Always (13 page)

“You’re awake then?”

“You’re asking so you can have sex?” He felt the upturn of her mouth as she nuzzled his neck.

“I don’t like to have sex with a sleeping woman. Even if she is my wife. I prefer for her to be awake since I like those little sounds she makes.”

“I like you saying I’m your wife.” She turned to her back and looked up at him, those sexy eyes of hers full of emotion. His heart squeezed a moment at the thought of how close he’d come to losing her just months before. And here she wore his ring. Here she lay against him in his old bedroom just above the pub where they first met. Christmas in Dublin as a honeymoon.

He had no complaints.

“I like saying it. Are you warm enough, love?”

She reached down and grabbed his cock, squeezing just hard enough to make her point. “Warm me up then.”

He left the thin, silk long-sleeved shirt on her skin, grazing her nipples through it with his teeth, loving the way she writhed against him, murmuring her appreciation.

Her hands, his wife’s hands, slid up, beneath his own long-sleeved shirt, and caressed the muscles of his back, holding him to her tightly. As if he’d ever let go.

Caitlin scrambled atop his body and guided him to her entrance, barely leashing her impatience to have him inside her. He’d insisted on making her come twice already, once with his mouth, another time with his fingers and while it had been lovely, she’d wanted the closeness of this.

This.

The intimacy of her body harboring his, of the throb of his cock inside her. The pulsebeat in her inner thigh played against the taut, warm skin of his hip as she began to rock against him, keeping him deep.

It had been two years since they’d reconnected and it felt like a lifetime had passed. The highs of falling so deeply he’d become like breathing, and the desperate months when she’d lost him and was alone—all made every moment they shared so much more important.

He was a naughty sight beneath her. His mouth curled into a smile, eyes dancing, his hair mussed up in only the way sex can do. Eamon was so beautifully masculine, so sexy and wicked, she often found herself wandering into his studio attached to their home to just watch him.

He was hers. While he flirted with and teased every woman he came across, there was a light in his eyes that was hers alone. All her life she’d waited for someone to look at her the way Eamon did, to know she was adored and respected, to know a man as incredible as him wanted her and no other.

She belonged. He was her family in a way she’d ached for since her grandmother had died when Caitlin was a young girl. He accepted her, ambition and all, he completed her without leaving her incomplete. She leaned on him but he trusted her ability to stand on her own. No one else had really understood how much she needed that. No one but him.

Eamon looked up at her, her neck gleamed pale and soft in the light from the open window, her head fell back, her spine arched to take him as deeply as she could. Her scent married with his, bringing his senses to life.

His beautiful Caitlin.

He lost his mind every time he got near her, every time he thought of her. He wanted to touch her, to see the way she smiled, to hear her laugh. She occupied the space in their home the way she occupied space in their relationship, she shared with him and he knew how blessed that made him. She didn’t have to, she could do just fine without him but she
wanted
him in her life as he’d wanted her.

“That’s the way, love,” he murmured as his climax approached. She leaned forward, bracing herself with her hands on his biceps, grinding her clit against his pubic bone.

Pleasure spilled between them, around them as her gasped kiss against his mouth took the breath of his groan.

“I love you.”

“Aye, me too. I love you too, Cat.”

She’d stood in Anh’s fine living room and had agreed to be his wife in front of their assorted friends and family. The ceremony had been simple and elegant, just like she was. Her parents had flown out from Boston and had taken an instant dislike to Eamon. The feeling had been entirely mutual but together with Anh and Amy, he’d done all he could to shield Cat from any negativity.

And now, three weeks later she’d said she took him as her husband yet again down at St. Matthew’s with his mother looking on, smiling like she’d never been prouder. Caitlin had learned the Gaelic parts just for him, as a sort of gift and he’d had to sniffle back a tear or two when she’s surprised him at the ceremony.

Michael and Laura had flown over and were staying across the hall. Laura had announced her pregnancy the night before at dinner. His sister and brother-in-law had come along with the children and his mother and aunts had made a dinner to rival anything he’d seen in many years.

Caitlin fit here too. She wasn’t a loud, boisterous woman like his sister was, but she’d pitched in behind the bar pulling pints the first night they’d arrived when it got busy, she’d wiped down tables and had let his mother show her how to knit, even if she’d been an utter failure at it.

She accepted him, loved his drive, loved it when he’d come back from his trips and had shown her what he’d learned and done through his photographs. She made room for his passions, accepted that they would be part of their relationship just as her passions were.

That part he’d discovered she fed and sated, that part within him she’d always satisfied, wanted to purr its satisfaction as she returned from the small bathroom and moved to get dressed.

“Come back to bed.”

“Be quiet, you. You promised your family we’d all have breakfast at your gran’s, remember? We need to get moving. There’s plenty of time for sex when we get back. I like having you here in this room with your football trophies on the shelves. I feel as if I’m debauching you.”

He laughed as he rolled from the bed but then sucked in a deep breath at the cooler air. “Damn but it’s cold!”

“Good luck on getting any hot water, by the way. Looks like you need a cold one anyway.” She indicated his reviving cock with a tip of her chin and a saucy grin. “You’d think a man your age would be slowing down.”

She laughed, ducking the pair of pants he tossed at her head with a theatrical growl. “My age indeed. I’ve got plenty of energy, I’ll have you know.”

“I do know. I can’t wait to test that theory over the next three or four decades.” She ducked out, her laughter floating back up the stairs as he headed toward the bathroom.

“Always,” he called back to her and knew nothing had ever been more true.

Out of the darkness comes a voice, a lifeline he never expected to find—Rebecca O’Neill, a development executive in the studio where Michael works as an electrician.

Rebecca, a former sitcom celebrity left scarred from a crazed fan’s attack, has retreated from the limelight and from life in general, certain no man can ever get past her disfigurement. The instant sparks between her and Michael, who arrives to help her during a power outage, come as a complete surprise—and so does her uncanny bond with his daughter.

For the first time, all three feel compelled to examine their inner and outer scars in the light of love. But trust is hard to come by, especially when you’re not sure what to believe when you look in the mirror. The scars? Or the truth?

Warning: This title contains a three-hankie redemptive romance, a man with a complicated past, a heroine who’s stronger than she knows, and tender, explicit sex scenes that may just break your heart—and make you believe in love once again.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Butterfly Tattoo:

Carefully, I step away from my desk and into the hallway, and glimpse a large stranger there at the door. He’s leaning close, shielding his eyes to look inside; I swallow hard to calm the fear, walking toward the intercom with cautious determination.

“Yes?” I say into the speaker, and the man steps back. He sees me and gives an uncertain wave, then hits the exterior intercom button. I don’t recognize him, and that he looks a little rough and slouchy only unsettles me all the more.

“Ms. O’Neill?”

“Yes?” I repeat, more firmly this time.
Who is this man? How does he know me?

“Um, it’s Michael Warner.” He sounds vaguely apologetic as he removes a baseball cap and mops his brow. “Sorry to bother you.” That’s when I recognize him as the electrician from yesterday. I sigh in relief, and open the door a crack, though not all the way. Although he’s not a stranger, I’m still jumpy from the adrenaline rush.

“Sorry, I didn’t really think about how much of an intrusion this might be.” He gives me a slight smile. God, he may be slouchy today, but he’s even more beautiful in the shocking daylight, especially his eyes, which are an unusual golden brown color. He has the kind of intense gaze that penetrates you on the molecular level, and I blink beneath it.

“No problem.” I swallow hard. “What’s up?”

“Just wondering if the power is working okay? Any more trouble?” Now this seems like a thinly veiled excuse to me. All the feelings from yesterday, the sense that some kind of connection was forming between us, well it all comes rushing back, as I lean my head sideways against the doorframe. Maybe that way he won’t notice the scars so much.

“You know, it’s going great,” I answer brightly, forcing myself
not
to smile at him. Instead I hope he’ll see enthusiasm flickering in my eyes, even as I wrap my arms around myself protectively.

“You mind?” He gestures over my shoulder, toward the interior of the building. “You know, if I come in? Just for a second.”

Without meaning to, I stare back at him. Maybe because I’m surprised at how direct he’s being, or even more likely because I’m getting a really strange vibe from him. Like he’s interested in me, but not quite sure how to go about it. I wish I’d gotten a clearer answer about his marital status from Andrea yesterday. As sexy as he is, I’m not down with seeing a married man, and if he
is
married, I’m feeling way too much attraction flickering between us.

“Ms. O’Neill?” The brown eyes narrow a bit, as uncertainty flashes across his face.

“Sure, sure, come on in,” I rush to say, opening the door wide. “Where’s my southern hospitality when I need it most?”

“Back in Georgia?” he says, shoving his hands deep into his jeans pockets as I fasten the lock back in place.

“Let’s hope not.” I break into a true smile, and I feel the way the muscles pull at the corners of my mouth. God, why does he light me up this way? And he gives me such a glorious smile in return, one that fills his whole face.

“Sorry for being a little cautious,” I say in embarrassment. “It kind of weirds me out being here alone on the weekends, that’s all. It’s creepy quiet.”

“You didn’t recognize me?” He seems genuinely surprised, and I don’t want to admit that he looks a little more ragged than I pictured him being, wearing old jeans and a faded Harley Davidson shirt. Still, he’s undeniably handsome, with those keen brown eyes that transmit so much energy.

“Well, it was dark yesterday, you know.” I lead him into my office.

His voice gets softer, fuller. “But I recognized
you
.” I don’t know how to respond to that, so I nod, my ponytail bobbing rhythmically. I feel him behind me, his presence; am aware of his body and how tall he is, as he shadows me all the way into my office.

“Please, sit down.” I make my way to the other side of my desk. Maybe if I stick to my usual professional role, I can regain my composure here. I run a smoothing palm down the front of my khakis as I primly take my seat. Then, folding my hands in front of me, sitting very upright, I meet his magnetic, golden-eyed gaze. Oh, yes, he’s too beautiful for me—by many long miles. Plus, he’s got to be married.

Surreptitiously, I glance at his hand, but it’s obscured behind the stack of manuscripts on my desk. Okay, no answer to the Big Question yet.

“So.” I clear my throat. “What’re you doing here on a Saturday? Don’t tell me you’re this dedicated to keeping my lights on.” As soon as the double entendre is out of my mouth, I regret its accidental escape. Thank God Michael doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Oh,” is all he says, like he hadn’t thought about it before now. “Just forgot my paycheck, that’s all.”

He reaches absently for a paperweight on the corner of my desk, moving it from hand to hand, which is when I begin to wonder precisely why he’s come to visit me. He looks down at the domed glass, studying the picture within. “Your family?”

I wince because it’s an old picture of me, one that predates my attack. No scars, just me—as beautiful, I suppose, as I once used to be. “Yeah, me and my parents.”

He squints down at the magnified image, studying it intently. I notice the way the edges of his eyes crinkle into smile lines.

“Horse farm?” He turns the picture toward me, although I know the image by heart.

“I was raised on one, yes.” I’m not sure why, but I don’t want to reveal anything personal—at least not anything more than he’s already gotten out of me. Certainly not that my retired parents live just a few miles away, over in Santa Monica, or that they came here three years ago to nurse me back from the brink.

He returns my paperweight to my desk guiltily, giving it a reassuring pat. Again, I wonder precisely why Michael Warner has come to see me, why he keeps fidgeting this way. I try a new tack. “Andrea is a precious girl. We had a really good time yesterday.”

“That’s what I heard. Can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you did.”

“It was nothing.”

He looks intensely at me. “No, that’s not true. It was really important to her.” His voice grows quieter. “And me.”

“Well, your stepdaughter was an angel.”

“My stepdaughter,” he repeats, frowning.

“Well isn’t she? That’s what she told me.”

His whole expression darkens like a storm cloud. “Actually Andrea’s why I wanted to see you today. Don’t know how to ask this, so I’ll just do it.” Those words always seem to pave the way for bad news, and I tense immediately. “Did Andie mention her scar?”

I relax again, relieved to know what’s on his mind. “A little, yeah.”

“What about the accident? Did she talk any about that?”

I shake my head no, and it hurts me the way his face kind of falls. “Oh, okay.” He nods thoughtfully, the thick dark brows knitting together into a melancholy scowl. “I had hoped maybe so.”

“What happened to her?”

His gaze tracks back to me. “She was in a bad car accident. Something she doesn’t talk about much,” he admits. “Hasn’t talked to anyone about it, honestly. It was pretty traumatic.”

“I see.” I’m starting to understand now. I’m also starting to understand why it was so hard for him to come to me, the awkwardness in his approach. Without even trying, I apparently did what nobody else has been able to do. “You wanted to know what she said to me.”

“That’s right, Ms. O’Neill.”

“Rebecca.”

I see him studying my scars: it’s in the slight, unobtrusive way the eyes shift sideways, then dart back again. I see it every day, especially around here. Nobody has the courage to ask, yet they all wonder what happened to leave me looking this way.

Michael rises unexpectedly to his feet, sliding his baseball cap onto his head decisively. “Want to go grab some coffee?”

“Now?”

“I’m going over to Borders on La Cienega. We can get some there.” Again the winning smile, accented by a single dimple that I hadn’t noticed before, and I completely cave. He’s got me in the palm of his hand already, damn it. I can’t believe that he’s seen the visible scars, but he’s just asked me out anyway.

“I’ll follow you there.”

The trouble is, if I’m not careful, I know I just might follow him anywhere. Oh, please, please, don’t be married, Michael Warner.