Half Moon Harbor (19 page)

He gently coaxed her, prodding her face back to his until she looked at him again. “I can't promise ye I won't disappoint. I can promise ye I'll always speak the truth. It might not be what you want to hear, but . . . this is uncharted territory for me, as well. I can't say what I have to offer . . . only that I'm wanting to find out what can be. Might not be the smartest thing, certainly no' the safest, but it seems to be a truth that's not going away with time or distance. I don't want to ignore it any longer.” He brushed her hair back from her face, emotions he had no name for all tangled up inside him, scaring the bejesus out of him. Yet, he knew in that moment there wasn't a single other place he'd rather be.

“No chart here, either,” she finally said, and there was a husky note to the words. And not a small hint of trepidation in her eyes. “I—will very probably disappoint. But the truth telling part I can do, too. And I will. That you can count on.”

“So, you're saying—”

“It's not going away for me, either. And, so . . . yes. Let's find out . . . whatever there is to find.” She pressed a hand to his shoulder when he grinned, still serious. “There's something I need to say first.”

He nodded. “Anything. I want to hear it.”

“I came out to your workshop today to ask a favor. I figured you were probably mad at me for blowing off your dinner invites, then basically retreating from the field without comment. That afternoon . . . after you left, I went out to the house Langston rented on the Point to go over the plans. No phone service, so I didn't get your messages until I got back. By then, you'd stopped asking and I thought it would be best to just . . .”

“Aye. I did, as well. I wasn't angry.” He smiled when she rolled her eyes. “Okay, a wee bit put out, but only for a moment. Eventually, I came to realize that you were a bit smarter than me and simply put it together faster.”

“And yet here we are, anyway.”

His smile widened. “Why do ye think I steered clear? I knew it was my only hope.” He brushed her cheek with his fingertips and had a moment of wonder at how they went from animal lust to laughter, back to teasing, then on to the serious . . . and yet the ebb and flow all felt quite natural. “What was the favor?”

“Oh . . . we can talk about it later. It's . . . complicated. I just didn't want you to think . . . you know . . . after we . . . do whatever we do here, that you'd think I purposely waited until afterward to ask.”

He hooted a laugh and she mock punched him in the shoulder. He rolled to his back and carried her with him until she was sprawled over him, her hair hanging down in silky waves as she looked daggers at him, even as her lips were already curving. “Darlin', if you're ever a mind to use me for your own nefarious purposes”—he flung his arms wide till they were splayed on the bed on either side of him—“please, have your way with me first, then ask what ye will. I'd have said yes no matter, but I'm always open to a little needless coercion if you're of a mood for it.”

“Very funny,” she said, pushing at his chest, then squealed when he took her wrists captive and rolled her again, stretching her arms once more over her head, trapping them there.

“We'll talk favors later.”

“It's not about the boathouse. I wouldn't ask for your help with that. I respect how hard it is that I—”

“I'm learning to live with the boathouse deal and, well, there's another long story that probably needs to be shared between us and the sooner the better.” He leaned in, kissed one corner of her mouth, then the other when she frowned. “But right now, I say we put the business of the world aside for an hour, maybe two, and spend some time on that other part.”

She smiled and he felt her relax beneath him. “That part where we figure out what can be?”

“Make a start on it, at any rate.”

Her oh-so-expressive eyebrow lifted in an elegant arch. “Would that involve us being naked? In the actual, not metaphorical, sense?”

“It was my fervent hope and desire, aye,” he said, allowing more of his weight to press her into the bed.

He watched her throat work and that husky note went deeper still when she replied. “Well . . . just so you know, I'm a big fan of hands-on knowledge.” Her gaze dropped quite deliberately to his mouth. “Amongst other body parts.”

He chuckled even as his body all but growled. “I'm quite good with my hands, if I do say so. I'll let you be the judge on the other body parts.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Well then, cast off, Mate”—he leaned in to nip her bottom lip—“and let's see where the tide takes us.”

S
he should feel guilty. The most important thing she had to do—her sole mission in life when she'd woken up that morning—was to find Ford, tell him about her move to Maine and her desire for them to find each other again, to be a family.

So, where was she? In bed with Brodie Monaghan.

A man who swore honesty when he told her he was serious about finding out what might be between them, then in the next breath admitted straight out that he'd probably disappoint her.

Though that double standard would likely send most women running . . . she wasn't most women. She wasn't looking for a one-night stand—or morning, as the case may be—but since she was just as curious as he about what was going on between them and just as likely to be the one doing the disappointing when it was all said and done, his declaration was a relief. She'd rather hear that than some promise of undying . . . whatever.

When Brodie started dropping kisses along the side of her neck as he slid his body—and his hands—down her arms and slowly over every part of her, she sent a silent apology to her brother . . . and let him.

No more words. Actions would speak for them.
And damn,
she thought,
Brodie was saying . . . a lot
.

He pushed her T-shirt up, smoothing his palms over her stomach as his fingers brushed the curve of her breasts through her simple, white cotton bra.
Gah.
So much for turning him on with her sexy underthings.

“Pull your shirt off for me, luv,” he said, slipping his hands under her and making quick work of her bra hooks.

The fact that his lips had been pressed against her navel as he said it, had her fumbling to yank her T-shirt over her head. “Fair's fair,” she managed on a short gasp, as he peeled her bra down her arms, then tossed it . . . somewhere.

He chuckled, the sound a warm vibration against her belly as he lifted his hands long enough to grab the back of his T-shirt and pull it over his head. It followed her bra. “Anything else you want to take turns doing?” He looked up at her, green eyes dancing, and popped the button on her jeans.

“I—”

He slid her zipper down . . . and trailed the movement with his tongue.

Her head fell back to the bed. It was possible her eyes might have rolled upward, too. “Let me get back to you on that,” she breathed, then gasped again as he tugged jeans and panties straight down her legs and off. She felt his bare torso pressed against her thighs as he returned to what he'd been doing . . . which was the most amazing thing with his tongue as he—“Oh . . . God. Don't . . . okay, you can keep doing that. A lot of that.”

He chuckled again, and she absently wondered if the vibration from his laughter while he was . . .
oh yeah, he could make me come that way. Twice.

Her fingers curled into the bedspread, then gripped hard as he wasted no time proving her right. He slid one hand up over her stomach, found her oh-so-needy nipples and gave them some much-needed attention while his tongue and fingers found other things to occupy themselves with.

Her hips bucked hard off the bed when he went from teasing and toying, to sliding in and . . . “Yes!” She arched again, and again, heels and fingers digging into the bunk mattress as he took her screaming up and over, no pause, no sweet climb, just . . . stars. There was something to be said for seeing stars during an orgasm. She was an instant fan.
Holy wow, indeed.

And he was nothing if not . . . well,
relentless
was the word that came to mind. He wasn't content with merely getting her there. No, oh no. He seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure in keeping her there. And there. And there.

She let him do that, too.

“I . . . can't . . .” She couldn't string together more than two words, and even those had come with an effort, so she stopped trying and pushed at his head.

He simply growled, making her twitch—hard—and moan when he left her with one last body-trembling kiss, before working his way back up her belly. “Oh, aye, but you could,” he said, murmuring against her breasts, where he paused to take a leisurely detour that had her squirming all over again.

Just as she thought he might take a turn south again, he continued his sinful journey up, along her collarbone, to the soft spot just below her ear. He pressed a kiss against the throb of her pulse and nipped her ear.

She reveled in the weight of him on top of her, all deliciously warm and—“You're naked. All of you.”

“I am indeed. Fair being fair.” He kissed the side of her neck.

“I like fair.” She let her head drop to the side so he could keep doing what he was doing to her neck. “I love fair.”

He slid broad, warm palms along her arms, and pulled her hands in next to her head, then wove his fingers through hers.

Despite the fact that they'd just been about as carnal as two people could be, or at least well on their way to it, there was an intimacy to that particular gesture that pinged an entirely different place inside her. It was then she opened her eyes, and found him staring right into hers.

“Hi,” she said, thinking it was the most inane thing to say, yet felt exactly right. The way he was looking at her, into her, made her feel exposed in that moment in a way she'd never been before, vulnerable, and not because she had no clothes on.

His responding smile was beautiful. And perfect. Not teasing, not mischievous, simply . . . happy. “Hi, yourself.”

That was when she realized just how deeply in trouble she was . . . because her heart stood right up and waved a welcome banner. Her heart never did that. Run, hide, make up endless excuses to never come out and play. That was her heart. It didn't take a rocket scientist or a therapist to figure out why, so she'd never pushed it. She'd either be inspired to get over her past, someday, by someone . . . or she wouldn't. But she was pretty sure unless he did something phenomenally stupid inside the next five seconds, there wasn't a damn thing she could do to stop her heart from going straight past “let's see what we see” to “please don't hurt me”—which turned out to be about a million times scarier than she'd thought it would be. And she'd spent a lifetime being terrified of being vulnerable to wanting anyone. Ever.

Please, please, just let it be the pheromone fog making me feel this way.

He leaned in and kissed her. It was sweet, simple, honest. She whimpered a little as her heart teetered closer to the edge.

“I've a sad, sorry confession to make,” he said when he lifted his head, still smiling, but with clear regret on his face.

Oh God. Here comes the phenomenally stupid thing. I should be happy. Why aren't I happy?

“I don't have any condoms here on the boat. So, unless you . . . ?”

She wanted to laugh out loud at herself. That was it?
I am such a goner.
She shook her head. “So, not the love boat, then, I guess?” She'd meant it as a tease, but she saw that same thing come into his eyes as when he'd said he didn't take kindly to having his integrity questioned. “I'm kidding,” she said quickly. “Not that there would be anything wrong with it, even if it was. You're a grown, single man with a gorgeous, sexy boat.”

He grinned instantly at that, and it honestly took her breath away. “I like how you use the fun adjectives for the boat rather than for me. Perhaps I should have carried you out here sooner. Wearing but a kilt.”

“I would be lying if I said the very idea of that didn't make me . . .” She let the image play through her mind, sighed a little bit, and definitely wriggled under the weight of him.

He gave a low chuckle. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Do that,” she replied.

“I'm sorry it appears I've already been the disappointment I feared I'd become. Admittedly I had thought to do well at this part.”

She laughed, surprised, but in a good way—a very good way—that they were lying naked, entwined on his bed with several intense orgasms between them—okay, her orgasms, but still. Rather than be disappointed that things appeared to have come to an early end, she was almost enjoying this part as much. Maybe more. It was very . . . real.

As it turned out, that didn't help stifle the banner-waving thing one bit.

The fact that he didn't even question that they'd have to wait, that the caretaker/protector side of him was showing once again, was probably what gave her the courage to say, “Well, there might be other circumstances that could change . . . things.”

He merely lifted a brow in response.

“I appreciate you putting protection above . . . anything else.”

“It would never be any other way.”

Something about the way he'd said it had her looking at him more closely. “Never?”

He gave a single shake of the head. “For the protection of my partner, aye. And, in all honesty, myself as well.”

“Is there . . . a reason? Specifically? I mean—”

“If you're asking whether or not my wild and wanton ways have landed me with a sexually contracted disease, the answer is no. As I said, I've never once no' taken care.”

“It wasn't a commentary on you.” She smiled, unlinking their hands long enough to touch his cheek. “You're very sensitive about that.”

“I never have been before,” he said, sounding a little disconcerted. “Never felt the need to apologize, as, truth be told, I've nothing to apologize for. My reputation is exaggerated, but aye, I've not been overly concerned about correcting assumptions.”

“And yet . . . ?”

She felt some of the tension in him relax. “And yet, with you, I . . . don't know. I don't want you thinking poorly of me, I guess. I enjoy women, I do. And that's a good and healthy thing to my mind. But I'm no' some indiscriminate bastard who—”

She pressed her finger over his lips, silencing him. “I didn't say you were. You're a flirt, a charmer. It's a natural thing for you. But I'm . . . it didn't go unnoticed that it's your instinct to protect and put your partner first.” Her smile spread to a grin. “Might I say a hearty thank you for that?”

He smiled at that, too, but it didn't fully reach his eyes.

“Brodie, I don't know you, not well, not yet. But I'm not indiscriminate, either. What I do know of you . . . I value. Or I wouldn't be here, with you . . . like this.”

He took her fingers, brought them to his lips, and kissed them. “That's good to know, then. Thank you.”

She smiled, still a little surprised by the serious turn they'd taken once again, that her opinion seemed to matter so much to him. And that it seemed to surprise him, too.

“I'm on the pill,” she said, watching his face. “Not for birth control, so much as it helps keep certain things on a more normal course, as it were.”

“I've six sisters, remember? You needn't explain it to me.”

She grinned then. “I guess not. You poor, poor man.”

“Finally,” he said with mock angst, “somebody appreciates the hell I lived through. Monthly. I'm all for anything that makes that easier. For both of us.”

She wriggled under him. “It might make other things easier, too.”

His eyebrows lifted, but he was still serious when he spoke. “Grace, we don't have to—”

“I know. If you'd feel better waiting, I understand. I can tell you that I haven't had a partner in over a year. Not since before I left the firm. No one serious in my life for far longer than that. Never, actually. So, I always used protection, too. Like I said, the pill was for other reasons. In fact, I've never told anyone I was even on it. I'm healthy. I've made sure of it.”

“Och, Grace,” he said, pushing the hair from her face once again.

The brush of his work-roughened fingers somehow felt all the more tender for their less than smooth surface. Brodie was a study in contrasts, a little rougher underneath than his smooth surface might indicate. She'd known he had depth, had seen it that first day, but the nuances of him, the way he effortlessly charmed one moment, then wore his soft Irish vulnerabilities on his sleeve the next drew her in. He drew her in.

“I'm sorry there hasn't been someone you've wanted for your own, yet selfish enough to admit I'm thankful for it all the same.”

She lifted a shoulder. “There's been a time or two when I thought . . . maybe. But it never went that far, or that deep. It hasn't been something that I've put a lot of pressure on myself to find. I have . . .”
Issues.
She trailed off, not really wanting to get into anything more about the particular whys and wherefores.
Not here, at any rate. Not now.

“I know you said you have no extended family, and I'm guessing things with your brother . . . well, that's for another time, perhaps. My story might have been quite the opposite. Too many rather than no' enough.” He smiled down into her eyes again, in that way that made her heart flutter. “Childhood stories we can share some other time, aye?”

“Aye,” she said softly. “What about you? Special someones?” She knew exactly what she was asking, and whom she was wondering about. Any other time, any other man, she'd have kicked herself for inserting potential old flame conversation right in the middle of a new flame being built. But, with him . . . it was important to know.
Better now,
she thought.

“As a young man, my fancy was caught often, I'll admit. Never for long. But never unfaithful, either. I was never set on hurting anyone. When I arrived here, it was something of a relief, really. There was no history, no family looking over me shoulder, documenting my every wink and kiss. I think I enjoyed a few dalliances purely because I could and simply be myself. Again, nothing serious. No' because I would have minded. I think I figured I simply wasn't cut out for it.” He smiled, then dipped his chin. “Then . . . about a year ago . . .”