McCarthys of Gansett Island Boxed Set Books 1-3 (78 page)

“I don’t care.”

He followed his finger with his lips. “I do.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m fragile, Luke. Please don’t.”

“You’re not fragile.” Brushing the hair back from her face, he kissed her. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not. I fall apart over the slightest thing.”

“Coming home to find your dog gravely ill is not a slight thing, and you didn’t fall apart. You held it together all night long.”

“And then I fell apart.”

“Which is perfectly normal.”

“If you say so.”

“I say so,” he said, drawing her into another heated kiss.

“Make love to me, Luke, and don’t hold back.”

“So you want it hard and fast?” he asked with a sexy grin.

“I’ll take whatever you want to give.”

He kissed his way from her lips to her neck to the slight abrasion on her breast. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.”

As he sucked her nipple deep into his mouth, he slid two fingers into her and pressed the heel of his hand against her clit, teasing and pressing and backing off until she was out of her mind.
 

The combined sensations built and grew and finally burst, sending Sydney spiraling into orgasm, sharp and hot and intense. By the time she returned to earth, he hovered above her, his cock poised at her entrance.

“Welcome back,” he said, looking down at her with amusement dancing in his eyes.

Sydney reached for him and tugged his mouth down to hers. “Now, Luke. Please.”

“How can I say no when you ask me so nicely?” He flexed his hips and sank into her in one deep thrust.

Sydney gasped and clutched his backside to hold him still as she struggled to accommodate him.

“Babe,” he said through gritted teeth.

When she released him, he withdrew and then pounded into her.
 

Sweat beaded on his brow and his breath came in short pants, but he never let up in the fierce possession.
 

“Come for me, Syd,” he urged. Reaching between them, he coaxed another explosive climax from her before he threw his head back and let himself go.

For a long time afterward, he rested on top of her, breathing hard.

Syd wiped the dampness from his brow and kissed his forehead. “Thanks for taking me in.”

He grunted out a laugh. “It’s a terrible hardship, but somehow I’ll get by.”

Chapter 16

Grant knew there was nothing to be gained by drinking himself into a stupor, but that didn’t stop him from trying. Whatever it took to find some relief from the relentless pain that had started when he saw
his
Abby with another man who seemed to think he had some sort of
claim
on her.

With the wave of his hand, Grant ordered another beer.

Chelsea, the bartender at the Beachcomber, set the bottle down in front of him. “You’re really slugging them back tonight, Grant.”

He graced her with his most charming smile. “I’m thirsty.”

“How’re you getting home?”

Shrugging, he took another big drink of beer. “I’ll call a cab.”

She scooped up the keys he’d left on the bar—keys to the motorcycle he’d borrowed from Mac. “I’ll hang on to these. Just in case you forget.” Leaving him with a saucy grin, she moved on to other customers.

Grant ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating the complete mess he’d made of his life. The more he drank, the worse he felt and the more he realized he had no one to blame but himself. He’d taken it all for granted—his career, his relationship with Abby, his future. Everything.
 

He had no idea how long he sat there staring at his beer bottle before someone slid onto the stool next to him.
 

Chelsea put a bottle of light beer down in front of the newcomer.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Jarred by the familiar voice, Grant turned to find his father sitting next to him. “What’re you doing here?”

“Heard you were attempting to tie one on over here and figured I’d rather come get you here than bail your ass out of jail.”

“You’ve never had to bail my ass out of jail. That was Mac and Joe.”

Big Mac snorted and took a swig of beer. “That’s right. You were always my good boy—the smart one.”

“For all the good it’s done me.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my life has gone to shit.”

“How so?”

“Really, Dad, do I have to spell it out for you?”

“I guess you do. Catch me up. Last I knew, you were flying high with an Oscar in one hand and the girl you loved holding the other. What happened?”

“Wish I knew.”

“If you don’t know, who does?”

“I fucked up, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I’m a total and complete fuck-up.” Grant grabbed his bottle, finished off the beer and signaled for Chelsea to bring him another one.

She looked to his father, who shook his head.

“Goddamn it, Dad! You can’t do that. I’m not a child!”

“Then quit acting like one.”

Grant couldn’t remember his father ever using that particular tone with him. With Mac, Adam and Evan, yes, but never with him. All at once, he was stone-cold sober, and the pain resurfaced with a relentless disregard for his desire to forget all about what he’d seen earlier—
his
woman with her new man. His eyes burned, and Grant knew he had to get out of there, or he was going to lose it in front of the most important person in his life.

He tossed some bills on the bar and walked out. The cool air blowing in off the ocean helped to further sober him up. Clearly, he hadn’t had anywhere near enough to drink if he was still focused on Abby’s indifference toward him earlier. After all they’d been to each other for most of their lives, how could she look at him the same way she would a stranger off the street?

A hand on his arm stopped him from staggering down the stairs from the Beachcomber’s back porch.
 

Grant spun around, prepared to do battle, but all the fight went out of him when he saw his father towering over him. “Let me go,” he said, attempting to wrench his arm free of his father’s grasp.

“What’s going on, son? This isn’t like you.”

“It’s more like me than you think.” He’d been drinking way too much lately, and he knew it. But he had to so something,
anything
, to numb the pain.

“Come on, pal. Let’s go home and get some sleep. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

Because he couldn’t think of a better plan, Grant allowed his father to propel him to the truck, which was parked on the street.
 

“I forgot to get the keys to the bike from Chelsea,” Grant muttered as they went past Mac’s motorcycle in the parking lot.

“I got ’em.” Big Mac held the truck’s passenger door for Grant and then walked around the front to the driver’s side.

Grant tipped his head back, hoping he could make it home without puking. That would be the perfect end to a perfect day. When his father reached across him to buckle his seat belt, Grant felt like a total moron. “Sorry.”

“Ain’t no big thing.”

The sound of laughter outside the truck caught their attention.

Big Mac gasped. “What the. . .”

Grant and his father stared at the duo walking past—Ned, arm in arm with a woman, totally oblivious to anyone watching them as they were deep in conversation peppered with frequent laughter. Grant had never seen his father’s best friend looking so animated.

“Is that
Maddie’s mother
?” Grant whispered, as if they might hear him.

“Sure is. Well, I’ll be damned.”

After Ned and Francine were past the truck, Grant glanced over at his father, who looked like he’d been struck by lightning.

“What’s going on with them?” Grant asked.

“I have no earthly idea.” Big Mac snapped out of his stupor to start the truck. “But let me tell you, if
he’s
somehow managed to work things out with
her
, there’s certainly hope for you, boyo.”

The comment struck Grant’s funny bone, and before long, his father joined in. A good laugh with his dad was exactly what Grant needed.
 

Ned had never been happier than he was during the evening with Francine. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The last time he’d been this happy was the last time he’d been with her. She just did it for him, and she always had. It was that simple.
 

He’d taken her for a fancy dinner at Domenic’s and let her fuss over the prices as he plied her with seafood and wine. Afterward, they came back to town and took a walk along the waterfront. They’d talked about everything—except the one thing Ned most wanted to know. How had Bobby Chester managed to make her forget all about him during the course of one weekend?

He couldn’t exactly blurt out the question over clams and white wine. And after such a wonderful evening, he was terrified of scaring her off by reopening an old wound.
 

They approached the driveway that led to Francine’s place, and Ned slowed his steps to prolong their time together. All too soon, they reached the foot of the stairs that led to her place.
 

“Would you like to come up for a cup of coffee?” she asked
 

“Sure.” Relieved their evening wasn’t over quite yet, Ned followed her up the stairs into the small apartment.
 

“Maddie lived here a few years,” Francine said as she measured the grounds and poured water into the coffeemaker. “She was living here when she met Mac.”

“I remember,” Ned said, amused to realize she was nervous and chattering to fill the empty spaces.
 

As the coffee began to brew, Francine turned and leaned against the counter. “You haven’t asked me about Bobby.”

Ned suppressed a gasp at the sudden introduction of the one topic they’d avoided during their hours together. “I don’t figure it’s any of my beeswax.”

“Of course it is.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, if I hadn’t met him, perhaps I would’ve been married to you these last thirty or so years.”

Uncertain of what to do about his sweaty palms, Ned jammed his hands into his pockets. “Ya reckon so?”

Francine tipped her head to study him. “You were going to ask me, weren’t you?”

“Mighta thought about it. Once or twice.”

Her smile was sad and didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t regret marrying him. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have my girls. Even though we had it kind of rough after he left, somehow we made it through, and they’re good girls.”

“I don’t know Tiffany, but Maddie’s a lovely gal. She’s made my friend’s boy very happy, which makes me happy.”

Her lips flattened with displeasure. “You’re in awfully tight with those McCarthys.”

“Big Mac is my best friend. Has been since long before I first laid eyes on ya. His kids are my kids.”

“His wife had me thrown in jail.”

Ned kept his tone gentle when he said, “Now, Francine, we both know better than that, don’t we?” He knew full well that Linda had reported Francine only after she passed a fifth bad check in the bar at McCarthy’s Gansett Inn, and that Linda had agonized over the decision. But he kept that information to himself, knowing it wouldn’t matter much to Francine after spending three months in jail.

She turned away to reach for coffee mugs. “I should’ve known you’d side with her.”

“I ain’t on no one’s side. Shit happens. The past belongs in the past.”

Facing him again, she said, “If that’s the case, why’d you come here today?”

Cornered, Ned had no idea how to answer that. “Well, I, uh…”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Drawing in a deep breath, he closed the distance between them and was gratified when her eyes widened in surprise. “Does matter.” He reached out to touch the soft hair she still dyed red. “I came here today because I never stopped thinking aboutcha or that summer we spent together.”

“Oh. Really?” That last word came out more like a croak.

“Really.”

“Even after I married Bobby?”

“’Specially then. Never could understand what ya saw in that smooth-talking charmer.”

“No, you wouldn’t. He was the opposite of you in every possible way.”

“I know I wasn’t as handsome or smooth or full of sweet talk the way he was.”

“No, you weren’t.”

Ned didn’t want to be offended, even after all this time, but there it was.

She rested her hand on his chest, and he wondered if she could feel how fast his heart was beating. “You were loyal and faithful and kind. I learned the hard way that those qualities are far more important than handsome or smooth or sweet-talking.”

“Why didn’t ya come to me? After he left, why didn’t ya come?”

“Aw, Ned. I couldn’t have done that to you. I walked away—left you without so much as a howdy do. I can’t believe you expected me to show up at your doorstep with two little girls in tow after what I did to you.”