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Grabbing a baby-blue button-up shirt out of Ronan’s closet, the same color as his eyes, I quietly sneak out of his room. The second I open Ronan’s door I hear Mac’s voice floating through the apartment. He’s singing along to Etta James’ “A Sunday Kinda Love,” his light Irish accent only adding to the sweet melody.
“Well, well, well. He sings too,” I say as I sneak up behind him, wrapping my arms around his lean waist as he busies himself, flipping what looks like chocolate chip pancakes.
I seriously think we’d all starve without him. That or spend a fortune on takeout.
Considering he didn’t so much as flinch when I touched him, I think it’s safe to assume he heard me coming, but I like to think I caught him by surprise.
Mac flips the last pancake and sets the spatula on the counter. Spinning in my arms, he wraps one muscular arm around my waist and grabs my other hand in his. Before I know it we’re slowly swaying to the beat of the music. “I’m a man of many talents, Mo Grá.” Leaning down, he softly kisses my lips. “Good morning.”
“Morning. It smells good in here.”
“I don’t know about the three of you, but I’m starving. You hungry?”
“Mmmm, for your cooking? Always.” I say as my stomach growls.
“Worked yourself up an appetite last night, did ya?” He dips me in his arms and winks down at me before righting us to dance along with the rest of the song.
My cheeks heat. “Possibly.”
“Shame I couldn’t join.”
A wave of guilt sweeps over me. “I’m sorry about last night. Wh–what happened after we left?”
His smile doesn’t falter as he quickly tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll tell you all about it once they wake up. We will talk about that bastard once more and once more only. He doesn’t deserve any more of our time.”
“Okay, Honey.”
“Okay, Pretty Girl.”
As we dance in the kitchen, like a scene out of my favorite romance book, I find myself staring deep into his steel-gray eyes. “Thank you, for what you did.”
Mac drops his forehead to mine. “What I did is nothing. I would give my life for you. Every second of every day, this,” with my hand still in his, he rests them both over his beating heart, “beats for you. You are now the reason blood flows through my veins. You’re the reason I take every breath. You are the reason this heart beats. There is no limit to what I would do for you.”
This man. This beautiful, funny, loving, loyal, dangerous, violent, complex man whose soul calls to mine. He is a man who cares for the ones he loves with everything he has while still thinking that part of him is a monster. But the part of him that he calls a monster, the one he was so afraid of me seeing downstairs in that room, might be the part I love the most. It shows how loyal he is to the ones that mean the most to him. That he would bloody his hands so they don’t have to.
“Cormac McDermott, I love you with everything I am.”
Pulling his forehead from mine, he takes my face in his. “Harper Hayes, I love you with everything I’m not.”
Mac’s mouth crashes into mine, and I sink into it. We stand in the middle of the kitchen, kissing one another so deeply it’s as if we won’t survive until we get our fill. It’s only when the song ends and the smell of overcooked pancakes hits Mac’s nose that he finally pulls away—leaving me panting and wanting more. Regardless of everything that happened between Finn, Ronan, and me last night and how sore my body feels, my body craves his.
An idea pops into my head just as Mac stacks the last chocolate chip pancake onto the plate and turns off the stove. “Are those two planning on joining us any time today?”
I laugh and pull my barely charged phone from my purse on the counter. “I don’t know, they looked pretty comfortable to me,” I say as I flash Mac the picture I sent from Ronan’s phone, and he laughs.
“Well, don’t they just look adorable? I knew they were best friends, but who knew they were so close,” he says jokingly. As Mac turns around to open the fridge, memories of how close the two of them were last night flash through my mind. Finn letting Ronan suck my release off of his fingers will live forever in my memory.
If I wasn’t horny before, I definitely am now.
Mac pulls a bowl of cut strawberries and another of whipped cream out of the fridge, along with some maple syrup.
I hop up on the counter as he sets everything down. “Did you make homemade whipped cream?”
He shrugs. “I know it’s your favorite.”
Mac’s eyes roam my bare legs before stepping in between them. Reaching over, I dip my finger in the bowl of whipped cream, suck it into my mouth, and watch as Mac’s eyes darken.
“How is it?” he asks.
