At First Touch (The Malone Brothers) (20 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“W
ELL
,
THAT
’
S
THE
last of it,” Reagan said, closing the box on her clothes. She didn’t have much, really. A lot of it was still in containers from when the air force shipped it to Cassabaw. She didn’t have that much stuff anyway, probably ingrained into her by being in the service. She’d had to pack up and go many times. The fewer personal items you had, the easier it was.

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Emily said. Her voice was shaky. “I like you here.”

Reagan was suddenly wrapped in Emily’s arms, and she laid her head on Em’s shoulder. “Sister, don’t. We’ll see each other all the time. Plus you’ll have your life with Matt. You won’t need me underfoot.”

“I want you underfoot. You belong under my feet!” Emily half wailed. “But...I understand why you’re doing this.” She kissed Reagan’s nose. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”

“Well, I’m not leaving for a few more days, silly, so no tears for now. Okay?” Reagan insisted. “Let’s just enjoy each other. Have fun girl time.”

Emily sighed. “Okay.”

Her sister kept her in a tight embrace.

“Um, Em? I can’t breathe,” Reagan teased.

“I don’t care,” Emily pouted. “You said to enjoy you. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Reagan laughed. Her quirky sister was so silly.

Just then, a knock sounded at the front door.

With a sigh, Reagan made her way to the front door, and opened it. Through the screen, she saw a dark figure.

“Hello?” she asked.

“Reagan Rose Quinn?”

The screen door opened the second her mind registered that the caller was Eric.

“I’m here to kidnap you again.”

Before Reagan could react she was airborne, and she squealed.

“Eric! What are you doing? Put me down!” she cried.

“Negative, ghost rider,” Eric stated, and just like before when he’d carted her off at night to his awaiting rowboat, he settled her over his shoulder, securing her legs and backside. He gave her playful slap.

“Eric! Stop!” she yelled. “Emily!”

“I’m in the bathroom!” Emily called from the back of the house.

Completely unbothered by Reagan’s plea for help.

“Eric, for God’s sake, put me down!” she said. “Have you lost your mind? What are you doing?”

The sound of his footfalls moving over the gravel, then she heard the opening of his truck door, and then she was upright and settled into the seat. His piney clean scent washed over her as he reached and secured her seat belt.

“First, God is on my side. Totally on it. Second,” he warned, “don’t try to get out. I’ve something monumentally important to show you. Okay?”

“Ugh!” Reagan huffed. She didn’t like being forced to do anything.

Why hadn’t he just asked if she’d go with him?

Probably because she hadn’t heard from him in almost two weeks.

Reagan heard Eric run around the truck, hop into the driver’s side, slam the door and start the engine. “Has anyone ever told you how terrifying you can be?” he commented.

“No.”

Eric laughed and they started moving.

She had no idea where they were headed. Apparently somewhere monumental.

Reagan sat with her arms crossed over her chest, totally disliking being at a disadvantage.

“You’re really adorable when you’re pouting,” Eric commented. “With your lips all pooched out.”

Reagan stared straight ahead. “I’d glare at you right now, but it’d probably be ineffective,” she spat.

Eric chuckled beside her.

“Seriously, Eric. Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said. “And I mean that symbolically, Reagan Rose. But in all honesty, you will see. Just you wait.”

“Do I have a choice?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Well, I’m not saying a word to you right now, Eric Malone. I’m pissed,” she announced, although it was fading by the second.

What could he possibly have up his sleeve?

Eric again laughed softly beside her. “Okay, have it your way.”

Reagan lifted her chin and remained silent.

A few minutes later the truck turned down a lane that obviously wasn’t paved, and they bumped along for a moment or two before the truck came to a stop. Wordlessly, Eric got out, and then her door was opened, and he released her seat belt and whispered close to her ear.

“I have a proposition for you, Reagan Rose Quinn. Come on.”

Unavoidable shivers ran over her skin, and suddenly her hand was in his, and she stepped out of the truck. Immediately, the salty sea air whipped at her, and the cry of gulls overhead sounded.

“Why are we at the beach?” she asked.

Eric tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and continued to lead her.

She didn’t fight. She didn’t argue.

Now she was curious.

The sound of creaking met her ears, and Eric said, “Okay, step through the gate.” She did, and a large looming shadow stood before her against the brightness of the day.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Steps,” he warned, ignoring her question, and they moved up four steps to a veranda. A house? At the beach? The sound of a key in a lock, and another door creaked open, and Eric led her inside. The scent of fresh paint and wood permeated the air and mixed with the brine of the ocean. Eric led her a few feet inside, then stopped.

“I understand your need for independence, Reagan. Swear to God, I do. But what I don’t—can’t accept is your leaving Cassabaw.”

Reagan opened her mouth, then shut it. She thought a moment, stunned. “What do you mean, can’t accept it?”

“You see, Reagan Rose, I have this problem,” he began. “It’s...a big one.”

Butterflies churned in her stomach.

His hands grasped her face gently on either side. He pulled her closer.

“You see, I’m crazy in love with you,” he said quietly. Seriously. With no joking or laughter or playful overtone. “And the thought of you not being here, in my life, daily, leaves a hole in my gut.” His mouth moved close to hers, brushing her cheek, close to her lips, and she quivered. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered, then he kissed her. “It’s killed me not to see you these past couple of weeks.”

Reagan blinked back tears. She was stunned, unable to say anything. Words wouldn’t come to her.

He loved her?

“What... I mean, where have you been?” she stuttered, completely weakened by his words, his chaste kiss. “For two weeks, I mean.”

He loved her. He’d said it. Just now.

Crazy in love, he’d said.

“Well, that’s why we’re here, darlin’,” he said.

Reagan blinked. “What do you mean?”

Eric let his hands fall, and he tucked her hand back into the crook of his arm. “I know what living on your own means to you, Rea,” he said. “This is my house. I bought it, fixed it up a little. And I’m offering you to be my very first renter. At a reasonable rate, I might add.”

“But...I’ve already rented a place in Caper’s Inlet,” she stammered.

“This is better. Just...take a tour with me. See what you think.”

He loved her. He’d said that, right?

“Okay,” she agreed.

“It’s small, built by war vet Mr. Wimpy Harden in 1945, and sturdy as they come. Two bedrooms, two small full baths, a kitchen and living room. A front porch facing the sea, and a back veranda off the master bedroom that wraps around the side of the house and also faces the sea. See?” He chuckled at his joke.

She was speechless.

Eric led her through the house, explaining the updates and reconstruction he’d done over the past couple of weeks—with the help of his dad and brothers. And Emily, the rascal. He described everything in complete detail.

“The cabinets are white with vintage black hardware, and I’ve lowered the shelves so you can easily reach them. Big white porcelain kitchen sink, and a farmhouse table your sister picked up at an antiques store that’s painted white-washed green.”

Speechless. She couldn’t say anything.

“Moving on,” he said, “the kitchen has navy-and-white tile in some cool pattern that Mr. Wimpy put in a few years back. It matches the shutters on the outside of the house. Totally sound.”

Speechless.

“The living room is small but perfect for one—or two—people,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “You know, if you wanted to have a sleepover or something.”

“Mm-hmm,” she said.

“Wainscoting throughout. White walls, fresh paint. Ceiling fan overhead with big fat paddles. Wood-planked floors throughout except the kitchen and baths. Navy leather sofa and love seat, which I proudly picked out myself. Lamps. Vintage, via your sister. Miss Vintage,” he said with a chuckle.

They moved down the short hallway, encountered one small bedroom and a bath across the hall, then visited the master bedroom.

“It’s not huge, but it’s perfect, in my humble opinion,” Eric said. “Big enough for a king-size poster bed, tall dresser and a shorter one with a mirror over it. And the adjoining master bath. Again, not huge, but big enough.”

Reagan was stunned.

Eric had done all this? For her?

“What do you think so far?” he asked.

“It’s...amazing, Eric. Really, it is,” she admitted.

“Well, the best is yet to come,” he said. “Come on.”

Eric’s other hand covered hers, and he squeezed but said nothing. Not until he opened a set of doors that led outside, and the salty sea breeze caught her hair and skimmed her cheeks.

Reagan looked around, trying so hard to peer, to see anything. She could make out only a few dark shapes. “Where are we?”

Eric took her hands in his. “Only in the finest artist’s studio on the Carolina coast,” he bragged. “Screened in, facing the sea, with a built-in worktable and bench that lifts, to keep stuff in.”

Reagan left Eric’s side, feeling her way to the worktable and running her fingertips over it lightly, the smooth wood buttery soft. “You built this?” she asked.

“I did,” he said, and came to her, his hands once more grasping hers. “You see, Reagan Rose, I really, really want you to stay on Cassabaw,” he coaxed. “When I thought I’d lost you to...circumstances, it killed me. I’ve never felt so hollow in my life. Cold and hollow. It was like...all the joy I’d had my whole life had been ripped out of me. It left a shell. A shell of a man not fit for anyone. Not even Celeste and the baby I thought was mine.”

Reagan swallowed hard as tears built and her throat tightened.

“I knew then, Reagan. I knew that I was in love with you. Not just being the knight in shining armour, not just rescuing another soul. And then you told me you were leaving, just when I thought things were going to be right again,” he said. “I...just couldn’t let that happen—”

Reagan slipped her hands around Eric’s neck, pulled him down to her mouth and kissed him fervently, and he sighed against her as he kissed her back with just as much passion. “I can’t believe you did this for me,” she said, gasping for air as their kisses grew more urgent.

“Well,” he said, moving his mouth over hers. “I’m a selfish bastard, too. I want you here, Reagan.” He pulled back, brushing her lips with his thumbs. “Please don’t leave.”

Tears rolled down Reagan’s eyes, and Eric wiped them away. “As a renter, right?” she asked, and her voice cracked.

Eric didn’t answer her. His mouth instead crashed down over hers, his fingers shoved through her hair, and he tilted her head just so, until their lips were exactly where he wanted them.

Then he kissed her until her knees grew weak.

“As a renter,” he whispered against her mouth. “Can I sleep over?”

Reagan laughed. “I thought you’d never ask,” she replied, and Eric scooped her up in his arms, and she squealed as she went airborne. Then she grasped his face in her hands. “I love you, Eric Malone. Crazy in love.”

“Yes!” he hollered, and Reagan laughed as they went through a side door and onto the open veranda facing the ocean. “She loves me!” he yelled to the sea. “Does everyone hear that? Reagan Rose Quinn loves me! And I get to sleep over anytime I want!”

She did, too. She loved Eric Malone, and hell, yeah. He could definitely sleep over anytime he wanted.

It wouldn’t be soon enough.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“T
HANKS
,
GUYS
,”
R
EAGAN
SAID
.
“I really appreciate the help.”

A kiss landed on her cheek. “Anything for a sister,” Matt said gruffly. “Glad you’re staying. Emily finally stopped her pouting.”

Reagan laughed. She knew full well how her sister could put on a good solid pout. “Well, your brother was extremely convincing.”

Matt chuckled. “Another pouter. Like I said, glad you’re staying.”

“Well, that’s about it,” Emily said, as she came through the studio door. “Oh, my sweet Lord, Rea, the studio is an absolute dream. You fellas did a swell job on it.

“Hey! We have to go,” Emily finally said, probably to Matt. “We have a meeting with the preacher, future husband.” She snorted. “He has to make sure my honor’s been kept in check.”

“Oops,” Matt said, and his brothers laughed.

A pair of arms snaked around Reagan’s waist and a mouth grazed her neck, and she shivered. “Nathan, you can leave, too. I’ve been invited to sleep over.”

Reagan elbowed Eric in the gut, and he grumped. “Eric Malone!”

“Hey, no prob,” Nathan said, laughing. “I’ve got a poker game with ‘I win’ written all over it tonight,” he said. “Pops and Jep at the round table. Should be interesting.”

Emily, Matt and Nathan said their goodbyes, leaving Eric and Reagan alone. All of her things had been brought over in Matt’s and Nathan’s trucks, and Emily had helped her unpack. Everything—including her studio—was in order.

Everything was perfect.

Beyond perfect.

The wedding was in five days. And Emily had to be the only stress-free bride on the face of planet Earth. She’d done nearly everything herself. Twinkling lights would be strung, flower petals would blanket the aisle and Matt had something big planned for Emily that he was keeping a secret from everyone—including Em. Only Reagan knew, and that was for the sole purpose of the wedding gift she wanted to give them. Matt had sworn her to secrecy. Like, military pinkie promise. No way would she go against an ex-marine. Sniper, at that. She’d keep the secret. And man, it was a good one.

She’d never seen a bride so excited as Emily Quinn.

Reagan could only imagine the feeling of euphoria.

That’s what Emily called it, anyway.

“Thank God they’re gone,” Eric muttered against the shell of her ear. “I’m starved.”

Reagan’s heart thumped harder. “Starved, huh?” she asked, leaning back against Eric’s chest. She knew he did not refer to the hunger in his belly.

“I’m in my uniform,” he said, then nipped the skin of her neck. “Coast Guard. Rescue swimmer,” he breathed against her, and she shivered. “I hold records, even.”

Reagan giggled softly. “So I’ve heard,” she said huskily, and turned in his arms. “You held one last night, too. On the dock.”

His mouth swept hers, and when his tongue tasted the inside of her lip, she sighed against him. “Still trying to get a splinter out of my—”

Reagan slipped her fingers into his short hair and pulled him closer, and she kissed him until his fingers fumbled for the buttons on her shirt, and hers fumbled with his belt, and Eric walked her backward until a wall braced them, and his mouth devoured her, his hands moving over her ribs, her hips, then over her backside. He pulled her against him, his tongue tasting, his teeth nipping, and she turned him around until his back was against the wall. Eric groaned against her, and their kisses grew fevered, and suddenly the mid-October air in the cottage was too warm. Hot. Stuffy.

Their mouths fused, Eric walked her backward to the bedroom. Along the way pieces of their clothing became discarded on the floor. They fell onto the bed, embraced and lips refusing to leave the other’s, and Reagan couldn’t stop touching him. She wanted to feel every part of his body; she wanted to know every inch with her hands. She couldn’t get enough. It’d never be enough.

Eric’s mouth moved to her ear. “I’m so in love with you.” His husky voice washed over her. “I can’t believe I’m so lucky.”

Reagan grasped his hands and brought them to her face, and they lay on their sides. “I’m so in love with you, Eric Malone,” she said. “I wish I could see your face.”

He twisted his hands until hers were prisoner in his, and he moved her fingertips over his eyes, his brows, his cheekbones, his lips, where he kissed her fingers. Then he moved her hand to his heart.

“Can you see me now?” he asked quietly. “Can you feel what you do to me?”

Reagan thought her heart would explode. She’d never felt so much love. “I can see you,” she whispered. “And I think you’re beautiful.”

Eric gathered her in his arms then, kissing her as he pushed her to her back, and he moved over her, bracing his weight on one elbow, tracing her lips, her collarbone with his free hand. The sensation of his rough fingers against her skin made her shiver.

Then his fingers brushed her lips once more, and his mouth followed them, and he moved over her, settled into her, and Reagan wrapped her legs around his waist and sighed against his mouth. As he began to move, they rocked together, and her heart sped, and she clutched Eric’s back as her climax claimed her, and he found his, and so intense was the sensation Reagan nearly lost her breath.

Their movements began to slow, as did Eric’s caresses, his kiss, and then he stilled, his fingertips tracing her temple, pushing back her damp hair from her forehead.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, his voice gravelly, sexy and warm. “And you’re all mine.” His mouth lowered to hers, and he kissed her softly. Thoroughly. Possessively. “Who would’ve ever thought when we were hanging upside down in the plum tree, or making parachutes out of sandwich bags and tossing our army men off the dock, that we’d be here, like this?”

“Back then we would’ve both yelled
nasty
!” She laughed softly. “Now? Not so much.” She wrapped her arms around him, and Eric moved off to the side and pulled her close. Reagan rested her head on his chest. “I’m awfully glad you talked me into staying.” She snuggled closer, her eyes heavy, drifting shut. “You are...my kind of perfect, Eric Malone.”

He nuzzled her neck and kissed her temple and pulled her closer. With his chin on her head, he sighed. “You’re my kind of perfect, Reagan Rose Quinn.”

Both were silent for a moment, and Reagan let the rhythmic beat of Eric’s heart lull her to sleep. Almost, anyway.

“What’s Matt’s big secret?” Eric whispered.

“No way, Malone,” Reagan mumbled back. “No amount of torture can get that out of me.”

Eric chuckled quietly—a sound Reagan had grown to love and adore—snuggled closer, and they both fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

E
RIC
STIRRED
AWAKE
, his hand reaching for Reagan.

The bed was cold, empty, and he cracked his eyes open and peered into the hazy darkness. A full moon hung over the water and beamed in through the picture window he’d installed, bathing the room in a milky kind of glow. He’d done it on purpose.

Reagan looked even more beautiful when bathed in a milky glow.

Falling back against the sheets, he threw an arm over his eyes and couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. Reagan Rose Quinn was his girl.

And she loved him.

And they fit. They worked perfectly together, as though they’d been primed their whole young lives to prepare for this moment in time, when they’d reunite and be together. He felt it was always meant to be.

He didn’t want it any other way.

Yup. Reagan Rose fit him like a missing puzzle piece. Happiness filled him so much that he felt as though his chest would pop wide open. Jep had told him that once, of his grandma. He’d told Eric and his brothers that his girl had made the moon shine bright—so bright he could see it all the way from Ireland.

Eric now knew the feeling.

Rolling out of bed, he found his backpack, pulled out a pair of running pants and a T-shirt, and wandered out of the bedroom looking for Reagan. Once he made it to the kitchen, only to find it empty, he smiled to himself, turned around and headed to her studio. At the French doors he watched her silently as she painted, with only the moonlight filling the screened-in veranda. She sat on her stool, hair piled on top of her head, wearing a baseball tee and sweatpants, and she’d never looked so beautiful.

Well, she did look pretty damn good without a stitch on, but watching her now, fervently working on a painting from a sketch only she could see in her mind?
Beautiful
and
captivating
didn’t quite cover it. He watched, intrigued and enthralled, until she stilled, her fingers grasping a brush, paused over the canvas.

“How long are you going to watch me like that?” she said, her voice sounding like silk.

He pushed open the door and stepped into the studio. “As long as I can get away with it?”

Reagan laughed softly. “Well, you just got busted, Mr. Rescue Swimmer, holder of records and sexiest man alive.”

Eric couldn’t stop the grin as he wandered up behind her and buried his mouth in her neck. “You say the damnedest things, Ms. Quinn.” He lifted his head, inspecting the painting she was working on. He studied it for several moments before Reagan hurriedly reached for the sheet she had nailed to the easel and snatched it over the canvas.

“Oh, my God,” Eric said, stunned. “Matt is going to—”

“Eric! Don’t say it!” she exclaimed. Setting her paintbrush down, she slowly turned on her stool, and Eric stepped between her legs, and her arms went around his waist. “Eric Malone, you have to swear to absolute secrecy.” She pulled him close. “Swear it. Oh, my God, you tricked me with all that nuzzling!”

He leaned down, brushing his lips over hers. “I could be convinced to keep a secret.” He nuzzled her again. “Swayed, if you will.”

Reagan smiled against his mouth. “I bet you can.” She kissed him back, standing, slipping her arms around his neck. “Swear it.”

“I solemnly swear it,” Eric muttered, already completely entranced by the way Reagan’s tongue traced his lips, kissed him fully, made his heart race. “It’s absolutely stunning, Reagan. And I’ll do anything you want.”

“You’d better, or else,” she murmured against his throat, kissing his Adam’s apple, leading him back through the house.

Eric knew then exactly what his grandfather had meant about his grandmother.

And as they fell into each other’s arms, he again wondered how he’d become such a damned lucky guy. He had the girl of his dreams. A girl from his past.

The girl who held his future.