Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EMMA
Conversation with Nicole
Where are you?
Buchanan Brewery, duh
Do you suffer from memory loss?
I’ve convinced this teenage kid who works here to let me wreak havoc. But it’s cool. I’ve known the owners for years.
I mean, sure, they told me not to do stuff like this anymore, but they’ll get over it.
WTF. You told Seamus and me to meet you in the closet!
Was it fun? He looks like someone I played seven minutes in heaven with when I was fifteen. It was a good time. Not as good as seven minutes in a closet with Damien, obviously, but who the fuck wants to peak when they’re fifteen?
Nothing happened between us.
Gifts are wasted on you.
Shaking my head, I stuff the phone back into my pocket and glance at the bathroom door. I bite my lip. There’s a glowing strip of light along the far edge of the door, and my eyes keep getting drawn back to it. Seamus left it a crack open when he shut the door. Did he do it purposefully to mess with me?
Oh, of course he did. He did it for the same reason I kept pulling his flask out of my garter belt the night of Anthony’s wedding. It’s part of our dance—one step toward, two back. Around and around we go.
I can hear the water pounding against the ceramic tiles of the shower stall as I start pacing the small room. I can’t stop thinking about the hot water rolling over Seamus’s body, turning his hair wet and glossy before traveling down his defined abs, over his tattoos, and then—
A smacking sound filters from the bathroom.
Holy shit. He’s going to make himself come just to torment me.
I creep closer to the bathroom door, my heart pounding. The smacking sound continues over the deluge of water. I need to know if he’s really touching himself, or if I’m imagining it. The need infests me.
I take another soft step, then another—the floor creaking beneath my slippered feet like the traitor it is. Another step brings me still closer, but it’s accompanied by an even louder sound. I pause, frozen, and the smacking sound pauses too.
Everything in me seems to stop, suspended between flight or fight.
“I know you’re at the door,” Seamus says at last, his tone amused. There’s something else behind it, though, feral and untamed. It makes similar feelings light within me.
“I’m not,” I say thickly. “I’m at least three feet away.”
“I don’t mind if you watch me, Emma,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “If touching’s off limits, we should at least be able to watch, don’t you think?”
I swallow again.
I’m tempted . So ridiculously tempted, but I think of what Rosie said. Of him going to lunch with another woman earlier this week. They could have met for an afternoon delight, for all I know. Given the number of blabbermouths in our combined family, I’d know if he had any kind of girlfriend, so I’m guessing that woman has no claim over him. But I don’t either, and I don’t want to be another notch on his bedpost. My ego wouldn’t like it if he fucks me today and backs another woman into the broom closet tomorrow. I’d have to burn some of his shit with the lighter I stole from him just to feel okay about the world.
“No, thanks,” I say. “I’m going to watch TV.”
I turn it on, and turn it loud, although it’s not loud enough to totally tune out the smacking of his hand moving over himself. Or the pounding of the water against his hot, perfectly sculpted flesh. I literally have no idea what’s playing in front of me—just that it’s sound and noise and light.
He makes a guttural noise that shakes me from my stupor. I register that I’ve been pretending to watch an infomercial for some sure-to-break cooking implement called the Fabgadget, and I’ve barely flicked off the TV before I find myself on my feet again. Everything inside of me is attuned to what’s happening inside that door. To him, naked in the shower with steaming water pouring over him. I take a step toward the bathroom. Then another. I peer through the crack in the door and see nothing, so I nudge the door slightly with my foot. Steam billows out, hiding him from my greedy eyes for another instant.
The first thing I see is a sliver of the shower stall. The glass has steamed over, but not enough to completely hide him from me. I see the black of his hair, his head thrown back to bathe in the deluge of water. Then my eyes travel down his abs to where he’s fisting himself—his hand rough and sure as it moves up and down, up and down.
Oh God, this was a mistake. Because there’s a fierce pounding between my legs—an instant, animal need that I’ve never experienced before. Not like this. It’s at once exciting and terrifying. His eyes find mine through the clouded glass, and his smile is a predator’s smile, which makes my feeling of need blossom into something even stronger. He turns so he can better face me, his hand moving up and down on his cock. Long and thick and hard.
Hard for me, I hope.
“The glass,” I say, my voice a harsh whisper. “Clear the glass.”
Watching me, he keeps stroking himself while lifting the other hand—and draws a dick on the glass. I’m rolling my eyes as he sweeps it away with his palm, revealing his body to me. His eyes soak me in while he strokes up and down again, taking good care of himself with his hand, his arms flexing and his tattooed chest rippling.
I want to bite his neck. I want to swat his hand away from his dick and take over for him, moving my curled palm over his slick flesh.
I want to take him in my mouth and drive him crazy.
I swallow against a dry throat and take another step inside.
“If you get to watch me, I want to watch you too,” he says, his voice a raspy thing, the words barely comprehensible. “Say yes, Emma. I know you’re a woman who believes in being fair.”
I want to be generous with him. I want to feel his eyes on me while I pleasure myself, but if I do it now, with him naked and in the shower, I know how it’ll end.
I’m not prepared to cross that final boundary, even if I leapt over this one. So I step back. “Not now.”
“Later,” he insists, the word no question.
“Later,” I agree as his hand strokes back up toward his tip. I watch, mesmerized. “You have a beautiful body.”
He turns, giving his back to me. “Are you sure? A woman once told me I have a flat ass.”
It’s a perfect ass, and the view of his long, bare, muscled back is a beauty to behold. I’m guessing he knows it. But right now there’s something I’d rather see. “Turn back around, Seamus,” I say, my voice low and needy. Demand ringing through the words.
“I like it when you tell me what you want,” he says, turning back around as he tugs on his dick. And then he plants a palm on the glass door, his head hanging down, and keeps thrusting into his hand, until the fingers of his other hand curl against the wet, clouded glass. My gaze is riveted to them. To every last wet, delicious inch of him.
I half expect the glass to break from the force of him—of his hand, and of his orgasm. I watch as his mouth opens and his hand moves over his dick one last time, cum spurting onto the glass.
I’m in shock. I can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but watch and feel as the water washes the traces of him away from the glass. The feeling between my legs is so overpowering that I almost give up and succumb to it on the spot. Death by orgasm denial. I hang on to the side of the door as he steps out of the shower in a cloud of steam, his body wet and proud. His dick still half hard. And I watch as he wipes off with the towel he stole from the closet.
“This is nothing any brother-in-law and sister-in-law wouldn’t do,” he says with a smirky smile as he wraps the damp towel around his waist, tucking in the end.
I want to touch him.
I want to pull that towel away and claim what’s under it. But I’m afraid of what it would mean if I do—and also the possibility that it would mean nothing.
“You must come from a pretty fucked-up family,” I say through my dry throat.
“You’re part of it now,” he says with a snort. He moves past me while I stay put, my body stone, and his bare chest brushes against my arm. My pulse hammers and my knees feel weak, but I’m still standing as stiffly as a sentinel, and I watch as he grabs a change of clothes from his duffel bag, which he left at the foot of my bed. There’s a tattooed Celtic knot next to the hatchback, and he has a scar on his upper right chest.
He unwinds the towel carelessly, as if he’s not reveling in my eyes on him, and changes in front of me. I watch every piece of fabric being pulled over him. When he’s done, he runs his long, talented fingers through his hair.
“Do you like what you see?” he asks at last, meeting my gaze again. His gaze is smoldering, a giveaway that the casual act is just that.
A tremble works through me, but I straighten my back again and say, “You told me I got to watch. I plan to do it thoroughly.”
“I’ll bet you do everything thoroughly,” he says, taking a step toward me. I take a step back, toward the bathroom, then force myself to stop. I will not retreat. Not from anyone. Not anymore.
I clear my throat. “This was completely inappropriate. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” That much is true, at least. I have never done anything remotely like this before.
He shakes his head slowly, his eyes holding mine. “No, you’re not sorry. I’m not either. And I take promises seriously. You said I can watch you later. That’s the deal. I get to watch you glide your hands over your body and fuck yourself. I get to watch you fall apart and put yourself back together. I want all of it, Emma. Start to finish. If I can’t touch you, I can live with that, but I need to see you. I want to memorize you.”
“You’re not normal.”
His eyes gleam at me. “ We’re not normal.”
A shiver works through me. “Seamus, this thing we’ve been doing. It’s not—”
The alarm on his phone goes off, and he swears, then dips back into his bag for something. It takes me a second to realize what it is—the black ski mask.
My pulse pounds harder at the thought of him pulling it on. Of kissing him through it. Of watching his eyes get molten and needy as I get down on my knees and take him into my mouth.
I dig my nails into my palms to refocus. “The people at the brewery are going to think you’re holding them up.”
“Nicole said she’d warn them about the mask.”
“Ellie’s going to pretend you’re her new boyfriend, huh?”
I don’t intend to sound jealous, but the words come out that way. Maybe because the sight of him naked, stroking himself for me, is burned into my retinas. I’ve memorized him already, the way he wanted me to.
“Sure, but she thinks I’m gay,” he says with a low laugh, picking up his leather jacket.
“What?” I ask, frankly floored. “Why would she think that?”
He shrugs the coat on and stuffs the mask into his pocket. “Because she tried to kiss me, and I pushed her away. I think it was the only way she could make sense of it.”
My mouth drops open.
I can’t make sense of it.
Ellie is sexy as hell, and from what Rosie told me, Seamus always has a different woman around. So why wouldn’t he take what was freely offered?
“Why?” I ask, my heart pounding.
“I don’t know,” he says.
Not the answer I wanted, although at least it’s not some pretty lie designed to get me into bed.
I point toward his chest. “You have a scar there. Did someone stab you?”
“Yeah,” he says casually, leaving it that.
“ Who? ”
“Someone who didn’t like me very much.” His mouth curves upward. “I’m thinking about starting a collection of enemies. Would you like to get in on that?”
So he doesn’t want to tell me. I’m not surprised, but I’m unwilling to leave this landmine untouched. “When did it happen?”
“A while ago.”
“You must have been a hellion.”
He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Some would say I still am.”
“Nope. You got pooped on by a rabbit, and you’re about to spend the evening drinking Midori sours with a social media star. I’m sorry to inform you that you’re officially no longer a badass.”
He reaches out and catches my chin, holding it in the crook of his hand so my eyes are glued to his.
“You just watched me come as if it were must-see TV. I feel like a badass. I feel fucking invincible.”
“Stop it,” I snap.
“Stop what?” he says, his face too close to mine. Too tempting. Too everything .
“You know.”
And maybe he does, because he drops his hand and steps back, his gaze a bit wary now—like he’s realizing we’ve crossed lines it will be difficult to come back from.
“Do you intend to keep your promise to me, Emma?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows.
I should probably tell him no. I can throw his line back at him about making a promise under duress, but instead I find myself nodding. “But I decide where and when.”
Fire flashes in his eyes. “Fuck, yes, you do. You’re in control, Em.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You have the key to Ellie’s room, right? I know Jeffrey’s not there, but you might as well search it while we’re gone. Maybe she’ll have something useful.”
Funny. For a moment, I’d almost forgotten why we’re here.