Love and Shenanigans (Ballybeg, Book 1) (The Ballybeg Series) (20 page)

She was adorable.

“I’m grand,” he lied.

“Bollocks. You look like shite.”

“Queen of the compliments, aren’t you?” He smiled, despite himself. Her dry humor always had this effect on him. She was direct, forthright, and no nonsense. She was, he thought in a moment of crystalline clarity, the most genuine person he knew.

She angled her umbrella to ward off the wind, but it was a useless endeavor. Her gaze flickered toward Gant’s nameplate. “What did you want with Gant? Something to do with the divorce?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Of course not. We agreed to deal with the divorce together.”

“So… if not the divorce, what?” She gestured for him to elaborate.

He sighed. “This town’s too small for secrets. You’ll hear soon enough. I’ve signed an agreement with Bernard.”

“You prefer your business partners with cloven hooves?”

He roared laughing. “Are you a mind reader? I was thinking the same thing when I walked out of the office.”

She swiped rain from her nose, her gaze never leaving his face. “Are you here on foot?”

“Yeah.”

Hesitation flickered across her face, then hardened into a decision. “Come on. I’ll give you a lift.”

“Ah, no. It’s a ten-minute walk.”

“A walk with hailstones the size of my thumb pelting you from above. Don’t be daft.” Her mouth formed a half smile. “I’ve to look in on the Book Mark for a sec, but I’ll drive you home right after.”

“Ah, no. No need to trouble yourself.”

“Shut up, Maguire, and do what you’re told.”

“You’re a bossy woman.”

The half smile became whole. “So my students tell me.”

The street separating them from the Book Mark was fast turning into a river.

“I hope you can swim,” she said.

He laughed. “I’ll have you know I’m a qualified diving instructor.”

“Good. Because if this keeps up, we’ll have to dive to find my car.”

She yanked him into the quagmire, and they waded across the street to the bookshop.

“Shite,” he said. “The weather’s wild this evening.”

“Not as wild as my life,” Fiona said and pushed open the shop door.

“Fiona!” Sharon MacCarthy leaned over the café counter, exposing a generous amount of cleavage. “And Gavin Maguire. Don’t the pair of you make the picture of marital bliss?”

“Cut the shite. Where is he?” Fiona’s body tensed, her eyes darting around the shop.

“Your actor fella?” Sharon toyed with her chewing gum. “He fecked off a half hour ago. Said he had to get to Cork City for an audition.”

Fiona’s posture slumped in relief. “Did he say if he’d be back?”

Sharon took out a nail file and began tending to her talons. “Nah. All he said was to pass on his regards, and he’d be ‘seeing you.’ Whatever that means.”

Fiona teased her lip ring. “Thanks. You’ll close the shop, yeah?”

“No problem.” Sharon waved her nail file in the air. “Everything’s under control.”

Outside, Fiona’s car was covered in hailstones.

“Who’s the actor fella?” Gavin asked, struggling with his seatbelt.

“Pull it hard,” she said. “The seatbelt’s wonky.”

He yanked, finally getting sufficient length to click the fastener into place. “Your body language didn’t exactly indicate a person thrilled by the prospect of his presence.”

She gunned the engine and eased the vehicle into the busy evening traffic. “Philip’s my ex. He said he’d look me up if he was in the area. I guess news spread that I’d postponed my trip.”

Her ex, eh? And an actor… Gavin was predisposed to hate the guy on principle. “There must be a reason he’s your ex and not your current.”

“Must be.” She didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t push.

Within a few minutes, they were pulling into Bridie’s designated parking space on Beach Road.

For a moment, they sat silent in the stationary vehicle. The air was electric with unspoken words.

“Want to come in?” she said finally. “I have leftover spag bol we can reheat. Nothing fancy, but it tastes good.”

His fickle stomach rumbled. “Sounds delicious.”

He followed her inside Bridie’s cottage. While she reheated the food, he set the table.

“Wine?” she asked. “I’ve a half-full bottle of Pinot Noir if you’re interested.”

“Sure,” he said. “Why not?” Actually, he could think of a million reasons why not, and not merely about the wine. He shouldn’t be here. She was too… tempting. Unsettling. Muireann—when she wasn’t trashing his belongings—was cool, calm, and reserved. Fiona was impetuous and volatile and displayed her emotions with every gesture.

She dished out the food. They ate in wary silence, each hyperaware of the other’s presence.

“How’s Bridie? She said you were going to see her today.”

“Bored.” She smiled at him, warming him from the inside out.

He took a hasty gulp of wine. He should eat and leave, before they did something they’d both regret.

She ran a finger round the rim of her wineglass. “Want to tell me what deal you signed with my uncle? Knowing Bernard, it was nothing good.”

“No,” he said grimly. “Not for me, at any rate. Bernard set me an ultimatum. Either I ponied up his share of the wedding expenses by the middle of October, or I signed an agreement to keep paying the full mortgage on Clonmore Lodge until Muireann and I find a buyer. According to the written terms of the agreement, I have until Christmas to repay the wedding expenses.”

“What about the unwritten terms of the agreement?” she asked shrewdly.

“Bernard doesn’t bring charges of financial fraud against me.”

She sucked in a breath. “The prick.”

“The charges are a load of shite, but Bernard has too many connections for me to believe justice would be served. He knows he has me by the short and curlies. I don’t have the cash to reimburse him for the money he invested in the wedding. If I’d refused to sign the agreement, he’d have blacklisted me. The construction trade’s tight these days. If Bernard told his cronies not to hire me, my career in architecture would be finished.”

Her lips thinned. “That’s blackmail, pure and simple.”

“Yeah, but what can I do? He holds all the power cards. And he knows it.”

She leaned across the table and took his hand. “You’ll be fine, Gavin. You’re a talented architect. You’ll find a way out of this mess.”

He slid his fingers over her thumb. Her hands were incredibly soft and smooth. And the skin on her wrists…

She inhaled sharply and withdrew her hand.

“Sorry, Fiona. I don’t know what came over me.” He thought of Muireann and her cold perfection and the life he should’ve, would’ve, could’ve had. And then he remembered the callous way Muireann had severed her connection with Wiggly Poo, who at this very moment was likely running wild at Jonas’s parents’ house.

Their eyes locked. She leaned across the table, close enough for him to smell the fresh scent of her perfume and the wine on her breath.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

“KISS ME.”
Was she out of her mind? What had she been smoking when she’d invited him round for dinner?

Gavin’s mouth touched hers, eradicating any hope of her forming a coherent thought for the foreseeable future. His kiss was gentle, soft. The tenderness broke her. She stood, trembling, her mind and body at war.

He also stood, breathing heavily. “Fiona, I—”

“Don’t say it,” she said. “Don’t say we shouldn’t have done that. I’m sick of us kissing and regretting it afterward.”

His blue eyes were cloudy with an emotion she couldn’t pinpoint. “Speak for yourself. I regret a lot of things, but kissing you isn’t one. Did you kiss me and regret it?”

“No,” she said with an assurance that surprised her. “Never. What I regretted was your reaction.”

“I called you,” he said. “I left messages. You never replied.”

“No.” Her voice broke on a treacherous quaver. “You walked away.”

She both felt and heard his intake of breath. “You’re talking about Vegas. I was talking about the cave. Fiona, I didn’t walk away after the cave. You did.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat but didn’t break eye contact. She couldn’t, even if she’d wanted to. What should she do now? Ignore the weirdness between them and bid him goodnight? Or throw caution to the wind and screw him senseless?

Her decision, when it came, was swift and decisive. She closed the space between them, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him close. His heart beat against her chest, and his rapid breathing warmed her throat, her ears, her neck.

She deepened the kiss, matching his tongue move for move.

He slid his arms down her torso, molding each curve with the palms of his hands. When he reached her backside, he cupped her buttocks and lifted her onto the hard granite surface of the kitchen counter. She moaned—a primal, instinctual reaction from a place deep inside.

“Are you sure?” His words tickled her neck.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure. Are you?”

“Yeah.” He looked her in the eye. “This time, I am.”

She slipped her hand into his. “Let’s go into my bedroom. I can’t shag someone with a statue of the Virgin Mary looming over me.”

He roared laughing. “That’s what I always liked about you, Fiona. Your sense of humor.”

“Oh, yeah?” she cocked an eyebrow cheekily. “Here was me thinking it was my breathtaking beauty and killer curves.”

“Those too.” He pulled her into her bedroom and kicked the door shut.

“The shades are open—” Her protest fell on deaf ears. The kiss increased in intensity, and she forgot about potential indecent exposure. Hell, the whole of Ballybeg could come for a gawk if it meant he wouldn’t stop.

Gavin’s hands slipped under the thin fabric of her skirt and skimmed her thighs. The tender flesh of her inner thighs shivered at his touch, sending tiny electric shocks shooting through her body. He slid his hands higher, finding her knickers. Hooking his fingers in the sides of the panties, he slid them off.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said. The words kneaded her like an erotic massage. “But I’m pretty sure Mrs. Cotter’s curtain twitched. Time for privacy.” He closed the curtains and shoved her onto the bed with a playful push.

She landed on the soft mattress with a laugh. “No fair,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows. “I’m half-naked and you’re still fully dressed. If you want me to take my bra off, you’d better give me an incentive.”

He grinned, and his gaze roamed over her body. “Good thing I’m a dab hand at getting my shirt off in five seconds.”

His fingers flew over the buttons, revealing a couple more centimeters of male chest with each movement. A light sprinkling of blond hair snaked to his navel. His hands strayed to the zipper of his jeans. Her breath caught, and her eyes widened.

“Go, on,” she said hoarsely.

“Isn’t it your turn?”

“Oh, no. You owe me, Maguire. Consider this payback.” She leaned against the pillows to enjoy the show.

He undid the button and eased the zipper over the bulge in his underwear. He tugged the jeans over his hips and down his legs. He kicked them to the side.

His erection was clearly visible through the stretchy material of his underwear. The wetness between her legs increased. She wanted him. She wanted this. And she wanted it now.

As if reading her mind, he slid his underpants to the floor.

Whoa.
He was rock hard and bigger than she remembered.

She sat up on the bed and unhooked her bra. She let the straps slide over her shoulders, watching him the whole while. Slowly and deliberately, she tugged her breasts free from the cups and attempted to toss the bra to the side. It ruined her sleekly seductive strip tease by catching on her wrist. She made a few vain attempts to shake it free. “Well, feck.”

He laughed and came to the bed. “Here,” he said and freed her hand. He kept his thumb on her wrist and stroked, dancing his fingertips across her pulse then up her arm along her vine tattoo. The pressure in her groin was building.

“Touch me,” she demanded.

He grinned. “I am touching you.”

“Lower,” she said. “I mean, higher.”

Running one hand across her breasts, he used the other to caress her inner thighs. “You mean both.” He kissed her shoulder and trailed kisses over her breasts, down her belly, between her legs. He stroked her, teasing the sensitive flesh around her clitoris, exploring her clit ring. “So you
are
pierced down there.”

“Had you wondered?” she asked with a laugh.

Gavin’s grin was wolfish. “Oh, yeah.”

He increased the pace. Jolts of electric ecstasy flowed through her. She didn’t want this to stop. She didn’t want him to stop.

“Faster,” she gasped. “With more pressure.”

“Show me.” He pulled her hand down and placed it over his. “Show me exactly how you want it.”

Fiona guided his fingers, applied the right pressure in the right places. Meanwhile, his other hand strayed to her breasts, teasing her nipples, pinching hard.

She groaned, sensed her peak near. “I want you inside me.”

“Your wish, my lady, is my command.” He got off the bed and pulled his wallet out of his jeans.

She watched him lazily while he rooted for a condom wrapper. When he returned to the bed, she tickled the silky-smooth skin of his penis. “Can I put it on?”

“Of course.”

She rolled the condom over his shaft, teasing his balls with every movement.

Flipping her onto her back, he positioned himself between her legs. He nuzzled her neck and nipped her earlobe. She guided him inside.

The first thrust was a shock. She gasped sharply and felt him fill her.

He stilled for a moment, then began to move. She wrapped her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his buttocks. The thrusts were gentle at first, soon increasing in power and intensity. Fiona’s hands roamed over his muscular torso and traced the lines of the shamrock tattoo at the base of his neck.

The sensation of skin against skin was electric. He trailed angel kisses along her neck and across her shoulders. When he nipped her earlobe for the second time, she cried out.

“Not good?” His words were a hot rumble against her neck.