She wasn’t even sure why, only…he still watched her. Always. His eyes would follow her wherever she walked, whoever she was speaking to…he watched her. If that was his idea of“moving past…this,”he was doing a piss poor job of it. That night they shared the room had definitely been the perfect opportunity to make Mr. O’Faolain uncomfortable.
Perhaps, rethink his stance?
While Rowan sortedthrough her bag, she’d told Hugh to take a shower first in the en suite bathroom. He was out in fifteen, and Rowan took his place. When she emerged fromthe bathroom’s steamy environs, she was barely able to make out the bedroom’s features. The only light came from the soft glow of the wall’s plug-in night light. When she approached the couch, which sat on the wall next to the bed, she noted that Hugh hadn’t pulled the bed out, choosing to curl his large frame to fit the loveseat.
Ridiculous. He probably wanted to pretend to be asleep before she finished showering. As if she would throw herself at him in some sort of uncontrollable lust lunge. Rolling her eyes, she ignored Hugh and climbed onto her king-sized, plush, comfy mattress. After all, she had plans. She moaned at the soft, crisp sheets and pillow top at her back. She moaned again when her head had pressed into a lavender-infused down pillow.
Hugh stayed completely still. Not a single breath or shift. Clearly, he was hoping she would fall asleep quickly so he could relax. Tough shit. She was going to win at least one round against the stubborn bastard. Her time in the bathroom hadn’t been just about washing the day’s stress and dirt away; no, it had been a board meeting of one. Rowan knocked out a very simple plan to take Hugh down.
This confrontation was long overdue.
Rowan sat up and began by taking her hair out of the clip where she’d put it up to keep her hair dry, then shook it out so the black tresses would fall across the white sheets once she was laid out. Before she could change her mind, she whipped off her t-shirt, sleep pants, and panties.
Hmm, was there a slight rustle to the right of the bed? Coming from the couch? Rowan didn’t bother to cover her naked body. She needed to be able to touch herself unimpeded and give Hugh complete optical access.
Rowan laid back, making sure her hair was spread all around her body and over the side of the bed—part of her “lookat me” plan. She then surreptitiously pulled the blanket and comforter close so she could tuck some of the material behind her back and hip. Just enough to tilt her body slightly up, giving Hugh a better viewing experience…IMAX—no special glasses required.
Satisfied with her prep, she began by massaging her breasts, which were extra sensitive, squeezing the heavy mounds and rolling and pinching her nipples. Within moments, Rowan felt an answering tug in her core. She was breathing heavily. Hugh had to hear her pants in the still room. She soon forgot about revenge, concentrating on what it might feel like if it were Hugh’s hands on her body.
She glanced toward the couch and a thrill zinged through her nerves. She could definitely make out an outline of broad shoulders…he was sitting up. Watching.
Rowan let her legs fall open as she ran her fingers over her body, getting closer and closer to her center. Hugh was panting with her now, his heavy breath setting off mini spasms deep inside. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim room, and Rowan could make out movement on the couch. He had to be touching himself. Stroking. She moaned louder as her fingers swept her wet seam, collecting moisture to circle her sensitive flesh.
Her eyes slid shut as she slipped two of her fingers inside, slowly pumping, slowly building toward release. Her breath whooshed out of her when her eyes opened to Hugh standing next to her, the Grim Reaper; reaper of her soul. He was naked and pumping his length as he watched her fingers disappear, in and out, in and out.
“Rowan. Christ, Rowan.” Hugh was beyond pretense. Finally.
Rowan spread her legs wider, she was so wet, her fingers found no resistance. Her hips began to quiver and jerk. Hugh pumped faster and faster.
“I’m going to come, Hugh,” Rowan hissed.
“That’s it, baby, come for me,” Hugh demanded in his deep gravelly voice. He was leaning half over her body, his gaze locked on her body. As she felt herself tip over the edge, she clamped her lips together to tamp down the keening release that wanted to escape her throat. Hugh wasn’t nearly so quiet as he groaned, shooting streams of cum all over her belly.
“I like you on my skin, Hugh,” she whispered, still trying to catch her breath.
Rowan might die from how satisfied she felt. She flung her hands above her head and stretched languorously. Hugh didn’t speak; he only stared at her body as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He shook his head and stepped back from the bed. His still semi-hard sex hanging between his thick, muscular thighs. When Rowan chanced a look at his face, she knew their moment was over.
Hugh looked stricken as if they’d just done something wrong. Regretful.
He turned his back to her then and reached for his clothes. Without even glancing her way, he said, “Please, Rowan. This can’t happen again. We will never be anything more.” He pulled on his sweats and t-shirt, still facing away. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I do not want a relationship with you. Ever.”
And then he walked out of the bedroom and shut the door.
So, Rowan had won. And lost. Everything.
Rowan had been releasedfrom the hospital six weeks ago, and with massage and PT, she barely felt a twinge where she’d been shot. A small scar marred her smooth skin, just under her left breast. Her sisters told her not to worry about explaining the scar to a lover, that they’d never look past her tits anyway. They were amazingly supportive, as usual.
She still had nightmares, but those were getting fewer and further between. Probably because Samuel Delton was dead. Thankfully, a few weeks ago, her ex-guard Peter was able to fly back to Louisiana to be with his family to finish his convalescence and PT. The O’Faolains, Byrnes, and O’Connors were enjoying their freedom to move about unguarded and in smaller groups after months on high alert. Since Delton was gone, MacGregor’s security guards were no longer needed, and their lives were a whole lot less complicated.
Their business was booming. Thank you, Jesus, for their office manager, Dom. The older gentleman was an ex-butler Bran had convinced to leave his position at the posh Dublin hotel, The Fitzwilliam, to work for them. He managed to keep them all on task and schedule. Her sisters were happy. They loved their husbands, and their husbands loved them. Now, Nan was married and extraordinarily happy and about to leave the O Building and fly to Morcote, Switzerland for her honeymoon—Jo’s wedding present to Nan and Devlen. She’d rented them a fully staffed, small villa for two weeks. Nan had fallen in love with the picturesque village when Rowan and her sisters had taken their grandma there last summer for vacation.
Taking a sip of her Bushmills Black Bush, Raven sighed. “Nan literally died over her present. Seriously, River, that rocking chair you found in Scotland is…I don’t even have the words, and neither does Nan. It is a stunner. I could run my fingers over the carved flowers for days and find new hidden blooms.”
“Dougal Donaldson may have been the world’s biggest Scottish ass, but that man is a master woodworker.” River smiled. “I’m thankful that Thomas was with Jo and me that day. He saved the whole meeting. The day the head of our security detail became a curmudgeon whisperer was my gain.”
“Speaking of Thomas MacGregor,” Raven began, “Jo mentioned she was leaving tomorrow for Oklahoma. She said she had a meeting with her folks to discuss a few new clients and to hammer out her schedule for the next several months. James will be there as well. He and Jane are back from their extended honeymoon. Jo seemed strained when she mentioned the trip.” Raven tapped her lip thoughtfully while her other hand was busy rocking her son, Daniel. The uber fancy rocking pram was a gift from Hugh’s mother, Matilda.
“Thomas told Pat that he was taking an extended leave from his security firm to visit his family in Scotland. One of his best friends, a man named Johnny, who’s been in France for the past several months on a job, is going to take over Thomas’ duties for the next few months,” River offered. “He also mentioned that he hadn’t spent near enough time with his little sister. Apparently, she’s “hiding something,” River added with air quotes.
