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 couldn’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.”

“Don’t distract me with prayers,” he growled against her skin. “I’m too busy wondering if you’ve gotten off in these sweet, white panties and baby doll shorts. Did you lie in bed and think of me, sweet Bronte? Did you look at my pictures and touch yourself? Or were you doing that while we sent each other bad jokes and stupid movie reviews—anything we could think of—knowing I was doing the same?”

Yes. Yes to all of it.

“I know you’ve thought about it as much as I have. What might have happened if I hadn’t been a gentleman that night. What I could have done to this luscious body if I’d demanded conjugal visits from my wife without witnesses. Would you still have pushed me away if we’d been alone?”

No.

“I didn’t push you, I punched you. Please, William.”

He shuddered against her. “And isn’t that the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. Bronte begs. What are you begging for?”

Instead of answering, she reached back between them and gripped him through his jeans, moaning at how hard he was. How thick.

“Not this time,” he was panting against her temple, his fingers restlessly skimming her stomach, her waist. “Fuck me, you really are delicious. Peaches and cream. Don’t tempt me to take a bite if you’re not ready.”

She weakly tried to push his hands away. “I’m too old to play these games, leprechaun. If you don’t want—”

“Don’t want?” He walked her forward and lifted her so she was kneeling on the bed. She choked on a gasp when he snagged her shorts and dragged them and her underwear down to her thighs, growling at what he’d revealed. “You think I don’t want this, Nightingale?”

Two large hands caressed her ass and she fell forward, her own making fists in the coverlet. “Everything I’ve been doing has been to earn this. Earn you. I deserve a fucking reward for my restraint.”

One palm slid up the middle of her back, holding her in place while he dropped to his knees beside the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing my wife hello.”

Oh God.

His tongue was stiff against her clit before she could register his words. The sensation was so shocking she started to pull away instinctively, stilling when his hold on her tightened and he growled a warning against her sensitive flesh.

“Holy shit.”

He gave her a long swipe with his tongue as a reward for giving him his way, groaning loudly and pulling her closer to his mouth. Fucking her with his tongue.

Her head dropped, neck too weak to hold it up while he ravaged her. Bit and sucked and stroked her as if he couldn’t get enough. As if he’d die without it. Each groan and hum from his lips sent bursts of fire through her body until she was glowing from the heat.

“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” she murmured, every inch of her skin tingling with arousal. What kind of magic was he working with that tongue? What usually took her an hour of fantasizing with the help of personal massagers, he was doing in seconds with his mouth.

William’s grip tightened, lips brushing against the inside of her thigh as he spoke. “You didn’t know? Bronte, baby, tell me you’re not a—”

A forty-one-year-old virgin?

“I’m not,” she assured him. Technically, it was true. “I haven’t had—no one’s ever gone down there before.”

“No one?” His fingers dug into her skin and the disbelief in his voice was oddly satisfying. “I can’t say I’m sorry about that. Or that knowing doesn’t make me feel possessive and greedy for more.”

He flipped her onto her back with an ease that thrilled her, and she looked up in time to see him pull off his t-shirt before he leaned over her, his tight stomach pressed to her sensitive sex as he gave her a deep, soul-stirring kiss.

“I need it,” he muttered against her lips. “I’m the only one that knows how you taste? That secret sweetness belongs to me now and I want to drink it all down and be the first to use my tongue to make you scream.”

She could climax from his words alone. “Silver-tongued devil,” she teased breathlessly, desperate to shift the balance back in her favor. “I bet you think you can use that accent to dirty talk me into anything.”

His smile was tight. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it. You’re soaking me with the proof. I think you love hearing about what I want to do to you. And I know you want me to make you come.”

Her gaze roamed over his strong, stubborn jaw, sensual lips and the dusting of freckles scattered over his face and shoulders. The ones that should have looked out of place on such masculine features. The ones she’d always used to try and remind herself how young he was.

Right now she wanted to lick each and every one. To touch him everywhere and make him as wild as he was making her.

But William didn’t give her the chance. He guided her thighs over his shoulders, his need so raw she knew she couldn’t deny him what they both wanted.

“Yes.”

He lowered his head, her hips lifting to meet him as he claimed her again with his mouth. His tongue was everywhere. Exploring. Savoring.  He suck hard on her clit and her hands tugged frantically at his hair, not sure whether she wanted him to stop or keep going when two thick, rough fingers pushed inside her, stretching her wide and making her moan.

“You’re squeezing me so tight, love,” he rasped. “I’m about to burst out of my damn jeans, with how good this feels. Wet and tight and all mine.”

Her heart pounded in her ears, but she still heard the sharp sound of the zipper lowering on his jeans. Felt the shoulder that held her thigh jerk and jolt again and again until she realized what he was doing.

She wanted to watch him stroke his cock, but she wasn’t willing to let him go. She was too close to touching something she’d barely managed to reach before, and too greedy to give it up.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, feet digging into his back when he added a third finger—too much—and thrust deep. “William. Oh God. Oh damn, don’t stop. It’s too much. I’m almost—” She cried out, focused on the tightening cord inside her that felt close to snapping.

“Fuck yes,” he snarled, his breath hot against her sex. “Let go for me. Come on my fingers. Let me finally feel it.”

She shouted his name, her body arching with the force of it. She was so shattered she couldn’t stop shaking. She was out of control. Helpless. Powerful. Every nerve in her body vibrating from what he’d just done to her.

Floating in the aftermath, partially comatose, she thought about all the Guinea Pig Parties, aka GPP, where she and her siblings discussed conquests and swapped stories while Austen experimented on them with face cream ingredients. Her brothers and sisters didn’t realize how little experience she’d had or how long she’d gone without, so they must have assumed she already knew that sex could be like, well, that.

She’d had no idea.

She might be going into shock.

Was this a Finn thing? If so, she didn’t wonder why Hugo couldn’t keep his hands off his husband anymore.

It might be a William thing.

If that was true, she was definitely in trouble.

He adjusted her on the bed, wrapping the blanket over her hips and tugging her against him, curling his big body around her. His erection was pulsing wet and hard against her back.

She tried to turn. “I thought you…?”

William’s chuckle was hoarse. “Came in my fist like a damn speeding train? I did. I’m as surprised as you that I’m ready for another go. I shouldn’t be, but it might be a permanent condition when it comes to you.”

Her thighs tightened in reaction. “I don’t have enough energy to find the right response to that.”

His fingers traced her shoulder tenderly. “I should have fed you first. I had strict instructions to feed you and convince you to come to the pub tonight, but then you opened the door in your barely there knickers and all my plans flew out the window.”

Bronte smiled lazily, eyes closed. “That’s right. I’m a temptress in my Target undies and Cross Your Heart support bra. Didn’t you see the line of men outside the door?”

The sound of the smack registered before the stinging sensation. She pushed up on her elbow, eyes now open wide in surprise. “You did not just do that.”

“I did.” He did it again, his handsome face unsmiling. “I think it was in the vows. Honor, cherish, and spank liberally if you ever get out of line.”

“I think I would have remembered that.”

William snorted. “You were several sheets to the wind, darlin’. Thoroughly pissed. You barely remembered your name.”

She remembered enough.

He rubbed away the heat. “I could make you like it. And I might later, but that’s not what this was about.”

He could make her like being spanked? “Why then?”

“I don’t like the way you talk about yourself. See yourself.”

“It’s called reality, Finn. Women of a certain age need to face it occasionally. Things that used to perk up start to sag, what used to be tight without effort starts to relax. And accessories like lacy lingerie and thongs transform into comfortable Granny panties and slimming Spanx.”

His lips quivered with repressed humor. “Granny panties? Is that what you were wearing?”

“Close enough. If I knew you were going to turn me into a human pretzel and rock my world as soon as you got here, I would have chosen differently.”

He tugged her down and rolled on top of her. His jeans were still open and she bit her lip as his hard pipe of a cock slid along her stomach. He really was gifted. “I rocked your world?”

“Don’t fish for compliments.”

“I’m fishing.” He adjusted himself against her, both of them inhaling sharply when he canted his hips forward, his shaft slipping through her wet sex. “God, that’s good. I can’t help but wonder what kind of worthless pricks you were dating before I showed up. I’m not sure how any man with eyes and half a brain wouldn’t be working day and night to get between your thighs for a taste.”

She squirmed uncomfortably. “It never came up.”

His blue eyes were bright with disbelief. “Go on. It’s all I can think about. And now that I’ve had a sip of that ambrosia, I’ll be thirsty for the rest of my life. How can you not have—”

“I never let it get that far.” She stared at the dark stubble on his chin and tried to shrug it off. “I don’t have much time for dating, anyway, so things rarely get past the goodnight and thanks for the doggie bag stage.”

“You don’t have…” His eyes narrowed, thoughtful and laser focused. “When was the last time it got to the good morning, what’s for breakfast stage?”

“Are you seriously asking that? Right now? Is this an Irish thing? Is it normal to discuss previous partners after you make someone come instead of before?”

“Is it an American thing to get defensive and prudish when talking about sex?”

“Of course it is. Everyone knows that.”

“Sex, woman. When’s the last time you had it before now?”

“Technically we still haven’t,” she pointed out weakly. “Not in the strictest definition of the word.”

“I’ll give you strict,” he grumbled. He didn’t really look like he wanted to know, but he was as stubborn as she was. He wasn’t going to let her change the subject.

She sighed. “Fine, but it’s not as big a deal as you’re about to make it.”

“I won’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Yes, you will.”

“I won’t.”

“I was twenty.”

“Twenty-one years?”

She flinched.

“I knew it.” Bronte tried to push him off her but he wasn’t budging. “Yes. My abstinence is old enough to legally order a beer. Thank you for pointing that out and reminding me of our age difference at the same time. I feel so much better about this entire situation.”

William’s expression was stunned enough to be flattering. “Did you live in a cave? Were you hidden away by cock-blocking fairies? How is that possible?”

“It’s not like I’m a virgin.”

“After that many years?”

“Stop being such a man,” she said, her voice laced with irritation and discomfort.

“A little hard to change that, darlin’.”

She shook her head in irritation, crossing her arms between them. “Not having sex is the easiest thing in the world.” And sadly, with every year it got easier. “If a nice man asked me out and I was in the mood, I agreed. If they wanted more, I said no and thank you and had pepper spray in my purse to back up my answer if someone had another lapse in judgment.”

Bronte frowned into his suddenly expressionless face. “What? Women don’t need a partner to find release. Not when we have so many adult toys at our disposal. I mean, I know that your family is trying to break world records left and right, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t be complete without coitus.”

William carefully lifted himself off of her, tucking the covers around her waist and zipping up his jeans. He gathered up the bags of food and brought them back to the bed, all while avoiding to meet her gaze.

“I’m glad Riley threw together these sandwiches, though you haven’t lived until you’ve have her shepherd’s pie. You’ll have to try it while you’re here.”

She wasn’t sure what just happened. One minute he’d been on top of her, ready for more, and the next he was handing her napkins and a to-go box. She sat up slowly. “I didn’t mean to insult your family.”

“You didn’t.” He shook his head, finally looking up with an unexpectedly fierce gaze. “You said another lapse in judgment. Another. There had to be one for there to be another. Who hurt you, love?”

She almost smiled, something bright and unfamiliar fluttering inside her chest. “I said that, huh? What is it about you, Finn? My family’s never managed to get as much out of me, and we practically live in each other’s pockets.”

She watched him swallow a large bite as if it were sawdust and then set his sandwich back down. “They don’t know then? Hugo? Your parents?”

She nibbled on the delicious bread she’d bet was freshly baked and considered his question. “At the time, it seemed smarter to handle it on my own. And yes, technically I’m aware that it wasn’t, but I was a nursing student and he was a doctor, so it would have been my word against his. Several people at the hospital knew we’d been flirting with each other, and I’d said yes when he asked me out to dinner.”

“Agreeing to eat with a man doesn’t mean you’ve agreed to anything else,” he responded carefully. She could see the pulse pounding in his temple.

“Preaching to the choir, leprechaun,” she said with a sigh. “But until recently it wasn’t as simple as that.”

“That’s shite. It’s always that simple.”

The whitening of his knuckles fascinated Bronte as he clenched his fists. It made her long to soothe him and tell him everything at the same time. “It was another lifetime ago, as you pointed out, and I was lucky, statistically speaking. I’ve treated dozens of women who’ve gone through worse. He transferred to another hospital within the year, and before you ask, I have seen a therapist. I don’t have any hidden phobias about sex or anxiety about being alone with a man. Or no more than the average member of the female population. It wasn’t my first sexual experience, it wasn’t even my third, so I knew that what he did was—”

“Rape?” He’d said the word so quietly, his voice like broken glass.

“That’s right,” she acknowledged. “All I did was take a break from dating anyone for a while, for obvious reasons. It lasted longer than I expected it to.”

“Because you never met a man you could trust?”

“Because I never met a man I wanted enough to try.”

It didn’t seem worth the effort. She had all the love and support she needed from her family and friends. She didn’t need to belong to a man to be complete. She didn’t define herself by her sexuality.

She’d never missed it.

Bronte covered his fist with her hand and squeezed. “Don’t get weird. I won’t lie or sugarcoat it. It sucked and I was a mess for a long time. I still believe I made the only decision I could. I think my parents knew something was wrong, but if I’d confirmed it, it would have broken their hearts and I couldn’t face that. And if I’d told Hugo, he would have gone to jail instead of joining the police academy. So I handled it.”

This really wasn’t the kind of thing she expected to be discussing with him. Talk about spoiling the mood. “This is good. The sandwich? Lamb, right? And braised? Very fancy. You’ll have to thank Riley for me. She’s married to the cop, right? The one with the same name as your grandfather, which you find deeply disturbing on multiple levels?”

His sensual mouth twisted. “I see what you’re doing, changing the subject before I can get the name of the bastard I’d like to kill.”

“William—”

“I knew you were strong, Bronte,” he said with a shake of his head. “But you’ve shamed me with all you’ve gone through on your own. How good you are, how loving and graceful and good, in spite of it.”

When she just parted her lips, unable to respond, he nodded. “Yes, it’s Riley that’s with Aaron. And I don’t care for his name, but a more patient man you’ll never meet.”

“But you like the father the best,” she said, relieved he was letting it go. “You talk about him a lot.”

He turned his hand over to catch hers, twining their fingers together and staring down at them. “I wasn’t sure you were paying attention. It was like pulling teeth just getting you to say hello.”

She straightened her shoulders. “I wasn’t supposed to, remember? Strict orders from the council of Finn to wait until Tanaka’s connections came through. They sure are taking their sweet time about it, by the way. I’m starting to doubt they even exist. People who say they know people are usually full of shit, in my experience.

He scowled at that. “Trust me. He knows people.”

“If you say so.”

“Good, obedient, Bronte. Is that who you are? The one who handles things and has it all under control?”

He tightened his grip when she tried to tug her hand away. “I remember sexy, fearless Bronte who dared me to marry her. The one who made me fly her to Niagara because she’d never been to the falls. The one who wanted to experience a lot of things she’d never done before.”

She closed her eyes. Along with everything else she’d done that night, she’d managed to block it out, willfully ignoring the fact that their last minute elopement was her idea.

She’d blamed his pheromones, the margaritas and his desire to stay stateside so he could be with his family since she’d woken up beside him. She’d acted like the injured party in front of his family. “I punched you…”

William started gathering the now-empty food containers, looking uncomfortable. “Don’t saint me, darlin’. Go back to giving me hell and we’ll both feel more comfortable. I proposed to you first if you’ll recall. And I knew you’d been drinking. Knew as soon as your friend left I should have seen you safely home and left it at that. I saw an opening and took it without considering all the possible consequences.” His jaw clenched. “And I’ve done a damn sight worse than that in my life. More than you’d be comfortable knowing.”

Bronte swallowed her response and yanked the covers more firmly around her. That was why she was here, wasn’t it? He’d given her the perfect opening to deliver her message and read him the riot act for making her feel like an extra in some mafia movie.

She looked into his eyes and hesitated. He was worried about what she thought of him? If he was really the guy he’d been describing, the man other people had no problem implying he was, how did she explain his protective reaction to something that happened to her two decades ago? The thoughtful presents and insightful texts? The fact that he’d had the opportunity to take her just now and he’d focused on her pleasure instead.

How do you explain the way he makes you feel?

“Try me,” she said, shocking herself. “You might be surprised at what I can handle.”

“You’re always surprising me.” William ran a hand over his forehead, rubbing his temple. “Can we put a stopper in it for a while? I’d like to be the man who rocked your world for a few more hours, instead of another mistake.”

Something clicked into place inside her in that moment. A delayed realization that made her forget to breathe for a few seconds.

God, she was an idiot. A blind, stubborn, mule-headed—

She got to her feet, taking the bed covers with her. “We can do that. How about I repay the chef for the best sandwich in Baltimore by following the rest of those instructions you were given?”

His brow furrowed in question, eyes lingering on her lips. “What instructions?”

“Pat’s,” she reminded him, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “You were supposed to feed me and bring me to the pub tonight, right?”

At his nod she smiled. “Good. Why don’t you give me a few hours to recover, and you can pick me up later so I can meet your new friends?”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s happening right now? Are you trying to get rid of me? If I leave, will I come back to find an empty room?”

She put her hand on his bare chest, inwardly moaning at the muscles that flexed in reaction. “You’re a fighter. You’ll understand if I need to go back to my corner and catch my breath until the bell rings again.”

She added a reproachful look. “You did already mention how tired I look. Twice.”

“You’re a beauty and you know it.” He leaned into her, his previously broken nose skimming her cheekbone, her jaw. “Will we get another turn in the ring, Bronte? Will you let me taste you again? Feel you tighten up around me?”

God, she hoped so. “Will you tell me what you think I wouldn’t be comfortable knowing?”

He tensed, releasing a pent up breath. “I think I’d do just about anything you asked me to. And I’ve never said that to another living soul.” He leaned back to look into her eyes. “What about you? You still haven’t mentioned what you came here to tell me. Is it that bad, then?”

“Can we put a stopper in it for a few hours?” she hedged, repeating his request. “You can be the man who rocked my world and I can be your…”

“Wife,” he said with a rough satisfaction that caused a ripple of awareness to shiver through her body.

“I was going to say date.” She put one finger over his lips before he could contradict her. “Later.”

He put his shirt back on and tugged her close for a kiss. By the time she was ready to beg him to stay he let her go, smiling wickedly and shutting the door behind him.

Cocky, punk ass leprechaun.

She dropped the blanket and walked over to her purse, trying to catch her breath as she dug around for her phone. As soon as Tasha answered, she dropped onto the bed and touched her lips with trembling fingers. “We need a new plan. Let’s talk loopholes.”