Rowan (The Irish Wolves Book 3)

Chapter 3

Raven, River, and Rowan took a moment away from Nan’s wedding reception to catch their breath and rest their feet next to the giant metal wolf sculpture a local Dublin metalsmith and their good friend, Josh Ryan, created for the O Building’s lobby. The four-story building where she, her sisters, and their husbands and Hugh lived—stood next to Triskelion Territory Designs, the sisters’ business. The O’Faolain Wolves, as they were known in Oklahoma where both families had grown up, had managed to create a complicated family dynamic with the Byrne sisters that crossed pretty much every personal and professional boundary.

Case in point, the two blended families lived together, ate together, shopped together, went on dates together, did business together, made babies together, and had sex…well, not Rowan and Hugh. Since this was a private, mental conversation, Rowan would admit that she and Hugh had watched each other masturbate. Once. Okay, damn it. Rowan would not sink to the low level of lying to herself. Twice.

Unfortunately, Hugh managed to snuff out each minuscule particle of feelings from the encounters, pretending he wanted nothing to do with her—the youngest Byrne sister and his family by marriage.

The second ‘show and don’t tell’ encounter between them happened in Scotland three months ago. It was the awful night that her sister River had received a photo album of her husband, fiancé at the time, cheating on her. It had been sent from that pathetic excuse of molecules, Samuel Delton. Rowan took a deep breath, thankful yet again that he was now deceased. The world was a better place without that horrible man breathing the same air.

Rowan, Hugh, and Patrick had flown immediately to Inverness from Dublin to comfort her sister. Hugh called Rowan on his way to the airport to let her know what had happened and that he was picking her up. River was not only upset by the pictures, but Delton had covered the album pages in a type of fiberglass powder that burned her skin and created a horrible rash.

Of course, Rowan had gone. Raven hadn’t been able to go. She’d been too close to giving birth. Rowan had told herself being in close proximity to Hugh wouldn’t be a problem for her. She was just as capable of pretending that they were not desperately attracted to one another as he was.

That evening, after she’d spent time comforting her sister, MacGregor had offered his room to her and Hugh. Thomas said there was a couch bed for Hugh. Between the emotional talk with River and pent-up feelings for Hugh, Rowan had felt like her skin was tight and sensitive to the point that a light touch might make her scream. She wanted relief from River’s tears and Hugh’s confusing interested indifference.

She had tried to talk to him once after their shower moment. It was the night River and Patrick had gotten back together. They’d been partying at Murphy’s bar with Josh Ryan and his girlfriend, Sadhbh, the younger sister of Saoirse Kennedy, Jo’s good friend from college. Saoirse was also a close friend of the Byrne sisters and a Dublin real estate powerhouse. The evening had been a lot of fun until Hugh and Patrick walked in.

Hugh had gotten so jealous when Ciaran Murphy had hugged Rowan that Patrick had to physically restrain him. He’d gone home after the incident at Pat’s request. Rowan had gone back to their table while River spoke to Patrick. Twenty minutes later, she’d received a text from River that she was leaving with Pat. Rowan didn’t blame her sister for giving in. Even after he’d screwed up the relationship, it was clear that Hugh’s youngest son would move mountains to get her back…and it didn’t hurt his cause that he loved River desperately.

Rowan only lasted another hour at Murphy’s. Her anger over Hugh’s behavior had soured the pleasure she’d found earlier with her friends. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that. He shouldn’t be allowed to non-verbally mark his territory when he’d never once admitted out loud that he wanted her.

She’d taken one more shot of Slane before saying her goodbyes. Rowan remembered being thankful for the liquid courage when she’d stood outside Hugh’s door. After all, bearding a lion in his own den is not for the faint of heart or the sober.

The “conversation” that night had been a colossal letdown. He’d answered his door shirtless and in sweats that rode dangerously low on his hips. He’d looked so beautifully masculine it had almost shut down all cognitive thought. Hugh hadn’t even let her through the door. So, standing in the hallway, she’d point blank asked him why he wouldn’t acknowledge that he wanted her. Why he wouldn’t date her. Fuck her.

Rowan wasn’t super proud of her behavior.

“Why won’t you let another man have me if you don’t want me?”She could tell that question had rocked him.

And what had Rowan gotten for her trouble? What had she earned for putting her feelings out there? Hugh at his worst. Unemotional. Cordial. Stiff.

“I apologize for making things awkward between us. It wasn’t my intention. I’ll work at moving past,”and there, he clenched his fist that held the door open, “...this. You are way too young for me to ever consider a true relationship. New Year’s…it was a mistake that never should have happened.”

And then the motherfucker said, “Goodnight, Rowan.” And closed the door gently. In her face.

A mistake.Those words had crushed her. She’d played that conversation on repeat for weeks until she vowed to take a page out of River’s book. Fake it until you make it. Hugh would no longer control their narrative. She would say what she wanted, do what she wanted, and date whom she wanted. He didn’t get to make her feel like a mistake to be forgotten. Not anymore.

She’d made promises to herself that night, promises she hadn’t kept. Rowan never spoke her mind to Hugh again, pressed him for more, dated someone, or created her own story. She’d been so, angry at herself, and angry at him, she’d had felt like pushing Hugh that night.

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 from the 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 “look at 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.

Jo hadn’t revealed that she and Thomas would be parting ways. Strange. Rowan would corner her tomorrow. “Surely, those two will meet back up once their schedules allow.” Rowan hoped so, anyway. Speaking of separation, Rowan had to tell her sisters about her plans. She was about to put her thoughts into words when Raven placed a trembling hand over Rowan’s knee.

“Have you found someone to talk to?”

Her sister didn’t have to explain. Raven and River had asked her to consider speaking to a therapist when she was recovering in the hospital from the gunshot. Even before getting shot, they knew that finding out her picture had been posted on Delton’s dark website affected her sense of safety. How many people knew her face? Her name? Could there be someone worse than Delton waiting in the shadows even now, biding their time?

Of course, the site had been taken down and even security expert Thomas MacGregor believed she was safe. There were still moments when Rowan caught herself looking over her shoulder as she walked down a sidewalk. After being shot, she admitted to herself and her sisters that she did need to speak to someone outside of the family. She didn’t want fear to take an even firmer foothold than it already had.

“I did. I think I’ll really like her. I have my first appointment next week.” Rowan inwardly grimaced when River and Raven looked so relieved and happy. Unfortunately, once they knew where her appointment was...

Taking a deep breath, Rowan cleared her throat. A disgusting habit she had to have picked up from Raven. She started with, “So...”

Raven and River immediately focused on their youngest sister, brows raised in high alert. Here it goes, Rowan thought. “I’m leaving in the morning with Jo.”

“The fuck you are,” River shot back immediately.

“River,” Raven admonished. “What’s this all about, Row? You never mentioned going anywhere.”

Rowan shrugged sheepishly. She’d known her sisters would be upset that she’d waited ’til the last moment to tell them. “Nan and Dom know. I just made them stay quiet. I took a job in Tulsa.”

Blink. Blink. Blinking. Oh, God. Blink. Sniffle. More sniffles.

Fuck. Glassy eyes. Tears.

“But...” River couldn’t finish. Her lips were wobbling. “The baby—October...”

“Riv,” Rowan grabbed her sister’s hand and squeezed. “It’s only mid-June now. I’ll be home in three months or less. Plenty of time for auntie duties, I promise.”

Raven only stared at her. Her one reaction was a small pat to River’s knee. Otherwise, she was still. Still and, if her white knuckles were any indication, struggling.

“You’re running.”

That wasn’t a question. Raven knew why Rowan was leaving, and she wasn’t happy. “Yes,” Row answered honestly.

River’s hormonal tears dried when she realized what was actually happening…and why. “I will fucking kill him for this, Rowan! Why does that King Ding-a-ling get to stay with all of us when my baby sister is being run out of town?”

Phew! River’s pregnancy hormones were as unpredictable as Raven’s had been. Except River’s were much more Godfather. Rowan almost lost a finger last week when she’d taken a bite of River’s toast during breakfast.

“It isn’t Hugh’s fault.” At both sisters’ looks of disbelief, Rowan added, “Seriously, he has been keeping his distance. We rarely see each other and when we do, we rarely interact.” Rowan refused to admit that she’d sworn Hugh had followed her and Ciaran Murphy on a dinner date two weeks ago. He’d sworn it was an ‘I’m glad you didn’t die’ offer of food, which was kind, but Rowan could tell the younger Murphy wanted more. A lot more than Rowan was willing to give.

River disagreed. “He still watches you in his broody, silent, annoying way.”

Yes, he did, but Rowan had gotten much better at pretending not to notice. Fake it until you make it.

“Row,” Raven began, pursing her lips, obviously reluctant to push, “you are running. Right?”

Rowan sighed. Defeated. Worn down from months upon months of watching the people she loved most get their happy. They would never, not in a million years, make her feel like the odd one out, but she felt that way, nonetheless. She would never tell her sisters, but she’d stood outside a pub one evening in the rain, watching the foursome smile and laugh over dinner. It had hollowed her.

Then there was watching the man she loved, and yes, damn it, she did love Hugh O’Faolain, drift further and further away from her grasp.

They had shared intimate moments, yes, but they also, at least Rowan had believed they had, shared a bond, one born of respect. She wasn’t what he wanted or needed, though. She had to leave. Had to.

Some of her thoughts must have passed over her features because Raven and River placed their fingertips on each of her cheeks.

Love. Only love. Always.

“I understand.”

“I support your decision.”

“Thank you,” Rowan gulped back tears, desperately relieved they were letting her go. “I would never ask for you guys to keep anything from your husbands, but would you mind asking them not to mention my leaving to…to their father?”

“Of course. Bran will not offer the information.”

“Patrick tells, he dies.”

Christ, poor Patrick, Rowan thought with an inner laugh. The first real humor she’d felt in weeks. She’d miss her sisters. She’d miss her nephew. She’d miss Dublin and Triskelion.

She would miss Hugh.