from him. Her thighs tightened against him as she waited for an answer and he knew that if nothing else, their bodies were on the exact same page.
“I’d rather show then tell, Nightingale. It’s the only way I have of proving what’s true.”
Chapter Five
What was she doing?
When he’d left her this afternoon, she’d known they had to clear the air before things went any further. She had to tell him about everything, including the phone call she’d made to request reinforcements.
He deserved to know.
So why hadn’t she said anything? Why had she spent the evening with William, his friends and coworkers, pretending to be his wife? His real wife.
Because you wanted it to be true.
After some straight talk from Bubbles and Pat at the bar, all her reasons why she and William weren’t a good idea seemed small and unimportant. Excuses to cover up her fear that she’d fallen in love with a man who might not want to stick around once his paperwork came through.
The fact that he’d lied about his mystery woman should have reinforced her doubts. If she were smart, she’d tell him what she knew and get the hell out of town.
But if she were honest, she’d admit she was more relieved than upset that his heart didn’t belong to anybody else.
Because she wanted it for herself.
The Waynes always knew when they’d found the person they were meant to love. She’d believed that, seen the proof, but after too many years of waiting for someone to finally come along, Bronte had given up.
Of course, she hadn’t counted on her own obstinate nature keeping her from seeing what was right in front of her for months. Or for all of their problems to still be there waiting on the other side of her great epiphany.
She was in love with her accidental, temporary, inconvenient rascal of a husband.
He made her feel alive. Made her feel so much she wasn’t sure what to do with it all. It was overwhelming. And the more she learned about him, the worse it got. Her heart h
urt for him, her body craved him, and all she knew was that they both had too many damn clothes on.
“What is it, Bronte? Never had a man carry you down the street and up two flights of stairs before?”
She shot him a baleful look. He wasn’t even out of breath. “Set me down, show off.”
“No.” His hands flexed around her curves. “I need you in my arms, Nightingale. You’ve been driving me crazy all night.”
He slid his fingers beneath her silk panties and they both groaned. “Take off your jacket.”
She obeyed quickly, expectation making her heart pound. “Now what?”
In answer, William dragged her down his body, lining her up until she felt the thick weight of his erection gliding over her sex.
“I can feel how wet you are,” he said hoarsely. “That silk is giving away all your secrets, darlin’. I wanted to take my time, but I’m not sure how long I can wait to get inside you.”
“Don’t wait,” she gasped, her hands caressing his neck, his shoulders, anything she could reach. She tore at the buttons on his shirt, surprised at how badly her hands were shaking. “I need you now. I want you, William.”
He made a pained sound and then she was backed against the nearest wall so he could pump his hips hard against her. It felt as if he was trying to fuck her through her clothes.
“She wants me, she says,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Are you trying to make me come in my pants, woman?”
“I wouldn’t mind,” she took his earlobe between her teeth. “As long as the next time you make sure to come inside me.”
One large hand left her hips to yank at the neckline of her dress. “I need to see you. I want to touch these breasts you’ve been teasing me with. Kiss them.”
He managed to push the fabric halfway down her arms, snarling when he realized her bra clasped in the back. “Off. Now.”
Arousal soaked her at his harsh command. He was mouthing kisses along her neck and the top of her breasts, impatience rumbling in his chest as she reached behind her and managed to snag the release. The tangled sleeves of her dress were making it difficult to move.
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