Wild Irish Envy (Copperline #2) (25 page)

“Because they didn’t want to offend my delicate sensibilities?” she said with a half-smile.

“Something like that,” I nodded.

Seeing her sitting in my room, on my bed, while her fair skin glowed in the low light of the bedside lamp, was almost painful. More than almost. Actually, it was pure excruciating. I ached all over, remembering how it felt to touch her. More than anything, I wanted to nudge her to lie on her back, to cover her with my body and undress her slowly. To make her moan and to fall asleep with her in my arms once again.

But none of that should happen. None of that
could
happen. This was just a temporary deal, and I really,
really
needed to keep it platonic. Even though I had no doubt in my mind that it would be the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life.

They knew I was lying, but what could they say.

I’d answered their questions, more or less. I was vague and cryptic. I avoided the details. Avoided anything that could trip us up later.

We’d pulled out some weed, the first I’d smoked since I’d left for Ireland. That calm, relaxing euphoria swept over me. A mellow sedation that helped me feel like everything could be alright. I could do this. I could be with Fliss to the world, but keep her at arms’ length inside. Even though her blue eyes haunted me. Such a stunning color. They were like nothing I’d ever seen. As I took a hit from the joint, I closed my eyes and saw her smile.

“So beautiful,” I murmured.

“Yeah, she is,” Drew replied, as though he could read my mind. “She always has been.”

I tried for a moment to remember Trent’s face, Trent holding her, and I couldn’t. It was like every vision of him had been replaced with one of me –
my
arms around her,
my
lips placing delicate kisses on her neck.

“Just keep the sex noises down,” Justin chuckled half-heartedly.

Yeah, that wouldn’t be a problem.

“You’re a lucky man, Denny,” Cody drearily said, lounging on the couch.

Even stoned and relaxed as I was, though, I wasn’t sure that lucky was the way I’d have described myself right then. Married to a girl I’d always wanted, but still couldn’t have.

I slowly climbed the stairs to my room where I’d taken Fliss a few hours before. I opened the door and could just faintly make out the shadow of her body on my bed. A narrow stream of moonlight slipped through the curtains to show her partially covered frame sprawled out. She was fast asleep.

She had the sheet draped loosely across her hip, and her legs were kicked out from underneath. Long and smooth in the faint light. My gaze traveled up her torso, slowly growing accustomed to the shadows, making out the edge of the dark tank she wore with a pair of boy shorts. The curve of her breast peeked out, and my mouth watered to feel that silky smooth skin on my tongue once again.

I was stoned out of my mind and a little drunk, too. Fliss’ soft waves spread across the pillow, and, as I drew closer, I could smell the sweet, freshness of her perfume that rose with the warmth of her body.

My own fallen angel, appearing somewhat gothic in the dark sheets. Her thick, long lashes fanned out over her cheeks. She was my idea of perfection, innocence hardened with heartbreak. My hazy mind pinpointed on the sensation she aroused in me. The desire to see her eyes sparkle with life, blasting out the cold, lost girl she showed the world.

I’d seen it happen just a few times those first days in Dublin.

I wanted to see it here, to know if it was the magic of my homeland, or just simply the magic of Fliss.

Quietly, I pulled my shirt over my head and shucked off my jeans. Wearing only my boxer briefs, I slid between the dark flannel sheets and lay on my back, my hand tucked under my head, staring up at the ceiling. Warmth radiated from the soft body that lay so close to me. Once again, the calming sweet scent of her perfume filled my nostrils.

I fought it.

I knew it was a bad idea, so I pushed the yearning away, refusing to move until the ache won out and I turned towards Fliss. I barely touched her when she curled into my arms, pressing firmly against my chest.

“Denny,” she murmured in a groggy breath.

Her hand slipped along my ribs, leaving a tingling burn in their wake as she snuggled into me. Her foot caressed my calf, her breath whispered across my chest. I reached for her arm, thinking I should push her away, but instead my hand glided over her skin, up her shoulder, then down to rest at her narrow waist.

My last thought was that she felt amazing, here in my bed. She was my wife, after all. So what would it hurt to just hold her?

Just for a little while.

I woke up alone. The house was quiet and cool in the spring morning air.

For a second, looking around my room, it didn’t seem like
that
much changed. Things still looked like they had before I went to Ireland, before I got married. And that was a really weird thing to think about.

I was married.

Not that it was a real marriage. Fliss had stressed that a lot. Over and over, reassuring me that she had no desire to stay married once I had my green card. I wondered just how long it would take. Then I wondered if I would be able to let her go when the time came. We had only really been married a little over one week, and I had already gotten kind of used to having her around.

There were things I picked up on, funny little mannerisms that she had. The way she brushed her teeth for an eternity, focusing on every single tooth for what seemed like forever. Or the way she would comb through her hair before bed, pulling the long strands over her shoulder as she stroked it with the soft brush. There were also faint little noises she would make while she was sleeping. The tiniest of sounds, murmurs and sighs, that had all but become a lullaby for me.

There had been a couple nights back in Dublin where she was working on her paper, sitting at the little table in the hotel. Even though I had been exhausted, it was like I couldn’t settle, I couldn’t relax, until she was laying down beside me. We didn’t touch, so it wasn’t like I missed having her in my arms. I just needed her there beside me.

Now, back in Montana, the quiet in our bedroom unnerved me, almost as though the extreme silence woke me up. I wondered where Fliss was, what she was doing. I reached out to grab a pair of sweats and headed downstairs to find my wife. As I opened the bedroom door, I smelled bacon.

Considering the guys and I had lived together for about four years now, and not one of those days had the house smelled that good, odds were it was Fliss down there cooking.

“Fliss, what are ya doing?” I asked as I got to the bottom of the stairs.

She started, looking up at me with wide blue eyes, and then quickly went back to wiping down the kitchen counter. “Um, wife shit,” she murmured.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“I woke up really early and couldn’t go back to sleep. Just…” she shook her head and handed me a clean plate, motioning to the breakfast she’d made before she turned to load the dishwasher. “I needed to do something.”

“Still an’ all, you’re not our cook… or our cleaning lady.”

“I know. I just…” She glanced up at me, then placed another bowl in the dishwasher. “I like to cook. I don’t mind cleaning. Just doing what I can to keep you from getting deported.” A small, nervous huff of a laugh escaped her. “Need to play my part in this pleasant little fiction we have going on.”

I didn’t say anything, just sat at the breakfast bar eating bacon and eggs as I watched her flit around the kitchen. I could almost able see the little wheels turning in her head. Dropping a detergent packet in the dishwasher, she pushed it shut with her hip and turned it on. As she grabbed a dishcloth and began to vigorously scrub at the stovetop, she began to verbally go through her mental list.

“I need to get in touch with my landlord, get my apartment sorted. I’m guessing we’ll stay here so you can be close to the band and all, so I’ll let my apartment go. I’ll have to figure out something once all this is done, but I don’t think it would look very good for me to keep my place. And then I need to find a U-Haul or something to move all my stuff. I was thinking I can just get a storage shed or something for the time being.”

“I’ve got my pickup,” I offered, “so no need for a U-Haul. And the fellas will be more than happy to help move your stuff over here. You don’t need to get a shed.”

“I need to figure out what I have to do for my name too. I think I need to go to the Social Security office or something, but I’ll get out my computer and see what I can find.”

“Your name?”

“Well, yeah. We are trying to make a good impression on immigration right?”

“Right…” I nodded. “Ya know, Sophie has just gone through the name change thing.”

“Sophie? Brannon’s Sophie? I didn’t realize they were married?”

“They’re not yet, not that I know of. She has taken his name, though. She was pretty eager to lose the name Buchanan.”

“She’s a Buchanan? Like the super-rich Buchanans?”

“She is…” I nodded, “or was, I should say.”

“I would have never guessed. She was so sweet. I thought the Buchanans were all assholes.” She wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips. “That’s what my dad always said anyway.”

I chuckled. “Sophie isn’t your ordinary Buchanan,” I smiled. “And she loves her fella. She’s been a Forrester for months.”

“That’s sweet,” Fliss murmured a bit wistfully, rinsing out the dishcloth and folding it over the center divider of the sink.

She almost seemed to lose herself in thought, her face soft in the warm light that began to peek over the mountains and filter through the window. The pink-gold glow radiated in the rich, deep color of her hair, contrasting with the pale ivory of her cheek. Then she shook her head slightly, clearing the vulnerability, and started back up with her to-do list as she began to sort through the clutter on the kitchen table, stacking papers and gathering dirty clothes that had collected there.

“We need to get your green card application turned in and start going through all that, so we should Google questions and stuff. Study up on each other, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess.” The reminder that this was temporary took my appetite down a touch, and I couldn’t help but frown.

“I have to finish editing my thesis,” she continued, “get a job, too. Might be a little harder to do in Ophir, but I can commute to Butte if I have to.” She paused and looked at me nervously. “And I should probably take you to meet my dad.”

Feckin’ hell.

When Fliss had mentioned her dad a few times in the past, she’d made him sound like a big teddy bear. Lovable and huggable. I remembered Trent talking about her dad, as well, though, and that was before the guy had even become sheriff. The man had gone apeshit when Fliss had started dating Trent. My boy was flat terrified of him.

And now he was my father-in-law and didn’t even know it.

“What are you doing? My God, it smells like,” Cody said as he stumbled into the kitchen, stopping to sniff the air with an exaggerated twirl of his hand, “bacon.”

“She’s doing wife shite,” I offered and Fliss gave me a tentative smile.