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“That smells great,” Kane says when he returns from his call.
“Drop it,” Archer mutters. “And feed me. I’m fucking hungry.”
I dish up dinner, pour wine, and when we’re all settled at my small, bar-height pub table, Kane takes a sip of his wine.
“I love this label,” Kane says. “Cuppa di Vita Vineyard is just south of Seattle, you know.”
“I know.” I grin. “Our cousin is Dominic Salvatore.”
Kane lowers his fork and stares at me. “Christ, you’re related to all of Seattle.”
“Pretty much.”
Archer laughs and sips his wine. “You’ll get used to us. It just takes some time.”
“I thought my clan was large.” Kane chuckles. “You’ll give us a run for our money.”* * *“I didn’t think he’d ever leave.” I poke my bottom lip out as I plop onto the couch next to Kane and rest my head on his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s normal to be jealous of a sibling.”
“I’m jealous of my dog, darling.” Kane laughs and kisses my forehead. “But you needn’t worry. I’ve no designs on your brother.”
“Thank goodness.” I laugh and boost myself into his lap, straddling his hips. I brace my hands on the back of the couch and lean in to kiss him. Not just a light brush of lips, but a deep, sink in and kiss kind of kiss.
Kane growls, plants his hands on the globes of my ass, and stands as if it’s the easiest thing in the world and then carries me to my bedroom.
“Your legs are in great shape,” I mutter. “You must walk the beach a lot.”
“You make me feckin crazy.” The lilt is thick, the way it is when he’s upset or turned on. And if the ridge poking me in the belly is any indication, Kane is very turned on. “T’isn’t normal.”
“To want to have sex? I think it’s pretty normal.” He lowers me to the bed, and I arch my back so he can take off my pants. “And I want you, Kane. Right now. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”
“Feck the two hundred dollars,” he growls as he reaches over his shoulder to rip his own shirt over his head and then tosses it across the room.
It lands on my dresser, over the photo of my parents.
Perfect.
“The wanting for you never ends,” he mutters and kisses my neck, down to my chest, and farther yet to my breast. He tugs on my pebbled nipple with his teeth. I bury my fingers in his thick, dark hair. My hips move. My legs scissor.
I can’t hold still.
“Now, Kane.”
“You’ve no patience, mo stór.”
I love it when he speaks in the language I don’t understand. He’s done it before. I’ll have to remember to look up the definitions.
Not that I’ll remember the words.
Or even know to spell them.
The fire between us burns. Slick skin and yearning. Hot breath. Nibbles, gasps, and laughter.
And when it’s finished, when we’re lying tangled in each other, catching our breath, I realize that I’ve lost my heart to this complicated, sometimes grouchy, intense man.* * *Being together is becoming a habit.
I worked my ass off for two and a half days straight so I could get ahead and close the shop for the next few days. It’s good that I’m firmly in the slower season. Otherwise, I’d be a wreck.
I arrived at Kane’s house this morning after making sure my employee had the storefront under control. She was busy selling cupcakes and making appointments for consultations for next week.
Wonderful.
Murphy was ecstatic to see me, and I admit, the feeling was mutual. The canine and I rolled around the couch for a good five minutes. I rubbed him down, gave him kisses, and told him what a good boy he is.
And now, we’re settled in the sunroom with a hot cup of coffee, waiting for Kane to finish up in the barn.
“Has he been out there for a while?” I ask Murphy. He just groans happily when I scratch him behind the ears.
I don’t want to just go out there. It’s not that I’m afraid to, it’s that I don’t want to mess with his artistic process. Also, I assume that opening the door could damage the hot glass, given the way he yelled for me to close it the other day.
So, I’ll sit here with my favorite dog and wait. Kane knew I was coming, so he’s expecting me.
I’d love to go for another walk down by the beach, but I don’t want to do that alone.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” I murmur, rubbing Murphy’s soft ear. My coffee is delicious, the view is amazing, and this big canine who thinks he’s a lap dog is keeping me warm.
I could fall asleep.
And I must do exactly that, because the next thing I know, someone is pressing kisses to my forehead.
