Wild Embrace: A Single Dad Romance (Wilder Irish Book 11)

by Mari Carr

  “Something funny?” Darcy asked curiously.

  “You’re sharing. Everybody else in this house hogs the baby. I never get a turn.”

  Darcy’s smile grew and he suspected if she weren’t trying to be quiet, she would have barked out one of those loud, infectious laughs of hers. He’d heard it around the office quite a few times over the past couple of months and it never failed to make him grin.

  Darcy was very much like his son, Clint. A bundle of positive energy. If they were walking, they were dancing. If they were talking, they were singing.

  “Sometimes…” he began, then closed his mouth.

  “Yes?” she prodded.

  Somewhere along the line, he’d lost the ability to shield his thoughts around Darcy, saying things aloud he never felt compelled to share before. “Sometimes, I feel a bit like the third wheel in this family. Or I should say the sixth wheel?”

  “Do you think that’s because you spend a lot of time at work? Maybe if you were here more…”

  “Yeah. I probably shouldn’t complain about not being included in stuff because I’m aware it’s my fault.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know that. But the fact is, it’s true.” Ryder recalled coming home a couple of weeks ago to discover Yvonne had made Clint’s Halloween costume for him, and he’d felt guilty because he hadn’t even realized the holiday was coming up.

  “You should tell Yvonne you wouldn’t mind staying alone with Reba. I know she wouldn’t have a problem with that at all. I think tonight was more along the lines of she didn’t want to impose if you were busy with work. And I also begged to do it.”

  Ryder nodded, appreciating Darcy’s comments. “Okay. I’ll tell her.”

  He shifted toward the crib, carefully putting Reba down. The baby never stirred.

  They left the room, walking back toward the family room. Ryder was surprised to discover Vince and Clint clearing out as he’d asked.

  “Where are you guys going?” Darcy asked.

  “Video games in our room,” Vince answered. “Ryder wants the TV.”

  “Gotcha. I’ll come in before I leave to say goodbye,” she said.

  Ryder considered telling her she didn’t need to stay, but he didn’t want her to leave yet.

  Vince and Clint continued to their room.

  “Want a glass of wine?” Ryder asked.

  Darcy’s expression brightened as if he’d offered her a diamond necklace. “That would be great. Thanks.”

  She followed him to the kitchen, grabbing two wineglasses from the cabinet while he opened a bottle of Chardonnay, then poured. Darcy was completely at home in his house, something he knew but had never really paid attention to.

  They returned to the family room. Darcy claimed her previous spot on one end of the couch, so Ryder took the other side. If he were less of a sadomasochist, he would have chosen the recliner, which was well away from her, instead of sitting so closely, knowing he couldn’t kiss her.

  Now he was close enough to catch a whiff of her coconut-scented hair.

  Darcy took a sip of the wine before setting it on the end table. She sighed, looking completely relaxed.

  Ryder longed for that same feeling, but ever since finding her in his house, his body had betrayed him, going on full alert. He’d spent the last seven days walking around at half-mast, thanks to Darcy flooding his brain.

  Sitting next to her now had his cock rock hard and aching.

  They sat in silence for a couple minutes, but it didn’t feel awkward.

  Finally, Darcy turned to him. “Looks like we’ve hit that point in our relationship where we’ve run out of things to talk about.”

  Ryder nodded. “It was inevitable.”

  Darcy’s eyes were pure mischief when she said, “But at least we’ll always have those three magical hours in the elevator. We had a good run, you and me.”

  “That we did.” Ryder enjoyed their banter. There weren’t too many people in his life he joked around with. As the boss, employees tended to be on their most professional behavior around him. And unfortunately, the rest of the people in upper management were stuffy assholes.

  Ryder considered that…and realized he probably fell into that category as well.

  So, with the exception of Darcy and the boys, there wasn’t a lot of playfulness in Ryder’s life.

  “You were absent from the office a lot this week,” Darcy mused.

  He was secretly—foolishly—pleased she’d missed him. “I was working at the stadium.”

  “Yeah. That’s what Helen said. I was sort of hoping you were playing hooky for a few days.”

  “I don’t play hooky.”

  “You know,” she began, “there’s a saying about all work and no play.”

  “I believe I’ve heard that expression before.”

  She sat with one leg tucked under the other, her tight jeans fitting her like a second skin. He imagined himself reaching over to peel them off her so he could run his hands over her firm calf muscles and push her thighs—

  Mercifully, Darcy interrupted that fantasy before it went way too far. “Don’t you ever get sick of wearing ties?”

  Ryder had intended to change into more comfortable clothing, but he’d been distracted by her and the baby. He loosened his tie, swallowing deeply when Darcy shifted closer, untying the knot completely and pulling it off him. Once again, her actions felt vaguely familiar. Especially when he took the tie from her, slowly wrapping it around his palm, recalling her desire to be tied up in bed.

  Darcy watched his actions, and he could tell her thoughts were traveling along the same path. Especially when her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip.

  He’d told her they wouldn’t kiss again, and he’d meant it. At the time.

  Now, a week had passed and proven his willpower wasn’t as strong as he’d thought.

  He took a deep breath, then tossed the tie onto the coffee table.

  Darcy leaned forward and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, as if it was completely normal for her to do so, and again, he had this sense that they’d been here, done this before.

  The words “don’t stop” flashed through his mind and sparked a memory.

  “You’ve done that before,” he whispered.

  “I didn’t think you remembered that night. You were very drunk.”

  That night.

  Suddenly, things clicked into place. Ryder didn’t recall much at all, nothing more than images and the impression of not being alone for the first time in a long time. The first year or so after Denise died had been one long, dark period of time where the only thing he’d felt was unbearable loneliness. Darcy had taken care of him that night.

  “Darcy…” he started. But she didn’t give him a chance to finish. Which was good because he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say anyway.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said, lowering her hands after unbuttoning just that one button on his shirt.

  He groaned. “Why do I get the sense this isn’t going to bode well for me?”

  “Clint’s eleven now.”

  “I know. I was there when he was born.”

  Darcy ignored his joke. “You’re getting perilously close to that time when he’ll suddenly be too cool to want to do stuff with his dad.”

  Ryder nodded slowly. He’d begun to witness that with Vince and Leo. Vince hit puberty and became a moody bastard. The boy’s eye-rolling and persecuted sighs drove Leo insane.

  Clint, however, still approached most days with a childlike wonder and excitement. Just last weekend, Ryder had suggested they throw the football around in the backyard because he wanted to unplug the kid from the video games for a few minutes. He’d also figured the activity would help divert his own thoughts from Darcy.

  Clint had perked up instantly, shut down mid-game—something unheard of—and they’d spent nearly two hours outside, playing, roughhousing, laughing. It had been one of the best afternoons the two of them had spent i
n ages.

  “What are you saying, Darcy?”

  “Hand off some of the easier stuff at work. Let someone else do it so you’re home earlier and more often. I’m afraid you’ll look back thirty years from now and regret working so much.”

  Ryder considered her advice. The crazy thing was, he’d never been accused of working too hard before he and Denise married. He’d been an immature, party-’til-you-drop frat guy, who luckily was intelligent enough that hours and hours of studying weren’t vital to his GPA.

  He’d met Denise in a local bar shortly after completing his MBA. She hadn’t attended college, but instead still lived with her parents and worked part-time at a local restaurant, waiting tables while raising her young son.

  After they married, Ryder worked fairly long hours because he didn’t want to fail his family. Denise had wanted to quit her waitressing job to be a stay-at-home mom, something they both agreed was best for the kids. But that had meant it was up to him to keep them afloat financially. Even so, he’d still managed to be home for dinner most every night. Something he’d done less and less in the past few years.

  “I’ve gotten into some bad habits,” he admitted. “I mean, I’ve always worked a lot, but I started working longer hours just before Denise died and then after, it got worse because…” Ryder rubbed his eyes wearily, debating whether or not he wanted to finish that statement.

  Of course, Darcy didn’t give him a bye.

  “Because?” Darcy asked quietly.

  “Because I’d gone to a dark place. A really dark place, and I didn’t want Clint and Vince to see that.”

  “Dark?” she whispered.

  “I was depressed and angry and I couldn’t find my way back. I was terrified my feelings would rub off on the boys. That they’d sense my bitterness and rage and, I don’t know, feed on it. They both loved their mother, and I was struggling to shield…” He sighed and let it drop there.

  “I get it.” Darcy could speak volumes with just her eyes. They expressed so many things, she never needed to speak. Right now, she looked sad, and he hated that he’d started this whole conversation.

  She’d unlocked something in that elevator, and now he was spilling his guts to her at every turn like she was a priest in a confessional, or a shrink.

  He wasn’t a talker—not socially, and sure as fuck not about his emotions. His mother had called him a stoic once, but she hadn’t meant it as a compliment. She’d used the word when comparing him to his emotionally distant, cold father. It was meant to sting. And it did.

  “Leo was here and he was…he was in a better headspace, a better father.”

  Darcy shook her head. “No. You’re both great fathers. Never say anything different. I won’t hear it.”

  His lips quirked. There’d been precious little to smile about for so long that sometimes Ryder thought he’d forgotten how. But Darcy always managed to draw two or twenty smiles out of him whenever they were talking.

  “Are you still in that dark place?” she asked.

  He stroked his beard, wishing he’d kept his damn mouth shut. He hated talking about shit like this.

  “Ryder?” she pressed, forcing himself to consider her question.

  Was he in a dark place? It occurred to him if she’d asked him a year ago, he would have said yes without hesitation. But lately, he noticed the weight that had been crushing him since Denise’s death wasn’t there anymore. He wouldn’t call himself the happiest guy on the planet, but he wasn’t angry, or even hurt. It seemed somewhere along the line, he’d simply let all of that go.

  Then he recalled the get-to-know-you game they’d played in the elevator. And tossing the football around with his son. And holding Reba just a few minutes earlier.

  The last week had actually been…fun.

  He shook his head. “No. I’m not.”

  Darcy smiled. “Good. I’m glad. So you don’t have to avoid this house and the people in it by working all the time. It’s time to have a life. Start dating. I know this adorable brunette in the marketing department at work. I could totally set you up.”

  He shook his head, even though her offer had definitely woken his libido. “Nice try, Buttercup.”

  Darcy giggled. “I’m sure you didn’t mean that as a term of endearment, but I’m taking it as one anyway. Think about it. We could help each other out in terms of our somewhat similar problems.”

  “Similar problems?”

  “I have this virginity I’m dying to get rid of, and I think you’re definitely in the mood to end your long dry spell.”

  Ryder groaned. “Jesus. Please don’t paint those pictures in my head.”

  She laughed. “But they’re so pretty.”

  “Did I say tenacious before?”

  “You did.”

  “Yeah. I think it bears repeating.”

  Darcy reached over and lightly smacked him on the arm, and he shook his head at her playful touch.

  Unable to resist, Ryder reached out and tugged her hair, the action meant to mimic hers—all in fun. Until he touched her long, silky strands…and held on.

  Darcy’s eyes closed briefly, and he recalled her desires.

  He tugged it harder and caught her soft intake of breath.

  Shit. Abort. Abort.

  He forced himself to release his grip. “You have very soft hair.”

  Darcy shifted closer, running her fingers over the side of his face, touching his close-cropped beard. “Yours is coarse. It tickled when…”

  Her flush told him exactly when and where his beard had tickled her. He gripped her wrist.

  “Still playing the boss card?” she asked.

  “I still am the boss.”

  A voice in his head was telling him to let go, but instead, he interlocked his fingers with hers. And he didn’t move away when Darcy shifted even closer.

  Too close.

  Not close enough.

  “Darcy,” he murmured, intent on repeating the same damn thing he had last week. The words fell away when she cupped his face with her free hand, her thumb lightly stroking his beard once more.

  It had been too long since he’d felt desire. Fuck, since he’d felt anything that wasn’t either rage, despair, or numbness.

  Darcy made him feel too many things…all at once. It was a jumble inside. And right now, the only thing he could focus on was how much he wanted to kiss her again.

  So he made yet another mistake, as he leaned forward to capture her lips.

  Darcy met him halfway and after that, he was lost to anything and everything that wasn’t her.

  He grasped her waist, tugging her toward him. Darcy followed the direction of his grip, shifting until she straddled him, their lips never parting.

  Their mouths opened, and he found her tongue, her teeth, stealing a taste of the wine she’d been drinking and the heat of her sweet breath.

  Her hand drifted around his neck as her hips gyrated, pressing her pussy against his crotch.

  What would he give to divest them both of their pants and push inside her tight—fuck, virgin—

  Ryder broke the kiss, lifting Darcy off his lap just as headlights flashed through the window.

  Darcy sat next to him, looking somewhat dazed—and disappointed.

  “Looks like Leo and Yvonne are home.” It was clear from her tone she knew that wasn’t the reason why he’d broken off their kiss.

  “I’m sorry, Darcy. I realize I’m giving you mixed signals. Saying something, then doing something completely different.”

  She gave him one of her endearing grins. “So start saying the things that match those amazing kisses and we’ll be fine.”

  He heard the car doors slam. He only had a few seconds to try to make this right. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that was the last time, that it wouldn’t happen again, but he’d already told that lie once, and even now, his resistance was weak.

  All he could think about was dragging Darcy to his bedroom and tying her to his bed until he fucked
out this uncontrollable hunger for her. Shouldn’t take more than a year or eighteen, he figured.

  “I can’t do that. I know what you want, and I can assure you, I’m not that man. I’m sorry, but I’m just not,” he admitted, because what he wanted and what Darcy wanted were worlds apart. He wanted her physically, so badly it hurt. However, Darcy was looking at him with those soulful blue eyes, seeing someone who didn’t exist.

  She wanted a prince.

  He was a frog.

  Chapter Six

  “Well now, that’s a long face, lass. Where’s that bright smile of yours?”

  Darcy offered her grandfather a half-hearted attempt as she climbed onto the stool next to his regular spot at the pub. It was a Sunday afternoon, and the regular crowd gathered to watch, discuss, and place wagers on the football games. She’d been watching the Ravens play upstairs with Colm, Kelli, Oliver, and Gavin, but she couldn’t get into the game, so she’d decided to seek out Pop Pop. He always knew how to cheer her up when she was low.

  Her cousin Padraig was tending bar. He came over with a pint of Guinness for Pop Pop. “Want something, Darc?”

  “A glass of Chardonnay. Or maybe a bottle.”

  Padraig chuckled. “You gotta stop hanging out with Kelli so much. She’s a bad influence on you.”

  Once Padraig had delivered her glass—he refused to leave the bottle—he continued along the bar, refilling and taking orders. The pub always did a great business on football days.

  “So, are you going to tell me what’s got you down?”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind talking? I know the game is on.”

  Pop Pop gave her a look that told her she should know better. “I’ve seen thousands of football games, Darcy. It won’t hurt me to miss a wee bit of this one. Besides, the Ravens are winning.”

  She grinned. Her grandfather was a hardcore Baltimore fan—across the board. If Baltimore had a team, Pop Pop bled for them.

  “There’s this guy I’m interested in,” she started.

  Pop Pop instantly smiled. She got her hopeless romantic genes from him. There was nothing the man loved more than a love story.