Tranquility (Turbulence Series Part Two), page 30
But as quickly as it happened, he looked away, saying something to Detective Brady. She almost sagged against the wall, being released.
And then he was walking toward her, that expression on his face again, that look directed toward her. He reached out a hand for hers. “Let’s go.”
Brit tore her gaze from his, letting him take her hand, as she looked over at Detective Brady, who was watching them. “What was that about?”
Sean merely shook his head and pulled her after him. “I can’t say.”
Brit and the detective locked gazes until Sean pulled her back around the corner. “Was it about me?”
“It wasn’t,” he answered shortly. He added cryptically, “That would never be about you, sure.”
Brit tried to puzzle out his response as they made their way to the parking garage, to their car. Once there, he stopped by her door and pulled her to him, taking her face in his hands and kissing her hard. As confused as she was, she kissed him back, sensing the desperation in the action.
Back at the lodge, any irritation he’d felt earlier in the day was forgotten. He couldn’t get her out of her clothes fast enough, angling her immediately toward the bed. His kisses again held a hint of desperation, of appreciation. His touch was both grateful and possessive. He pulled her on top of him and held her close and pushed up into her, one hand caught in her hair as he held her face close, that same expression in his eyes as he looked up at her.
“You know I love you,” he said with a gasping breath, not letting her pull away at his words, his other hand pressing her closer to him with a hand on her buttocks. “Just tell me you know it.”
Warring between lust and disquiet, the former winning out, she nodded as she looked back down at him, wondering what had suddenly come over him; this urgency, this intensity. But as he bucked upward again, she didn’t care, and she rolled her hips to meet him, seeking that rush. She would meet his urgency with her own.
Shifting, she sat up and reached for his hands, riding above him with a slight smile as he watched her, his jaw tensed not in stress but in bliss; his eyes traveled over her, pausing in dark-lidded appreciation of her breasts and then caressing her taut stomach, lingering on her still-healing scars.
With a grin and an increase in pace, she held his wrists down by his head.
“Oh god, love,” he groaned, jerking beneath her, looking down the length of their bodies where her nipples gently grazed his lightly-haired chest, teasing, moving up and down, tight and slick. She leaned closer and placed an open-mouthed kiss on his neck, toying with her tongue, then sucking a bit.
Sean bucked up into her, straining with a cry. She gave him a triumphant smile as he came. Only after the immediate fog faded did he realize that he had beat her to the finish line even though she was now lying against his chest. He removed a hand from her now-loose grasp and stroked her hair. “I’m sorry.”
She rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Why do you do that?”
“I couldn’t control myself; you do that to me.”
Brit chuckled. “Not that. Why do you apologize?”
Placing a kiss against the top of her head, he answered, “I was selfish; I didn’t wait for you.”
Brit smiled even though he couldn’t see her face. “But I don’t wait for you.”
Now it was his turn to chuckle. “Ladies first.”
She lightly smacked his shoulder and then sat up, drawing a gasp from him. She smiled, grinding her hips against his hardening member. Tossing her hair to one side, she said mischievously, “It seems you’re eager to make it up to me.”
He grinned back. “I am, so.” He grasped her waist as he once again thrust upward into her, delighting in her moan.
Afterward, as they lay spooning in the bed, his hands still stroking her smooth skin as though touching silk for the first time, she asked over her shoulder, “What happened at the hospital?”
“I amn’t telling you. I can’t.” He kissed the back of her head and held her more tightly.
“But something did happen.”
He moved his face into that space between her neck and shoulder, where he nibbled a bit, causing her to shiver. He finally answered her, “I realized that even when I’m cross with you, I love you. I love your fight, your stubbornness; you aren’t an easy woman, but I amn’t going to complain when you fight me because it means you have a fight in you.”
She shifted to look over her shoulder at him in disbelief. “Can I get that in writing?”
He laughed. “You’re a survivor, and I fucking love the hell out of you for it.”
Brit frowned. “Why is that important today?”
“It’s important every day,” he said firmly. “But today, I appreciate more the importance of it.”
Brit didn’t want to push him on it; she didn’t want any more exclamations of feelings or extolling her strengths; she assumed he counted them as her strengths. She couldn’t say them back; she was broken that way and didn’t trust these words. Instead, she shifted toward him, her hand reaching for him, grasping him. She would put out of her mind the shadows that lurked, taunting; she would bide her time until their escape from Lis Manor.
Brit sat on the counter and watched Sean prepare cacio e pepe pasta. They had spent the afternoon in bed, only leaving it when Brit’s stomach had growled embarrassingly loudly, causing them both to laugh.
Sean leaned over and kissed her loudly complaining stomach, promising, “All right, I’ll feed you!” Then he was out of the bed, opening the patio doors to allow in the cool evening air. He’d donned sweat pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt before setting the water to boil.
Brit had also slipped from the bed, the cooler air encouraging her to reach for one of his cardigans. It was, of course, too big for her, and the V of the sweater hit her just above her navel, but her breasts stayed covered if she was careful, and she held it closed to allow the thick material to warm her. When she approached the counter, Sean had run an appreciative eye over her, and she could tell he had already calculated the time it would take to push the neck aside and drop it off of her.
Despite the enthusiastic response coursing through her at his look, she was determined to have him feed her first.
As he stirred Pecorino Romano and Parmesan cheeses into the pasta, he pointed out, “You never answered me the other day.”
Watching his technique to ensure the cheese didn’t clump, Brit glanced from the saucepan to his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Your confession.” He glanced over at her—eyes sweeping over her—with a grin. “What do you find hot about me?”
Her mouth came open in surprise at the question. Taken off-guard, she asked, “That’d been a real question?”
“Sure, and why not?” he asked. “Here you are, in my clothes again that I’m finding distracting, and it puts me in mind that you never answered.” He lifted the pepper mill and began working it liberally over the pasta.
She pulled the cardigan closer around her. “I could take it off.”
“There’d be no objection coming from me.”
“That’s not what I meant; I can change.”
Sean reached for a bowl and filled it with the pasta. He handed it over to her with a fork. “Feed that monster in your belly.” When she took the bowl from him, he reached for another for himself.
Brit took a bite and smiled. “This is good.”
“Italian macaroni and cheese; simplest thing ever.”
Brit made a face. “Isn’t macaroni and cheese already Italian?”
Sean smiled and shrugged, eating his own as he leaned against the counter next to her.
Teasing him, she nudged him with her thigh. “There’s a table and chairs over there, Madden; you’re beginning to turn feral.” It’s what he’d accused her of.
“Your influence.”
Brit raised a shoulder accompanied by a pleased smile as she twirled pasta on her fork. She pointed out, “You didn’t like my physical therapist today.”
Sean replied, “I didn’t like where he put his hands.”
Brit gave him an exasperated look. “Literally his job. You didn’t have a problem with where Dr. Thomas was putting his hands.”
Sean smiled. “You weren’t laughing with Dr. Thomas.”
“He wasn’t funny.”
Sean gave her a mock glare.
Brit expanded, “Dr. Thomas wasn’t telling me about how his three-year-old son took a cup of vanilla pudding and spread it all over himself because he thought it was lotion, and how his wife was beside herself because he was slippery as an eel and ran through the house to escape her wrath.”
Sean raised a brow. “Hm.”
“Hm, indeed,” she echoed humorously.
After a few more silent forkfuls where they watched each other in amusement, Sean prompted, “Are you avoiding answering?”
She blinked. “Seriously?”
His smile slipped slightly as a shade came over his eyes; he was preparing himself for disappointment. Taking the last bite of the pasta from this bowl, he turned away, making a show of ensuring that he’d turned off the stove. “Are you full? Do you need more to eat?”
Brit watched him. “No, this was enough; thank you.” Although it shouldn’t have, her lack of response to what she thought was a teasing question—during sex—to begin with, bothered him.
Looking down into her bowl as she absently twirled the pasta around, she knew he was always the effusive one, the one very clear in his desire for her and why. He hadn’t gotten that from her. The question may have started in jest, but her avoidance of it was now turning it into something else.
Sean started to clean his bowl in the sink when Brit reached out. “I’ll do that.”
“Hasn’t it been yourself chiding me about being self-sufficient?”
“Sean,” she said.
He smiled at her, finished his task, and went to the desk where he took up his laptop. Opening it, he returned to the bed and casually lounged back against the headboard, one leg slightly bent with the laptop on it and the other leg over the side, one foot still on the floor.
Brit watched him as she finished her pasta; she had been dismissed. Whatever he was doing, it was taking all of his attention. Setting her bowl in the sink next to her, not bothering to wash it—she’d get to it and the saucepan he’d left behind—she slipped off the counter with a slight wince.
Walking over to the chair by the bed, she sat, bringing her feet up onto the cushions. Adjusting the sweater over her knees and feet, she hugged her knees to her chest. She rested her chin on her raised knees as she watched him. Several minutes ticked by before Sean glanced over at her, taking in her regard, then looking away again.
Brit was content just to watch him. She knew he was aware of her staring; she could see him looking at her out of the corners of his eyes occasionally, but he didn’t feel the need to glance over at her again. The glow from the computer screen illuminated his face, the colors changing with whatever pages he was viewing; she couldn’t see what he was doing, but his fingers weren’t idle.
Finally, she said, “It’s not just one thing.”
Sean didn’t stop what he was doing. “What isn’t?”
Brit smiled to herself because he wasn’t looking. “In answer to your question.”
His fingers paused, and he looked out over the top of the screen, then he re-focused, resuming whatever he had been working on.
So, he wasn’t going to make this easy for her now that she’d shut him down more than once; she deserved that. And, to be fair, she’d typically have left it there, so his urging her on wouldn’t have gotten him anywhere. “First of all, you have this to-die-for Irish accent.”
He still didn’t pause, but a corner of his mouth twitched.
“And when you lower your voice a certain way, I feel it everywhere,” she said honestly.
That caught his attention, and the computer no longer held it. His head tilted her way slightly.
“And the way you lean; you have the sexiest, manliest lean ever.”
Sean’s lips curved even more.
“But mostly, it’s that you still fight an age-old battle for a hurt little girl; that I can push all of your buttons and you let me, but you don’t retaliate; when we walk into a pub, you keep me close; you’ll climb into a hospital bed with me when it’s against the rules; and, you’re crazy enough to buy a home so I’ll feel comfortable for the few weeks I’m still here.”
Sean had turned his head as she started talking and was watching her intently. She surprised him when she’d started talking; he hadn’t expected her to be so unguarded. When he didn’t say anything, she blushed, shrugged, and rolled her eyes. “But it’s mostly the accent. American girls are suckers for a good accent.”
He gave her a slow smile, one eyebrow lifting. “You can’t escape the accent.”
Trying not to smile, she shook her head. “I can’t.”
He held out his hand to her. “C’mere to me.”
Again, she shook her head. “You’re working.”
“Just come here.”
Brit hesitated before moving from the chair. He shifted, pulling his leg up on to the bed as she crawled over him so she could curl up on her right side with him. He put his arm around her, holding onto her as she laid her head on his chest. Once settled against him, she looked at the screen and laughed, smacking her hand on his chest. “You aren’t working!”
He was looking at household items. “There’s an entire house to furnish, as you’ve pointed out.”
“Hm.”
Relaxed against him, her arm across his stomach, she watched lazily as he scrolled through page after page of towels, drapery, kitchenware, flatware, lamps, and an assortment of other items. He manipulated the laptop with one hand, occasionally adding things to his cart; his other hand absently caressed the small of her back.
On a particular set of plates and mugs, undecided, he toggled back and forth and then made his decision. As he moved to add it to his cart, she made a dissenting noise and shook her head at his chest. The cursor hovered for a silent moment; then, the set was discarded. He went for the other one; with no forthcoming objections, it was added.
The exercise continued; it might not be happening how Sean had imagined, but at the end of it, he’d managed to get her to shop with him.
Chapter thirty-four
BRIT
Evie arrived to assist with the packing, although Brit suspected it was an excuse; there wasn’t much for them to pack—especially Brit. But the clock was ticking regarding her all-access pass to the cook. Evie was a woman who enjoyed her indulgences and immersed herself; Brit was a little envious of her enthusiastic joie de vive. The likelihood that this particular obsession was going away meant she wanted to take as much advantage as possible, even if that meant she had to pretend to pack a box.
The Maddens and Peg had left the manor that morning for church. Sean assured her of this before he’d taken her to the manor to retrieve a few items stored in the attic that were his: boxes of his school day mementos, books, and the like. When they’d gotten back to the lodge with them, Sean decided he wanted plastic storage containers over the cardboard boxes.
So when Evie arrived, he took advantage and headed off to the store.
Brit looked over at Evie as he drove away. “At least I won’t need a babysitter once we go into Cork. He probably bought that place because he’s been going crazy not being able to come and go at will.”
Evie smiled knowingly. “You know that’s not why.”
Brit ignored her look and meaning. “It’s about time he found a place of his own.”
“A place of his own. Hm,” Evie said in a teasing tone. “Only, he decided he needed it… when? Why? Will he be living there alone?”
Brit narrowed her eyes. “Yes, actually; I’m merely a guest.”
“At least be honest with yourself. Men don’t buy homes for guests.”
Brit insisted, “Well, he didn’t buy it for me.”
“What scares you about the thought that he bought a home for you?”
Brit shook her head, digging in stubbornly. “He didn’t. He bought it for himself. I don’t live here. I’m leaving. I’m an American, in case you forgot.”
Evie raised a fair eyebrow. “You are fascinating.” Then she sighed and looked around. “What is he taking?”
Brit also looked around and shrugged. “He can’t take anything that isn’t his, so it’s mostly books and clothes. We’ve been bringing things down from the manor while the others are away, which…” She looked out the kitchen window; the garage was still empty of one specific vehicle. “I want to go and get one of the photo albums for him. I mean, technically, they would be his, too, right?”
Evie raised a shoulder. “I don’t see why not.”
“Would you go up with me?” Brit didn’t want to go into the manor alone, even knowing no one was there except for staff.
Tapping her manicured fingers together gleefully, Evie responded, “Darling, I am here for you.”
...Like asking an addict if she wanted a hit of her favorite drug. “Of course, Sean will see you fed.”
Evie chuckled low. “Did I say anything?”
They headed up toward the manor. Once inside, they immediately went to the second level. Brit was not interested in wasting any time. Evie, however, lingered outside the library, looking over toward the room where Maggie Delany had lived for years. Pausing, she placed her hand on Brit’s arm.
“Do you mind indulging me while you run in and grab the picture book?”
Brit looked toward the closed door and then shook her head. The thought of that room did nothing but make her stomach tighten into a knot, but if Evie needed to satisfy a curiosity, then she wasn’t going to stop her. They parted.
