“I don’t know whether to break your nose again or thank you,” I told him, happy to have Laney in my arms, if only to keep me from doing the former.
Owen shrugged again and touched his face. “She was determined to come. Getting her to you safely was literally the least I could do.”
I looked at Laney. “You should have stayed in Seattle.”
“And you need a shower.” She nuzzled into me further, clearly with no intention of letting me go, jail-smell or not.
I shrugged and turned to the others. “So, maybe we do make a side trip to a hotel for some shut-eye. Liam?”
“Already made the reservations,” he said.
“Great. Minoan, then home?”
No one asked me where home actually was right now. Boston or Seattle. LA or some other place no one was naming.
For now, a hot shower, some decent rest and room service, and a kick-ass view would have to do the trick.
The rest could wait until tomorrow.
36
THE ART OF STORYTELLING
RONAN
Iknew the moment I brought Laney Fisher into the penthouse at the Minoan that this would be the last time I ever stayed here.
“Did I carry you across the threshold the first time we were here together?” I asked as I set her down on the striped chaise near the window that looked out over the Strip.
Laney could walk, of course. I just couldn’t find it in myself to let her. This guilt thing was kind of inconvenient. How was I going to get over the fact that my wife had gone through an entire fucking surgery without me there to support her?
Carrying her everywhere seemed like a good place to start.
“I still don’t remember anything about that night after we got into the car,” she said. “I have never drunk that much in my life. I’m probably lucky I didn’t end up in the hospital then.”
I shuddered. “Don’t even say that.”
She grabbed my collar and pulled me down for a kiss. “Don’t worry. It can’t happen now. I’m good. I’m going to be all right.”
It was music to my ears.
I kissed her for a long time. I kissed her as much as I wanted, and then I kissed her again as much as she wanted. I kissed her for longer than was probably wise for a post-surgical cardiac patient, and by the time I was done, somehow, we were both on the couch, legs entwined, with her shirt torn a bit at the collar and my pants uncomfortably tight.
“Shower,” I mumbled into her neck, careful that I didn’t put any pressure on the arm that had been used for the procedure.
“Mmph.” Her teeth were currently nibbling my ear.
Fuck. This was asking for trouble, but I could handle it. I could handle anything for her.
Twenty minutesand one orgasm courteous of Laney’s magic hand later (I owed her at least five for that once she was cleared by her surgeon), we were dry and buried in the covers of the bed next to my wife, both of us fighting to keep our eyes open despite the brightness of the day.
And yet, I couldn’t stop looking at her.
“I can’t believe…” I trailed off as I traced her chin, then the pillowy contours of her lips.
“Can’t believe what?” she asked with a smile just before biting the end of my thumb.
I grinned. “That you’re mine. That we’re here. And that—fuck, that my bridge troll of a brother was the one who brought you all the way down here.”
