Ramsay (24 page)

I smiled softly, nodding. "I do know what you mean. But it's part of what I always loved best about him." I realized the truth in my statement as it came from my lips. "The intensity . . . how fierce he is in his convictions," I murmured. "The degree to which he feels things."

"Aye, Brogan, he . . . doesn't give his heart easily, whether it's as a buddy or more, but when he does, it's yours forever. He doesn't know any other way to be. Do ya hear what I'm sayin'?"

I swallowed, feeling overwhelmed by the statement. Had Brogan given me his heart? Truly? I nodded yes, my eyes moving away, distracted by the questions in my head. We were both quiet for a minute before Fionn spoke again.

"I'm glad to see ya worked through the Courtney issue."

I took another drink of beer. It was definitely growing on me. I took a moment to savor the rich texture and the roasted flavors. "Yeah, he told me about her," I said once I'd swallowed. I pressed my lips together and frowned slightly. "You really dislike her, don't you?"

Fionn reclined back in the booth, seeming to take up the entirety of the side he was sitting on. "Aye. And the feelin' is mutual."

"I can't imagine anyone not liking you, Fionn."

He grinned. "I know, right? Clearly, she's not the full shillin'." He winked. But his expression was serious as he said, "Speakin' of moral dilemmas and Brogan seein' them differently than ya or I might."

I breathed out a small laugh. "Yeah, that intensity is a double-edged sword, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Aye. Like ya said, when he feels somethin', he feels it strongly, more strongly than most I think. Whether that's love or anger or guilt. And it makes him easy to be taken advantage of if the subject of his emotion is a manipulator. Courtney is a manipulatin' cow."

I sighed. "Well, I think he cleared things up with her."

"Jaysus, I hope so. If I never have to hear her whiny voice again it'll be too soon."

I took another sip of beer. "Fionn, can I ask you another question?"

"Anythin'."

"Your business . . . it seems like, well, it seems like you help people for a living."

"Not for a livin', no. There's no livin' to be made in helpin' people."

I tilted my head. "Then . . ."

He shrugged. "Brogan has a number of businesses that make a profit, too. But with or without those, he has more money than he can spend in this lifetime. Helpin' others is what he chooses to do with it. He gives jobs to folks who need them, he helps families find safe, clean housing, and sometimes he helps people with the money to pay this month's heating bill. Sometimes he brings lawsuits against slumlords because no one else can afford to. He helps those who are helpless."

Oh my God.
He helps the helpless, and punishes those who prey on the helpless. "Like he was once." I felt a tightening in my chest.

"Aye."

I blinked at Fionn for a moment.
The man is a walking miracle. Proof that hope lost can be turned into hope restored. In Brogan’s case, not only for himself, but for the others he assists. Could the man be more complex?
"Doesn't Brogan realize that he got back at everyone who ever wronged him simply with the way he lives his life?"

"No, he hasn't quite made it there," he said, a worried frown on his face that made a chill go down my spine for some reason I didn't quite understand in that moment.

Brogan came back to the table right then, interrupting my thoughts and causing me to startle slightly. There was an older man standing next to him.

"Lydia, I wanted you to meet a friend, Father Donoghue."
Father? A priest?

"Hello, Father," I smiled, "nice to meet you."

"Well, it's a true pleasure," he said in a thick brogue, smiling broadly. He looked to Fionn. "Fionn, me boy, what's the craic?"

"Aye, dead on, yerself, Father?"

"Dead on. I don't usually see ya without a bird on ya arm."

Fionn looked around. "I'm about to remedy that, Father. Care to join me?"

Father Donoghue laughed. "Ah, no, no, only one woman for me. That was me Mary Catherine. God rest her soul." He looked to Brogan. "She was my
only
. And ack, what an
only
she was." Brogan smiled conspiratorially at him as I frowned in confusion. Weren't priests supposed to be celibate? Fionn stood up and clapped Father Donoghue on his back.

"I'll see ya later," Fionn said, shooting us a grin.

"Fionn," I called and he turned. "Thank you." He returned my smile, nodding before slipping into the crowd.

"Father, will ya join us?" Brogan asked Father Donoghue.

"Can't tonight, me boy. I have an appointment, but I'll take ya up on that kind offer another time, like."

We said our goodbyes to him, and Brogan slid back into the booth. I scooted close to him, hooking my arm through his.

He leaned in and whispered in my ear, "I want to take you home."

"Another sleepover?" I asked, tilting my head innocently.

"In a manner of speaking," he said darkly.

I felt a buzz begin between my legs, my nipples hardening against the thin material of my shirt. It had been a near torture to sleep in a bed with him the night before and not touch him. But I'd thought we needed a night like that—a night that was about something other than sex.

The ground I was on with Brogan felt anything but solid, my emotions careening between extremes from one moment to the next. And now that I understood what part of his business was really about, I was even more confused. I admired him so much for helping those in similar situations to the one he'd once been in, but I also understood his need to punish those who had made victims of others, and I still felt like I might be in that category. His feelings for me must be so convoluted. Would we ever be able to truly trust one another? Would he ever truly be able to let go of the past we shared? Especially because Stuart would always be in my life. There was no getting past that. Brogan might forgive
me
—and I was hopeful he did—but I was doubtful he could ever really forgive Stuart. And where did that put me?

Pushing complicated thoughts aside, I looked to the far corner of the bar where a band was setting up.

I nodded over to them. "Are you familiar with that band?"

Brogan nodded. "I've heard them play once or twice. They're an Irish band that only plays locally."

"Can we stay for a little bit and listen to them?"

Brogan looked like he was going to protest for a minute, but I put my hands in the prayer position and smiled sweetly. He rolled his eyes, laughing softly, and relented. We finished our beers as the band played and I ordered another, although Brogan didn't.

The lead singer's voice was smoky and sensual. I was buzzed from the beer and Brogan's closeness
and
the way his thumb rubbed lazy circles on the top of my hand under the table. Brogan was telling me stories about some of the characters in the bar, and I was laughing and I felt young and happy, sitting next to a gorgeous, complicated man who fascinated me.

There were reasons I shouldn't feel so carefree, perhaps, but for just that moment it felt too good to deny. The liquor emptied my mind and the music filled it and I laughed and let everything else float away. It'd be back soon enough. This moment, though, this moment was mine. Brogan's and mine.

But I could also tell he was overwhelmed by the noise and the smells of this loud, crowded public place. He had tolerated it for me, which made me feel warm, but I didn't want him to overextend himself. "I want you," I whispered. "Can we go?"

He met my eyes and his were bright and filled with the same need I felt. He grabbed my hand, lifted his other one to Fionn across the bar who was sitting on a barstool with a redhead in his lap. Fionn lifted his hand in response and Brogan wove us through the crowd, my hand gripped in his until we stepped out of the loud bar into the fresh, warm summer air, the music muted behind the walls now. We walked quickly to the back lot where Brogan had parked earlier.

"How will Fionn get home?"

"Fionn will find a way," he said, letting me in the car. I had a feeling the redhead sitting on his lap would be happy to give him a ride. Pun intended. I giggled to myself and Brogan glanced over at me, raising a dark brow.

It felt like a million years before we were pulling into Brogan's garage, Brogan grabbing my hand again and almost running toward the elevator. I laughed and he shot me a heart-stopping smile over his shoulder. Once in the elevator, I leaned against one wall, Brogan against the opposite. "You know what's going to happen when we get upstairs, right?"

My heart rate spiked, lust careening wildly through my veins. "Yes," I whispered. Yes, and I wanted it. I wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life.
Did everyone feel this way about sex? I’d only had it a few times, but I felt addicted. Addicted to Brogan. To how he made me feel. Was it just him? Something told me it was.

We stared at each other across the short distance between us in the elevator, and I swore I could hear both our hearts beating, the anticipation of feeling Brogan moving inside me again so sharp, I almost moaned. I clenched my thighs together, feeling a burst of pleasure in the small movement and Brogan's eyes went lazy. "Jaysus, Lydia," he said right before the elevator doors opened.

We barreled through the front door of his apartment, and as soon as the latch clicked behind us, Brogan had me pressed against the wall in the foyer. My chest heaved as I gazed up at him, his expression hungry, light eyes intense. His lips crashed down on mine, and he pushed his tongue into my mouth as I groaned, eagerly accepting it. As we kissed, Brogan's hand moved up my waist to my breast, his thumb lazily circling my hardened nipple. I gasped, pushing my breast toward his hand. "Oh God, that feels nice," I breathed.

His lips moved to my neck and he used his teeth to nip lightly at my skin. I sucked in a sharp breath and jumped slightly, letting out a small shivery laugh. He smiled against my skin, nipping lightly again and then dragging his tongue up my throat, finally bringing his lips back to mine. "You can always trust me," he whispered against my mouth. Our eyes were open and we stared at each other—the feeling of intimacy all the greater for the short distance between our gazes.

"Spoken like a true villain," I said, my voice breathy. I felt his lips curve again, his eyes squinting slightly with his smile.

"Am I still the villain?" he asked, bringing his hand to my hair and weaving his fingers into it. "I keep losing track." Without waiting for an answer, his eyes slid closed, and he slipped his tongue into my mouth. I moaned, accepting him, meeting his tongue and using my own to tangle and entwine. Our kisses grew more feverish, my blood boiling, Brogan's body hard and solid against my own.

"I can't be slow tonight, Lydia," he finally growled, breaking away. "I don't even know if I can make it upstairs. But . . ." He brought both hands to the buttons of my shirt, his mouth trailing down my throat as I tipped my head back, leaning on the wall behind me.

Our mouths came back together and as he undid my buttons, he began walking backward, pulling me with him. He finished with my shirt and pushed it off my shoulders. As it fell to the ground, he unbuttoned his own shirt. We were a tangle of open mouths, probing tongues, and grasping hands. Our clothes were being removed piece by piece and left strewn across the floor as we made our way toward the stairs.

My breath came out in heavy pants as I struggled with Brogan's belt buckle. "But?" I asked. Glancing up at him, I saw that his expression was filled with both lust and the slightly pained look he got when he was overly stimulated. I paused, thinking I understood. He was desperate and full of need, but he didn't know how to rush things without experiencing a certain amount of discomfort. "We can slow down," I murmured.

"I don't want to slow down," he said, taking over at undoing his belt. He had it off in about two seconds flat and was unbuttoning his pants when we got to the stairs. He climbed up three steps backward pulling me with him, and I pushed at his chest so that he was forced to sit down. He let out a startled laugh as his ass hit the stair and I grinned down at him, moving onto his lap so that my legs were on either side of his hips, our pelvis's meeting.

"You're in good hands," I whispered against his lips right before I kissed him, rotating my hips in his lap.

"Spoken like a true villain," he murmured when our mouths parted.

I smirked at him and then licked down his throat slowly. There it was, that salt I'd always associated with him
before
. I let it settle on my tongue as if it were a fine delicacy, rotating my hips again, the throbbing ache in my core intensifying to a steady drumbeat. Brogan gasped and I felt his erection jump against my belly. I reached between us, into his open pants and caressed his hard flesh, eliciting a moan from him. "The mystery is solved," I whispered against his mouth, not having met with the barrier of an underwear waistband. He smiled back, obviously understanding my meaning.

We kissed and kissed right there on his stairs, my hand wrapped around his erection but unmoving so as not to cause him too much stimulation just yet. Just the feel of the hard, thick, hot flesh in my grip made me wild with desire. Brogan's fingers dug into my hips, until he finally broke away.