Chapter Six

 

Sunlight was filtering into his apartment when William heard the knock and snuck out of bed, slipping on a pair of old sweatpants before he opened the door.

Two large Sunday’s Side takeout bags were on the ground in front of him. He glanced out into the hall. Not a Collins in sight.

But there was a note attached.

Mating munchies from Sunday’s. Serving all your belated honeymoon needs since roughly five minutes ago. Dig in and Pop says, “Don’t screw it up.”

William smiled and shook his head. He felt oddly protective of this family. The Collins weren’t obligated to root for him, to care for him in any way. That they did made him feel both honored and concerned that someone would come along and take advantage.

The kind of someone he used to be.

He took the bags into the kitchen and started to unpack. Munchies indeed. A platter of meats, cheeses and fruit. Riley’s famous sandwich fixings. Chocolate cake.

Had Bronte ever had cake for breakfast?

Those were the kind of details William wanted to find out about her. How she woke up in the morning. What she dreamed about. He’d discovered one or two things in his email exchanges with Solomon and Brady, enough to get her a few gifts to keep him in her thoughts. He’d learned more in her late night texts, but it still wasn’t enough.

He needed all of her. Bits and pieces weren’t enough. If nothing else, last night had proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

He bit back a groan remembering how she rode him in the bath, her full breasts swaying in front of his mouth, tempting him to madness.

After drying off she’d surprised him by getting on her knees. It had only taken a minute with her lips around his shaft before he’d had to have her again.

He’d forced himself to leave her alone after she’d passed out, because not even he was that much of a prick, but he hadn’t slept for long. He’d been too aware of the silken skin that still smelled faintly of peaches, but more of him. The soft, adorably feminine snores that he knew no lover had ever heard before him.

She’d never spent the night with a man. Never dated someone long enough to bring them to a family dinner, or introduce them to her friends.

She might have been on this earth longer, but he felt ancient beside her. There was something pure and fine about Bronte. Something that made him wonder if he was being selfish, wanting to keep her for himself.

William was damaged goods and he knew it. But when he was with her, all of that fell away. Was it wrong for him to want that? Was it dirty pool, using her desires to tie her to him?

He thought about the night they’d gotten married. Unlike her, he remembered everything.

When Bronte and her friend showed up at the dive bar he’d been loitering in, he was sure they’d been lost. He’d told himself he had no choice but to watch over her. Leaving her alone to be groped or rolled wasn’t an option.

He’d bought them a few rounds and given her friend some marital advice before Bronte started talking. Really talking. She’d talked about her concern for Hugo and Solomon. About her love for her nephews and her mother’s constant reminders that her biological clock wouldn’t be ticking forever. She talked about how she’d given up on having a family of her own, though he hadn’t known why until yesterday.

She’d humbled him that night. Dazzled him. Made him laugh, both before and after their hasty vows and their impromptu celebration. It was as if she’d pulled back the curtain to show him something he’d always wanted, only to close it up again the next morning, leaving him on the outside.

That one glimpse had been enough for him to know it was where he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

If he earned it. If he worked hard.

If he found a way to scale the last few obstacles without getting himself killed or having her hate him forever.

He set up the coffeemaker, pulling out the hazelnut coffee he’d been drinking since he discovered her preference. He preferred tea or a pint, but now that he was a citizen, he decided to embrace the custom.

“What’s this?”

He turned and immediately had the breath torn from his lungs. “Bronte.”

She was wearing his shirt from last night and a sleepy expression that had his semi going all in.

“William? What’s this?” she repeated.

She was holding a book in her hand.

“Oh that.” He leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter, casually hiding the massive erection stretching out the front of his sweatpants. “Seeing what your father does for a living, I’m guessing you know what it is and the real question is why.”

She gave him a look.

God help him, he loved that look.

“Jane Eyre,” he added. “I like it better than the other two.”

“Other two?”

“Three sisters right? Hard to believe one family had so much talent in one area. Emily, Charlotte and Anne. I’ve read them all. Anne’s was good. Emily though—she did the world of romance a bit of a disservice.”

“Wait, I think I had something in my ear. You’re saying Emily Bronte ruined romance? You could actually be shot for that in some countries.” She chuckled, glancing down at the book again. “Wuthering Heights?”

He nodded with a grimace. “Don’t shoot me, but that’s the one. Heathcliff was a total arse, Cathy’s husband was a prickless moron and she was a—”

“You don’t have to say it,” she said, a strange expression on her face. “We agree on that part. She definitely was.”

She gestured to the book she was holding. “But you like this better? Rochester’s a wannabe bigamist who openly admits to being an asshole.”

“You’ve read it then?” He made another face. “Stupid question. It felt more realistic, in spite of the crazy lady in the attic. Jane knows what he is and still loves him, but she won’t settle. I can respect that. It made it more satisfying when they got together. Like they were on equal footing.”

“Wow,” Bronte said, eyes wide.

“What?” Now he felt uncomfortable. Had he gotten it wrong? “Not the pillow talk you were expecting from an undereducated pub brawler?”

She stepped closer, frowning. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

He turned back toward the bags of food, avoiding her eyes. “I’ve got other things to put in your mouth instead. And no, that’s not what I meant, though now I’m thinking about it. We got a morning delivery.”

“William.”

He made a racket rustling the bags.

“Hey, punk ass.”

He looked over his shoulder. “What?”

She sighed and shook her head. “You sounded like my dad. The way you were looking at the story? The first time I read it I thought, ‘How original. Another rich, white asshole trying to make time with his governess.’ But you saw more. It was sexier than I expected it to be, so I needed a minute.”

He walked around the counter, grabbing her hips and tugging her against him. “You thought that was sexy?”

“A tough, manly boxer reading Jayne Eyre? Do I have ovaries? Before you ask, the answer is yes. The only way it could have been sexier is if you were reading it out loud.” She was smiling, but her eyes were still uncertain. “Why are you reading the Bronte sisters, William?”

He focused on her lips and shrugged. “Hugo said you were all named for authors that inspired your dad.”

“Except Robert. Our mother named Robert.”

William smirked. “I heard about that, the poor man. Even I know who Nora is.”

“Don’t try to distract me.”

“There’s not much more to it. I was wondering why you’d been given the name.” He gestured toward the walls of his small living room, each corner crowded with books he’d brought home from the bargain bin. “When I can’t sleep, I read. And since I was thinking about you anyway…”

There was something in her eyes he couldn’t decipher. “You keep surprising me.” She took a deep breath. “Are you making coffee?”

He grinned at the yearning tone. “Only if that adds to my sex appeal.”

“Assume it does.”

He let her go to pour her a cup, turning when he heard her behind him.

“He said he named me Bronte when I came out screaming so loud I scared the nurses.”

William looked down in time to catch her self-conscious smile. “Most people would cringe and cover their ears, but he was proud. He said I sounded like a warrior, and the title of a poem sprang to mind. No Coward Soul Is Mine. It was one of Emily’s.”

He leaned back against the counter. “That fits.”

“Not as much as he thinks.” She wrinkled her nose. “To be honest, I was always jealous of Austen. Elizabeth Bennet was spunky and independent, and her guy was the hottest of the brooders as far as I’m concerned. He liked girls who could read.”

He held out her cup. “I love girls who can read and I can brood with the best of them.”

Bronte took it, brown eyes sparkling as she shook her head. “You’re many things, my friend, but brooder isn’t one of them. You enjoy life too much.”

He watched her take her first sip and stifled a groan. He definitely enjoyed that expression on her face. He’d seen it when his fingers were buried deep inside her.

“What about your name?”

“Great grandfather,” he replied distractedly. “Mum’s side. You’re a vision in the morning, Mrs. Finn.”

One of her hands lifted as if to check her hair but she froze mid-action. “I keep forgetting about that silver tongue. I look like I’ve had a crazy night of rough sex. I’m not mad about that.”

“You had to go and mention my tongue and sex in the same sentence. And just when I was going to offer you one of my famous fry ups.”

“I thought I saw chocolate cake.”

The cup was out of her hand and her shirt on the floor before she had the chance to protest. “Stand still, brave soul. Let me show you what I see.”

William circled her graceful neck with one hand, feeling her pulse flutter and race when he started to explore with the other. He stared, transfixed by the sight of his callused fingers tracing skin like black velvet, flicking a puckering nipple teasingly before massaging the flesh around it.

The sun was up and she hadn’t disappeared, so he knew he wasn’t dreaming. He’d never had this good of an imagination anyway. He couldn’t have created these curves. Or the small, spidery scar that curved too close to her rib cage for comfort.

“Where did you get this?”

“ER rotations are never boring,” she said simply. Her hands were studying him in returning, touching the scars on his chest, his ribs. “These?”

“People rarely hand over money happily. That one,” he said when she found the slash low on his stomach. “You helped mend when some git brought a knife to a fistfight.”

William’s hand mimicked hers, cupping the soft skin of her stomach. A wave of arousal and fierce possession hit him when his fingers skimmed the trimmed triangle of tight, wet curls between her legs.

“You do think books are sexy, don’t you?” he said hoarsely. “Or is this how you wake up every morning? Ready to be silver tongued?”

Her kiss tasted like mint and coffee and laughter. He forced her mouth wider with his tongue, wanted more. Wanting everything.

His middle finger slipping through her soaked cunt made her whimper and he lowered himself to his knees in the middle of his small living room, needing to taste her again.

“My bride is here,” he quoted. “Because my equal is here, and my likeness.”

She leaned heavily into him, hands tangling in his hair. “Holy shit.”

He pressed a hot kiss to her thigh and grinned. “Just testing our theory.”

“Cocky bastard,” she groaned when he spread the lips of her pussy and proceeded to eat her as if she were his last meal on earth.

“I’m going to fall,” she gasped. “I can’t—you can’t expect me to stand while you—”

She cried out in surprise when he took her down, swift but carefully, lowering her until her thighs were framing his neck as she rode him.

“Oh God.”

This was heaven. The pain in his cock was a small price to pay for this feast.

She leaned forward, her hands on the ground above his head for leverage, her hips helplessly rocking against his mouth. “Damn, you’re too good at that.”

He slid his finger inside her, soaking it before he traced the wetness between the cheeks of her ass and rubbed her. Just there.

She reacted as if she’d been given an electric shock, but she didn’t pull away. William’s cock was practically leaking at the thought of getting her ready. Taking her round, luscious ass.

He wanted inside her in every way known to man, and a few he’d invent just to try them with her.

She came in a flood and he greedily lapped up every drop, kicking off his sweatpants before rolling her onto her back and filling her in one smooth stroke.

“Was that the kind of tonguing you were talking about?” he rasped, the feel of her climax milking his cock making his thrusts harder. So hard his balls slapped against her ass and she started to slide across the tiled floor.

He gripped her thighs and spread them wide, holding her still while he worked his way into her swollen heat. “Are you too sore? Tell me I’m not hurting you.”

“Don’t stop,” she cried, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t you dare.”

Never. He ground his hips against her, savoring her tight heat before the punishing rhythm started again.

He should make love to her. Take his time. But every time he touched her he lost his fucking mind.

He saw her dark nipples and had to bend down to lick them, groaning when she arched her back, begging for more.

All for me.

She was like fire in his arms. An out of control conflagration that scorched him and saved him. His past was burned away and all that was left was Bronte. Pleasing Bronte. Loving Bronte.

God, how he loved her.

“William!” she shouted, coming apart around him, her spasms bruising his shaft and demanding his surrender.

Bolts of white-hot flame shot up his spine and out his cock. Filling her until his come was dripping out of her. He trembled with the force of the climax, laying his head between her breasts as he tried to recover.

She’d ruined him.

He’d known she would, known there was no going back once he had her, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling on her like a hungry beast as soon as she’d come close enough to touch.

Whether she wanted him or not, he was hers.

She shifted beneath him, making him realize he’d collapsed on top of her. He slid off and kissed her cheek. Her damp forehead. “Did I hurt you?”

Bronte stretched, wincing slightly before a purely feminine smile curled her lips. “I think I’m holding up pretty well for round… Is it round four now?”

“Five,” he corrected. “And I’d say you are at that.”

She lifted her head, aiming for his cheek with her lips, but grazing his chin instead. “I think I’ll need another coffee. After my shower. I definitely need a shower.”

He leaned on his elbows, watching the jiggle of her ass with interest as she walked away.

“Don’t think I don’t know where you’re looking,” she called over her shoulder.

“It’s a free country and I’m admiring the view,” he replied with a smile.

The bathroom door closed behind her and he collapsed on the floor, one arm thrown over his eyes and while his free hand gripped his stirring erection.

Down, boy.

He needed to get control of himself or he’d wear them both out by the end of the week.

His phone rang and he climbed to his feet with a groan. He should probably eat something if he was going to keep up with his woman.

He frowned when he saw the name of the caller. “James? What’s wrong?”

There was a short silence, then a haggard chuckle. “I guess I should call people more often. Everyone is asking me that lately.”

“I don’t imagine I’m first on your speed dial, cuz.”

They’d never gotten along. Their dark sides were too much alike.

James sighed. “You’re not. You helped me, so now I’m helping you. I’m in town. Is there someplace we can talk in private?”

“You don’t want to come to my place?”

“I’d rather Bronte didn’t know I was here.”

How the hell did James know Bronte was visiting? He didn’t like it. “There’s a boxing club. It’s closed today but the owner, Murphy, gave me a key.”

“They gave you a key?”

William snorted. “I have a trustworthy face.”

“If you say so. I’m heading there now.”

He stared at the phone in silence. What the hell was James doing here? And why wasn’t he supposed to tell Bronte?

She’s Hugo’s sister?

Maybe that’s all it was. If James didn’t want Younger to know what he was up to, not telling his husband’s sister was probably a good plan.

He wouldn’t know anything for certain until he met the man.

Just then Bronte came out of the bathroom, dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt, her own phone cradled in her hand. “I need to go back to the inn.”

“Now? Why?”

She was smiling, but it looked too tight to be real. “Clothes, William. What I have here is walk-of-shame worthy. I just want to get changed and make a few calls. Can we meet later?”

What is it you’re feeling guilty about, love?

William crossed his arms, unsympathetic as she tried to keep her eyes above his waist. “That’ll work out fine. I was thinking of sparring down at the club, so you can meet me there. Will two hours be enough time for you to make those calls of yours?”

She blew out a relieved breath. “Sounds good. We’ll get something to eat and finally have that talk.”

Now she wanted to talk. Why did he get the feeling he wasn’t going to like what she had to say?

What did James have to do with it?

“Looking forward to it.”

She wandered around nervously, grabbing her purse, her dress and her jacket before turning back to him uncertainly. “I guess I’ll go.”

Hell. He couldn’t let her leave like this. Not after last night. This morning.

William cupped the back of her head and leaned down to capture her mouth with his. She groaned as their tongues tangled, reaching for when he stepped away abruptly. “Go now. Before you tempt me into tying you to the bed.”

He waited until he heard her steps on the stairs before heading to the shower. He had a secret meeting with the troubled cousin who hated him, followed by a “talk” with the wife who’d just lied to his face about where she was going and why.

Busy day.