Tired of the mixed signals, Rowan took a step toward him. “Hugh,” she began softly, “Will you ki—.” Before she could finish asking him to kiss her, he cut her off.
“Why are you here?” he demanded.
So, they were playing the Ignore What Just Happened game. Typical. He stood there, looking furious and devastatingly handsome, damn it. He still wore his slacks and white button-up from Wolves. The blazer was gone, and his sleeves were rolled up, showing off the ridges of his muscular forearms and their dusting of dark hair. God, Rowan wished she could explore his body. For days.
“If you’ll recall, you told me when we got home that you were headed to your office to make sure our flight to Dublin was finalized for the morning, and you also wanted to answer some emails.” When he continued to stare with his unblinking stoney expression, Rowan got even more pissed. “Youtoldmethat I could use your library for about an hour while you worked. And that’s what I did after I changed!” Rowan shouted. “I’ve only been in here, like thirty minutes.”
“That was two hours ago.”
Shit. Rowan could feel her cheeks heat. Damn. Damn. Damn. Clearing the stutter of embarrassment from her throat, shecalmly replied, “Time obviously got away from me.” This was true. There were so many books to see and touch and a million more still in boxes to discover. How could he blame her for that?
“It’s late, and I don’t have time to waste playing librarian with you,” Hugh snarled. “I’m going to bed. Please shut the door on your way out.”
Rowan’s whole body was combustably hot. Scorching. Initially, the heat had come from the object of her deepest desire, Hugh Darcy O’Faolain, having his hands on her body. Finally. The heat running lava tracks through her veins now was all fury as Hugh’s bedroom door clicked closed behind him.Asshole.
Rowan knew he desired her. He’d done nothing but visually stalk her for months. He’d practically torn Ciaran Murphy’s head from his shoulders when the Irish pub owner had dared put his arm around her. Hugh’s behavior wasn’t fatherly, at all, but the stubborn man refused to make a move on her! It had to be their age difference, but Jesus, get over it.
Her two older sisters were married to or dating his sons. Rowanwasthe youngest of the lot, but still, again, he needed to let it go. She was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and who she wanted doing it to her.
She was sick of his heated looks and possessive behavior if heneverplanned onactingon one damn thing. Only a few hours earlier at Wolves, she and Hugh had spent time alone together looking at the memorial she’d helped design for his late father. There had been a moment where he’d rested his heavy hand on her lower back. It felt like he had been branding her, staking his claim.
Then they’d danced together as the clock struck midnight. He’d pulled her tight to his body. The new year had started with the two of them holding each other. It had seemed a portent for things to come. A beginning. And then...Why are you here? It’slate, and I don’t have time to waste playing librarian with you. I’m going to bed. Please shut the door on your way out.
Screw that. Rowan had had enough of his bullshit. Mind made up, she opened the door Hugh had disappeared through and found herself in an all-white paradise. Rowan wasn’t sure what she’d expected of Hugh’s bedroom, his inner sanctum, but breezy white linens and warm woods weren’t it. But then, black silk sheets and red roses didn’t match him either. The more she looked around her, she decided the simplicity in the room was beautiful and peaceful.
Unfortunately, the aesthetics hadn’t rubbed off on the killjoy.
Hugh’s bedroom included an open lavatory. She heard the shower running, but surely, he hadn’t gotten in yet. He’d only stormed off a few minutes ago. More lovely white met her eyes; counters, braided rugs covered warm wood floors, white-framed family photos. Rowan momentarily got sucked into looking at the candid pictures of Hugh and his mother and father and Hugh with his sons. They were so and heart-warming that Rowan almost forgot she was in Hugh’s personal, really personal, space.
Her favorite was a candid photo of Hugh holding Bran to his side, his chubby legs and white blonde hair unmistakable. His other arm held a baby. Patrick. The absolute joy of Hugh’s smile made Rowan’s heart pound. An answering joy spread along her nerves. Hugh was an exceptional father. She wished desperately that her own father could have met him.
Rowan rounded the wooden partition to find— Oh. My. God. —Solid glass walls. Hugh naked behind the glass. One hand plastered above his bowed head, water beaded off his short hair, running tracks through his long dark beard, highlighting the white and silver streaks. His broad back blocked most of the spray, giving Rowan an unimpeded view of Hugh’s magnificentbody. His other hand...Christ, her mouth was dry. His other hand was stroking his extremely large, extremely erect sex.
He was masturbating. Rowan was watching Hugh O’Faolain masturbate.
She backed up a step until her back hit the wood slats of the dividing wall. She could only stare in wonder at his body. Knowing a man is big and fit isn’t the same as seeing that man naked...and aroused. His body was art, all ropey muscles, furrows, and valleys. Abdominal ridges highlighted by the perfect vee of his hips. A Spartan warrior—one she wanted to touch and taste. Rowan felt her nipples harden and her sex clench with every stroke of his palm. She should run.
Running wasn’t her style.
His fingers had brushedbetween Rowan’s legs, Jesus. He’d felt everything from her core to between her cheeks. It had taken everything he had, all his determination, not to let his fingers sink in everywhere they could. He was still imagining doing just that, which is why he was currently jacking off, but fuck him, he knew from multiple other attempts that his hand would never relieve the ache he felt deep in his body for that woman.
He groaned as he remembered his fingertips barely sliding against the lips of her sex. She’d been feverishly hot. Wet. For him.
He hated himself for wanting her. He was even more furious with himself for getting off to thoughts of her, but at that moment, he couldn’t stop. Knowing she was younger than his sons didn’t force his hand to cease.
He could not, would not, touch her. More than he had only moments ago, he supposed. Hugh stroked a little faster thinking of her plump breasts and hard nipples. That top she’d beenwearing left little to the imagination, and where Rowan was concerned, his imagination was poetic.
Hugh froze as movement caught his attention. His head jerked up and...he had an audience. Rowan was there. She was leaning against the opposite wall, her eyes wide. God, her nipples were hard, and her mouth was parted, panting. She’d been watching him. She was turned on.Thatalmost had him coming, but...
He let go of his hard flesh, taking a small step away from the glass, about to grab a towel and demand answers as to why she was there.
She held her hand out to him and shook her head. Through the shower’s mist, Hugh watched her mouth move, heard the words her lips formed, and knew he was in trouble.
“Don’t stop.”
That’s all she said. Her eyes never wavered. She only stood straighter, and Hugh watched Rowan’s hands pinch the thin hem of her tank and tug it over her head. Hugh’s hand landed flat against the glass wall of his shower. He hadn’t even been aware of stepping close to the partition again. Her breasts were perfection. Full. He ached to cup them in his hands.
There was a tattoo on the side of her right breast. What the fuck was it? Hugh didn’t care, he only wanted to suck and bite the mark—cover her mark with his.
