Wild Irish_One Wild Finn Read online

  “Don’t try to distract me.”

  “There’s not much more to it. I was wondering why you’d been given the name.” He gestured toward the walls of his small living room, each corner crowded with books he’d brought home from the bargain bin. “When I can’t sleep, I read. And since I was thinking about you anyway…”

  There was something in her eyes he couldn’t decipher. “You keep surprising me.” She took a deep breath. “Are you making coffee?”

  He grinned at the yearning tone. “Only if that adds to my sex appeal.”

  “Assume it does.”

  He let her go to pour her a cup, turning when he heard her behind him.

  “He said he named me Bronte when I came out screaming so loud I scared the nurses.”

  William looked down in time to catch her self-conscious smile. “Most people would cringe and cover their ears, but he was proud. He said I sounded like a warrior, and the title of a poem sprang to mind. No Coward Soul Is Mine. It was one of Emily’s.”

  He leaned back against the counter. “That fits.”

  “Not as much as he thinks.” She wrinkled her nose. “To be honest, I was always jealous of Austen. Elizabeth Bennet was spunky and independent, and her guy was the hottest of the brooders as far as I’m concerned. He liked girls who could read.”

  He held out her cup. “I love girls who can read and I can brood with the best of them.”

  Bronte took it, brown eyes sparkling as she shook her head. “You’re many things, my friend, but brooder isn’t one of them. You enjoy life too much.”

  He watched her take her first sip and stifled a groan. He definitely enjoyed that expression on her face. He’d seen it when his fingers were buried deep inside her.

  “What about your name?”

  “Great grandfather,” he replied distractedly. “Mum’s side. You’re a vision in the morning, Mrs. Finn.”

  One of her hands lifted as if to check her hair but she froze mid-action. “I keep forgetting about that silver tongue. I look like I’ve had a crazy night of rough sex. I’m not mad about that.”

  “You had to go and mention my tongue and sex in the same sentence. And just when I was going to offer you one of my famous fry ups.”

  “I thought I saw chocolate cake.”

  The cup was out of her hand and her shirt on the floor before she had the chance to protest. “Stand still, brave soul. Let me show you what I see.”

  William circled her graceful neck with one hand, feeling her pulse flutter and race when he started to explore with the other. He stared, transfixed by the sight of his callused fingers tracing skin like black velvet, flicking a puckering nipple teasingly before massaging the flesh around it.

  The sun was up and she hadn’t disappeared, so he knew he wasn’t dreaming. He’d never had this good of an imagination anyway. He couldn’t have created these curves. Or the small, spidery scar that curved too close to her rib cage for comfort.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “ER rotations are never boring,” she said simply. Her hands were studying him in returning, touching the scars on his chest, his ribs. “These?”

  “People rarely hand over money happily. That one,” he said when she found the slash low on his stomach. “You helped mend when some git brought a knife to a fistfight.”

  William’s hand mimicked hers, cupping the soft skin of her stomach. A wave of arousal and fierce possession hit him when his fingers skimmed the trimmed triangle of tight, wet curls between her legs.

  “You do think books are sexy, don’t you?” he said hoarsely. “Or is this how you wake up every morning? Ready to be silver tongued?”

  Her kiss tasted like mint and coffee and laughter. He forced her mouth wider with his tongue, wanted more. Wanting everything.

  His middle finger slipping through her soaked cunt made her whimper and he lowered himself to his knees in the middle of his small living room, needing to taste her again.

  “My bride is here,” he quoted. “Because my equal is here, and my likeness.”

  She leaned heavily into him, hands tangling in his hair. “Holy shit.”

  He pressed a hot kiss to her thigh and grinned. “Just testing our theory.”

  “Cocky bastard,” she groaned when he spread the lips of her pussy and proceeded to eat her as if she were his last meal on earth.

  “I’m going to fall,” she gasped. “I can’t—you can’t expect me to stand while you—”

  She cried out in surprise when he took her down, swift but carefully, lowering her until her thighs were framing his neck as she rode him.

  “Oh God.”

  This was heaven. The pain in his cock was a small price to pay for this feast.

  She leaned forward, her hands on the ground above his head for leverage, her hips helplessly rocking against his mouth. “Damn, you’re too good at that.”

  He slid his finger inside her, soaking it before he traced the wetness between the cheeks of her ass and rubbed her. Just there.

  She reacted as if she’d been given an electric shock, but she didn’t pull away. William’s cock was practically leaking at the thought of getting her ready. Taking her round, luscious ass.

  He wanted inside her in every way known to man, and a few he’d invent just to try them with her.

  She came in a flood and he greedily lapped up every drop, kicking off his sweatpants before rolling her onto her back and filling her in one smooth stroke.

  “Was that the kind of tonguing you were talking about?” he rasped, the feel of her climax milking his cock making his thrusts harder. So hard his balls slapped against her ass and she started to slide across the tiled floor.

  He gripped her thighs and spread them wide, holding her still while he worked his way into her swollen heat. “Are you too sore? Tell me I’m not hurting you.”

  “Don’t stop,” she cried, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t you dare.”

  Never. He ground his hips against her, savoring her tight heat before the punishing rhythm started again.

  He should make love to her. Take his time. But every time he touched her he lost his fucking mind.

  He saw her dark nipples and had to bend down to lick them, groaning when she arched her back, begging for more.

  All for me.

  She was like fire in his arms. An out of control conflagration that scorched him and saved him. His past was burned away and all that was left was Bronte. Pleasing Bronte. Loving Bronte.

  God, how he loved her.

  “William!” she shouted, coming apart around him, her spasms bruising his shaft and demanding his surrender.

  Bolts of white-hot flame shot up his spine and out his cock. Filling her until his come was dripping out of her. He trembled with the force of the climax, laying his head between her breasts as he tried to recover.

  She’d ruined him.

  He’d known she would, known there was no going back once he had her, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling on her like a hungry beast as soon as she’d come close enough to touch.

  Whether she wanted him or not, he was hers.

  She shifted beneath him, making him realize he’d collapsed on top of her. He slid off and kissed her cheek. Her damp forehead. “Did I hurt you?”

  Bronte stretched, wincing slightly before a purely feminine smile curled her lips. “I think I’m holding up pretty well for round… Is it round four now?”

  “Five,” he corrected. “And I’d say you are at that.”

  She lifted her head, aiming for his cheek with her lips, but grazing his chin instead. “I think I’ll need another coffee. After my shower. I definitely need a shower.”

  He leaned on his elbows, watching the jiggle of her ass with interest as she walked away.

  “Don’t think I don’t know where you’re looking,” she called over her shoulder.

  “It’s a free country and I’m admiring the view,” he replied with a smile.

  The bathroom door closed be
hind her and he collapsed on the floor, one arm thrown over his eyes and while his free hand gripped his stirring erection.

  Down, boy.

  He needed to get control of himself or he’d wear them both out by the end of the week.

  His phone rang and he climbed to his feet with a groan. He should probably eat something if he was going to keep up with his woman.

  He frowned when he saw the name of the caller. “James? What’s wrong?”

  There was a short silence, then a haggard chuckle. “I guess I should call people more often. Everyone is asking me that lately.”

  “I don’t imagine I’m first on your speed dial, cuz.”

  They’d never gotten along. Their dark sides were too much alike.

  James sighed. “You’re not. You helped me, so now I’m helping you. I’m in town. Is there someplace we can talk in private?”

  “You don’t want to come to my place?”

  “I’d rather Bronte didn’t know I was here.”

  How the hell did James know Bronte was visiting? He didn’t like it. “There’s a boxing club. It’s closed today but the owner, Murphy, gave me a key.”

  “They gave you a key?”

  William snorted. “I have a trustworthy face.”

  “If you say so. I’m heading there now.”

  He stared at the phone in silence. What the hell was James doing here? And why wasn’t he supposed to tell Bronte?

  She’s Hugo’s sister?

  Maybe that’s all it was. If James didn’t want Younger to know what he was up to, not telling his husband’s sister was probably a good plan.

  He wouldn’t know anything for certain until he met the man.

  Just then Bronte came out of the bathroom, dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt, her own phone cradled in her hand. “I need to go back to the inn.”

  “Now? Why?”

  She was smiling, but it looked too tight to be real. “Clothes, William. What I have here is walk-of-shame worthy. I just want to get changed and make a few calls. Can we meet later?”

  What is it you’re feeling guilty about, love?

  William crossed his arms, unsympathetic as she tried to keep her eyes above his waist. “That’ll work out fine. I was thinking of sparring down at the club, so you can meet me there. Will two hours be enough time for you to make those calls of yours?”

  She blew out a relieved breath. “Sounds good. We’ll get something to eat and finally have that talk.”

  Now she wanted to talk. Why did he get the feeling he wasn’t going to like what she had to say?

  What did James have to do with it?

  “Looking forward to it.”

  She wandered around nervously, grabbing her purse, her dress and her jacket before turning back to him uncertainly. “I guess I’ll go.”

  Hell. He couldn’t let her leave like this. Not after last night. This morning.

  William cupped the back of her head and leaned down to capture her mouth with his. She groaned as their tongues tangled, reaching for when he stepped away abruptly. “Go now. Before you tempt me into tying you to the bed.”

  He waited until he heard her steps on the stairs before heading to the shower. He had a secret meeting with the troubled cousin who hated him, followed by a “talk” with the wife who’d just lied to his face about where she was going and why.

  Busy day.

  Chapter Seven

  “Is that my sister-cousin?”

  Bronte watched Tasha Finn stroll toward her, two coffees in her hand and a clinging dress that caressed her generous curves. She was oblivious to the whiplash she was giving a few of the male patrons heading in to the Daily Grind, all her attention focused on Bronte’s reaction to her dress.

  It was covered in shamrocks.

  “You are an evil woman,” Bronte laughed helplessly, shaking her head. “Did you come here to torture me?”

  “Did you think I would miss this? It’s my first undercover operation since I had the boys.”

  Bronte lowered her voice, as if sharing a secret. “You bake cookies.”

  “Hah. Remind me to tell you how Stephen and I finally got together sometime.” Tasha pointed at a nearby table with her elbow before handing Bronte one of the to-go cups. “We should sit out here for privacy. And because the second I asked for a latte sans shamrock, the poor child taking the order almost passed out.”

  Bronte eyed the door with disbelief. “Should I go in and apologize again?”

  Tasha grinned and sat down. “Don’t worry about her, let’s talk about you. You’re glowing. The word incandescent springs to mind. What has William done to you and how many times? Tell me everything, princess.”

  If she was going to tell her anything, which she wasn’t, where could she possibly begin?

  Had it only been one day? So much had changed. She’d hardly recognized herself when she looked in the mirror this morning. She was glowing.

  She was happy.

  Sex was a small, three-letter word that didn’t begin to cover what William Finn had done to her body. He’d done more than claim it, he’d released a floodgate of need inside her that showed no signs of letting up.

  The way he saw her. Watched her. She wasn’t the plain Wayne to William. Dependable, obedient, boring Bronte.

  She was irresistible. Exciting. Everything she said was worth listening to. Everything she did worthy of notice. She wasn’t used to that kind of focus. Had anyone ever seen her the way he seemed to? Had anything ever felt this right?

  “Earth to Bronte.”

  “Right. Sorry.” She sipped her coffee, gathering her thoughts. “We went out last night. To Pat’s. It was good. They were nice.”

  “It was good. They were nice,” Tasha repeated, looking at her like she was the queen of every understatement ever created. “It was good? Taking your heels off after a party is good, Bronte. Finding a quarter in your couch is good.”

  She shook her head. “Austen told me you were a vault, but I didn’t believe her. What if we compare notes? I’ll tell you all about my Finn if you tell me about yours. Stephen has this one spot behind his left—”

  “Stop,” Bronte laughed, holding up her hand. “I do not need to know about my favorite senator’s sex life.”

  “Come on,” she wheedled. “What I can offer is shocking enough that anything you tell me about William will sound G-rated.”

  Bronte wasn’t so sure about that, she thought, remembering his aggression, his endless stamina. Lord, had Bubbles been right about his stamina. And the way he plugged in to all her deepest fantasies and secret desires…

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Tasha how she was feeling, but how insane would it be to admit out loud that she’d fallen in love with her husband?

  “That’s a tempting offer,” she said, smiling into her cup. “But I’m going to have to pass.”

  “Good call,” a man’s voice said behind her.

  Bronte looked up in relief. “Mr. Tanaka.”

  The stunning man with skin like caramel and black hair that hung in a long, shining braid down his back sighed patiently as he sat down. “I believe I’ve told you to call me Ken several times now, Bronte.”

  Her cheeks warmed. There was something about him that, despite his kindness, made her feel oddly formal.

  Tasha licked a dollop of whipped cream off her finger with a wink. “I know that look. Don’t sweat it, Bronte. It’s the rope master vibe. Some people are more sensitive to it than others. Brady definitely is. I wonder if we should get him to give a free lesson to your young buck of a husband. But maybe William already knows what to do. I have no idea, since you won’t tell me.”

  Ken sent Tasha a quelling look. “I didn’t leave my fiancé’s bed to gossip with the girls. And let’s not make Bronte uncomfortable. Not everyone wants to hear about other people’s personal proclivities.”

  Bronte glanced around, surprised Brady Finn wasn’t holding up a nearby wall. She’d never seen Ken without the giant g
inger at his side. She wondered where he was.

  “It’s fine,” she said, though she was now imagining him using rope on his big brute of a boyfriend. “But you’re right, we should focus on solving my thug problem.”

  Ken pushed his coffee to the side, tapping rapidly on his phone. “It’s solved. Well, for the most part.”

  “It is?” Bronte couldn’t keep the skepticism from her voice. “You already know who it is? How?”

  “I do this for a living,” he replied without looking up from his phone. “I know everything about him. What he makes, where he lives. He went to the corner store this morning for beer and donuts. When he isn’t threatening people for his boss, his daily routine is about as exciting as drying paint.”

  “That’s illegal right?” Bronte expected to see the police descending at any moment. “I mean, how do you know all that?”

  Tasha patted her hand. “I told you he had skills, hon. Anyway, he wouldn’t have gone so deep if that asshole hadn’t decided to mess with our family.”

  “I’m n—” She nodded bracingly, her hands flat on the table. “Okay, so you know who he is. How worried should I be? Should William be?”

  “You shouldn’t be worried at all. Kevin—that’s his real name—isn’t the brain of any operation. He’s the muscle. He’s not even all that good at it from what I can tell.”

  Bronte leaned closer. “Who’s the brain?”

  “Mahoney. That one is connected by marriage to William’s old boss, but they’re not all that close. Mahoney wanted to talk to William so he tapped Kevin, the laziest criminal in the world. With your husband out of town and all those pesky relatives in law enforcement, Kevin needed a safer, easier way to find his missing person. He chose you.”

  Tasha frowned at that. “So this wasn’t about delivering a message. You think he used her to find William?”

  Ken merely raised his eyebrows. “We’re taking care of it.”

  We? “What does he want with William?”

  He glanced at her, and she thought she detected a glimmer of discomfort. “You need to ask him about that, Bronte.”

  “But you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Did you know before you sent him to Baltimore?”