CHAPTER NINE
Niall watched his brotherhelp Kate carry platters of food to the table.
“It’s an Indian banquet,” Liam said. “We’ve got a mattar paneer, that’s peas and cottage cheese to anyone unfamiliar with Indian food, spicy lentils, whole baked cauliflower with panch phora, and a chicken biryani for the meat eaters. Plenty of rice and some naan. Please, help yourself.”
“So, how did you two meet?” Hunter, Anna’s companion, was sitting beside Lucy. He offered her lentils and a conversational gambit designed to complicate matters.
Niall considered the motives of the man opposite. He wasn’t classically handsome nor body-builder ripped. A man you could pass in the street and not notice. Unless you looked into his eyes. Agate hard, they blazed with intelligence and impatience. A man in a hurry to succeed. The impatience was banked tonight, or else he’d mastered the art of speaking quietly and slowly, while he uncovered every weakness you’d ever tried to overcome.
“We met through my grandfather. Niall restored some furniture for him.” Lucy’s voice hitched slightly when she mentioned her grandfather.
“McTavish?” Hunter-the-architect-turned-property-developer mused. “The big antiques warehouse near Central station. Is that you?”
“It belongs to my family.” Lucy had never claimed it for herself in Niall’s hearing. For her, the family business still included Cam and the numerous staff members Niall had seen farewelling her when he’d picked her up tonight.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Hunter’s tone betrayed familiarity with death. Niall gave him a closer look.
“Thank you,” Lucy said.
“Is your father in charge now?” Hunter’s persistence annoyed Niall. Couldn’t the guy talk about the weather or the baby?
“McTavish is my mother’s name. She was never interested in the business and died when I was a child.” Lucy paraded the explanation with the ease of someone speaking from a script. And her casual act hid a world of hurt.
“You carry some classy stuff.” Hunter swung to Niall, his gaze speculative. A stranger’s curiosity was the last thing Niall needed tonight. “You must be good at the furniture restoring business. Anna told me you were a carpenter. Sounds like she sold you short.”
Niall kicked Liam under the table. “I’m a carpenter. I take the work that’s offered.” He trusted Kate to have told Anna the exhibition was a non-starter tonight. The unknown was whether Anna got the message before, or after, she backgrounded Hunter on this evening’s dramatis personae.
“Hey, I said he made stuff with wood,” Anna interrupted from beside Niall. “Want to swap lentils for cauliflower?” She held up the dish nearest her. “Carpenter” was their joke, and Anna had briefed her inquisitive boyfriend.
“If you’ve been to a recent art auction at Leopold’s, you’ll have seen more of Niall’s work. He designs and makes brilliant bespoke frames as well. They rival the artwork.” Lucy offered her defence of Niall to a room he’d sworn to silence. His pride had taken a hit when he’d started Frames by Niall. Her support of his debt strategy elevated his activities to branching out rather than scrounging for cash.
“I might drop by McTavish’s sometime.” Hunter took the cauliflower. “Different business models interest me. I’ve always thought antiques are a risky business.”
“Why?” Lucy played with the stem of her glass. She was shit-scared of debt, ditto chaos, and from her hospital-in-the-home plan, Niall guessed that making mistakes was another one of her demons. She’d earned the right to her fears.
“Antiques go in and out of fashion. Wasn’t there a time a few years ago when priceless antiques were dismissed as so much brown furniture?” Hunter added rice to his plate, seemingly oblivious to Anna’s warning look.
“A lot of businesses folded—turnover was slow for a while.” Lucy shook her head when Liam held the bottle of wine aloft. “There’s a lot more interest again now. Antiques prove sustainability works.”
“That’s why Niall uses recycled timber,” Anna said, then made a face at Kate, who was sitting at the head of the table. “What? I’m talking about his frames?”
“And his cradle. Niall made the cradle for the baby,” Lucy added, dragging the conversation back to Niall’s work. “It’ll still be around and appreciated in a hundred years.”
“We love it.” Kate held up another plate. “Naan anyone?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not risk averse.” Hunter was studying Lucy with an expression that did justice to his name. When he ignored the bait of the cradle, Niall registered that Hunter, for reasons of his own, was trying to ferret out why Niall’s upcoming exhibition needed to be a secret from Lucy.
Anna kicked Niall under the table to catch his attention. His family wasn’t subtle. He glanced at her. Anna’s eyes were signalling, “Secret exhibition? Are you insane?”
He shook his head. He’d promised himself a night off from juggling frames, Lucy’s restoration and the exhibition pieces. Hence, his request for his family’s silence. Lucy deserved to hear the truth from him. He was just waiting for the right moment. Okay, he had no feckin’ idea how to find the right moment. But it sure as hell wasn’t dinner with a crowd listening to every word.
“In business, calculated risks can deliver windfalls,” Hunter said, seemingly unaware of the silent messages flying around him.
Right, Niall thought. He’d calculated he could repay Cam by helping Lucy and still manage to produce enough new pieces for his exhibition to go ahead. He wasn’t looking at a windfall but a feckin’ precipice.
“What’s a calculated risk in your line of work?” Kate, bless her heart, leapt on the chance to redirect the conversation.
“It varies. I work with a lot of clients, from businesses about to go under to start-ups. You should only risk what you’re prepared to lose.” Hunter’s gaze settled on Anna, a private smile curving his mouth. “Knowing what you’re prepared to lose is the hardest part of the equation.”
Lucy was looking at Hunter as if he was a financial genius, which he probably was. To be fair, he didn’t flaunt his wealth. If you didn’t count the Rolex or the chauffeured Mercedes EQS they’d arrived in. Niall rubbed his hand down his thigh, his thumb worrying on a loose thread in his jeans. His last decent pair. Frustration, he’d conquered long ago, about an unfriendly fate snapped at his heels. He hadn’t factored his da’s debts into establishing his business. Hadn’t factored in his sense of responsibility for Lucy’s debts.
“In case anyone’s interested”—Anna filled the growing silence—“Hunter and I met at a work function, which would have been the end of it, except he showed up at the office with an offer I couldn’t refuse. The rest, as they say, is history.” Anna’s smile for Hunter was sunny and carefree.
Kate played the perfect hostess. “Dessert or coffee, anyone?”
Hunter’s expression was inscrutable. Then he sent Niall a glance Niall could only call pitying, as if to say “You poor sod, you’ve got no idea what you’re risking or what you’re prepared to lose.”
Damn you, I know exactly what’s at stake. And I’ll take Lucy’s peace of mind over a Rolex any day.
––––––––
Niall pulled into thedriveway of Hopetoun Cottage, a name cementing the McTavish family to its Scottish origins. Although Cam had assured him Hopetoun House outside Edinburgh was a grander residence. The last time Niall had parked here, Cam had still been alive.
She’ll need a distraction. The phrase was on permanent rotation in Niall’s head.
Niall hadn’t known her then. He’d imagined her as some dutiful granddaughter dedicated to the family business. Now he knew she was self-contained, uncertain about her welcome, courageous in dealing with her past, protective of her friends, and sexy as hell.
Niall didn’t need a distraction.
She’d distracted him anyway. Her praise for his work was a balm to his bruised ego. Seeing her fingers on his cradle made him want to spend decades exploring the language of touch with her.
“Would you like to come in?” Her formal invitation shattered the humming quiet between them. “For coffee?”
“Finishing what we started earlier has more appeal.” Niall flicked on the truck’s inside light and swung to face her. He’d kept his hands to himself on the drive because making out in the back of a ute wasn’t how he wanted to make love to her for the first time. Maybe she thought he’d lost interest. “But I’ll understand if you’ve changed your mind.” Understand, but be more disappointed than he was prepared to admit.
“I haven’t changed my mind.” Her smile stalled his heart.
Niall stood at her shoulder as she unlocked her front door, grew giddy on her rose vanilla scent while she reset a security code. “Guess you need to be careful with all the valuables in the house?”
“We had a break-in before Gran died. It rattled her, so Grandpa went overboard.” Lucy might not have changed her mind, but the little tremble in her voice told him she wasn’t sure how to take the next step.
He was more than happy to help her. In the wide hallway, Niall waited while she hung her coat on a hook and set her bag on some fancy, slim-line walnut sideboard. She was efficient and graceful, the Holy Grail of the best furniture. When she’d finished, he walked her backward until the door was against her back. “I wanted to leave after those clever little pre-dinner nibbles Kate served.” He nuzzled the tender spot between her shoulder and neck, and was rewarded with her little shiver of pleasure.
“I nearly pleaded a headache after the main.” She splayed her fingers through his hair, got a grip and tugged his head up to face her.
“Do you think they noticed anything when we both refused dessert?” Her fragrance swirled around him, making it hard to focus on the task he’d set for himself—relaxing her so she took charge.
“Yes. Do you mind?” In the half-light of the hall, shadows played across her face, but the answer was clearly important to her.
“Not about my family knowing you’re special to me.” Niall brushed his mouth across hers, already lost in the taste of her. “I mind how much time we’ve wasted. Let me free your hair.” Pulling loose the few pins holding her chignon in place, he gathered her hair in his hands, exploring its weight and texture before bunching handfuls at the top of her head. She leaned into him, meeting him as an equal rather than offering a surrender.
“I like you, Liùsaidh McTavish.” He started a personal inventory of her features, pressing his lips to her forehead, skimming her eyebrows, feeling her eyelids flutter at the lightest pressure. Savouring her softness was diversion enough to let his lips linger for an eternity.
“I like—” The hitch in her breathing urged him to continue his exploration.
Releasing her hair, he cupped her jaw, needing to absorb her through his fingertips, a different kind of knowing. Running his nose against hers, he let his hands drop to hips rounder than when they’d met, a delicious handle to draw her closer.
“—you.” She sighed.
When he sought her mouth, she was waiting for him, sweetness in her I want-to-get-to-know-you-well kiss. He paused for a breath and to whisper, “I like the way you kiss.” He ran his hands down her arms and around her backside before lifting her against him.
“You are pleased to see me.” She wriggled against his arousal, and his cock saluted.
“It’s an invitation, Liùsaidh,” he groaned. “Not a demand.”
“I can say no?”
Only if you want to kill me.
“You can say ‘Yes, please, I’d like a bed, more, later,’ or”—he stepped back, so the door wasn’t supporting them both, and let her unglue herself from his length—“you can say no.” He was hanging onto control by a thread, but he’d made her a promise.
While he held his breath, she gave an encouraging pat to his crotch and turned on her heel. “Then, yes, please, more, right now, and my bedroom’s upstairs.”
* * *
Lucy sashayed up thestairs, swinging her hips in an invitation as old as time.
“I also like the way you walk, lass.” His hand landed on her backside as he followed behind, half-rubbing, half-squeezing her butt and generating a different fire.
Lucy slowed her speed to savour the weight of Niall’s hand on her backside.
“Is there anything you don’t like?” She smiled over her shoulder.
“Nothing that comes to mind.”
Lucy had told Niall the truth. She was lonely. He was too. She fancied him. He fancied her, and a horizontal two-step was a lovely way to finish the evening. He wasn’t pretending this was a stepping stone to some happily ever after. His honesty was refreshing after a life caught between her mum’s memory and her grandparents’ wealth. Caring for this perceptive man who served her tea out of mismatched cups, who made a cradle for his brother’s child, and who bought her a beautiful, expensive scarf when he spent nothing on himself was an unlooked-for bonus.
At her bedroom door, he put his other hand on her shoulder, turning her into his arms. “Wait a minute.”
“You’re kidding?” She was dazzled by the affection in his gaze.
“I haven’t kissed you standing on this landing.” He returned to the spot between her shoulder and neck, where the warmth of his mouth on her bare skin raised goose bumps.
She bundled into him.
“We don’t need to hurry.” He was upending rules she’d learned before she’d wanted to know them, creating spaces for closeness rather than hunger.
“I thought we did.” Lucy cupped his balls, revelling in the sheer female power of knowing her desire was reciprocated.
He groaned, turning his head to nibble his way up Lucy’s throat, stopping to tend the sensitive spot behind her ear. A trail of havoc so delightful, she stopped thinking. She shivered, and he shaped her breasts through her sweater. Heaviness dragged low in her belly, and Lucy moaned, her hand loosening its hold.
“Parts we hurry, and parts we take really slowly,” he drawled.
Lucy knew how to please a man. And please herself. In cramped accommodation, sex education had been unavoidable. She’d been bombarded with the sight, sound, and smell of sex. Hard and fast was her mum’s preference. Her mum had also peppered Lucy with blunt warnings. You’re responsible for your own pleasure. Men are selfish.
Her mother had never met anyone like Niall Quinn.
Neither have I.
“Show me something fast.” Lucy covered his hands with her own, anticipation fizzing through her bloodstream like the finest champagne.
He moved lightning fast for a big man, bunching her sweater high on her chest. His mouth closed over her left breast, drawing the nipple deep into his mouth until Lucy rocked helplessly against him. A fair man, he lavished attention on her other breast, waiting until the nipple peaked against the damp fabric, before tugging gently with his teeth. She was panting with need when he stepped back, his warm palm replacing his mouth at her breast, soothing her with his change in tempo.
“You show me slow, Liùsaidh.” He scooped her into his arms, nudged her bedroom door open, and stood with her on the threshold. “Tell me about this room, starting with the bed.” He slid Lucy down his side, keeping her within the circle of his arm, while he arranged pillows against the bed head. Releasing her, he toed off his boots, before settling against the pillows, making himself comfortable against her crisp white sheets and gum-tree patterned doona.
“What are you doing?” This was like no other lovemaking she’d ever known.
“Waiting for you to join me.” His cock strained against his jeans. His grin was sinfully innocent.
“What if I don’t?” She crossed her arms, her nipples still tingling from his touch.
“Then I fold my tent”—he patted his erection—“so to speak, and go home.”
“There was a cream brass and iron bedstead in McTavish’s window the day I arrived.” She undid the back zipper on her green trousers and let them fall to the ground in a silky puddle. His sharp inhalation of breath told her he approved of this move. Stepping out of the trousers, Lucy bent to collect them and place them on a nearby chair, ensuring he got a clear look, both front and back, at the white cotton bikini briefs she was wearing. “Gran said I could choose one item from the shop for my bedroom. I asked for the bed.”
“Join me?” He patted the spot beside him.
Moving closer to his side, Lucy gripped the bottom of her sweater and pulled it over her head. With her arms in the air, she paused, her body at full stretch—bra, panties and high-heeled boots. When she tugged the sweater free, he leaned close enough to press a work-toughened forefinger to her skin. She sucked in a breath. Tracing a line from the valley of her breasts, he dipped into her navel then slid down to rest on the elastic band of her panties. A summer heat haze sizzled through her.
“I don’t want you to get cold.” He caught her around the middle and tumbled her onto the mattress beside him.
“I don’t think cold’s going to be a problem.”
“You rest there, while I get rid of your boots.” He scooted far enough down to reach her feet.
“There’s a design flaw here, Mr. Quinn.” She studied his head bent over the zipper on her remaining boot. His hair was longer than his brother’s. The thick curls crowding his shirt collar suited him. And suited her. She gave them a tug, and her second boot dropped to the floor.
“A mismatch of textures perhaps?” He straddled her ankles, his palm doing a long, slow glide down her inner thigh. “Skin feels so much better than denim.” He kissed the inside of her knee, and she dissolved into a muddle of lust and tenderness.
“Take your clothes off,” Lucy ordered. His patience was pure torture when she’d been primed since pre-dinner drinks for a fast lovemaking. Anticipation had sharp claws. Yet this game with him was joyful. He didn’t snatch or grab or hurry.
“Whisht, lass, am I too slow for you?” His sweater dropped onto the floor. He took his time with his shirt, slipping each button in turn, then shrugging out of it. “I liked your striptease.” A wicked smile, sparkling with approval, curved his mouth. Easing off the mattress, he shed his jeans and jocks in a single move. “And the pure white briefs with the little scraps of lace.”
“I considered a thong.” Lucy looked at him from under her lashes, testing his reaction.
“Maybe next time.” He winked, causing a yearning to stir deep in her womb. “I doubt I could manage what I’ve planned if you’d been cavorting in a thong.” His voice was gravel rough.
“Maybe I’ve got my own plans?” Lucy knelt on the edge of the bed, facing him, reminding him of his promise. She’d never met a man who was prepared to share, much less surrender control of lovemaking.
“I bet you do.” His gaze stayed steady on hers while his hipshot stance accentuated the bold erection arrowing up his belly. “Right now, you’re over-dressed.”
“I want you to worship me.” Through the pounding in Lucy’s head, she dimly understood patience was a form of worship.
“I can do that.” Niall was changing all her mother’s rules. He was playful and genuinely affectionate, making her feel unbelievably precious, and she’d think about that later.
“But first”—she scampered further back on the mattress—“come back here.” Nestled against the piled cushions, Lucy couldn’t predict if his next move would be deliciously fast or breathtakingly slow. Not knowing was a tantalising part of his appeal. “You aren’t just going to flip me on my back and have at me, are you?”
“Is that what you want?” His intent scrutiny ignited a flashfire in her blood.
“You make me question what I want,” she whispered. Perhaps the first man to do so. “Roll over and lie in the middle of the bed.” He followed her instructions, and she knelt beside him.
“You’re going to have at me?”
“Is that what you want?” Lucy repeated his question to her.
“I want a lot of things.” His eyes hid secrets. “Let’s start with your bra. It’s very pretty, but I suspect your breasts are even prettier.”
“Don’t move.” Lucy straddled his thighs, unclipped her bra, and flung it over her shoulder.
“See, I was right.” He leaned forward to suckle each pouting nipple, the deep pull ricocheting through her.
“I’ve seen you do this.” Lucy closed her eyes, placing her palms on his midriff. “Seen you close your eyes and learn the piece you’re working on with your other senses.” She bent forward and pressed a kiss in the space between her hands.
“You’ve never seen me kiss a block of wood, Liùsaidh.”
“No need to be embarrassed. You’re mesmerising when you focus on work.” Lucy didn’t open her eyes, instead inhaling deeply and letting her exhalation drift across his chest. “I’m marking my starting place. Your skin carries the slightest hint of sawdust. It’s a comfort and a provocation.”
“Speaking of provocation.” His voice was strained, but his lilt held a caress.
“You can speak all you want.” Lucy began with his hair, threading her fingers through his unruly locks, tugging lightly to show him a little of her impatience, even while she was seducing herself to patience. Next, she used her forefingers to trace his eyebrows. “Nicely shaped,” she murmured, brushing her fingers down the side of his face, tracing along his jaw to meet at his chin. She shaped his nose. “Some people believe a long nose is a sign of leadership.”
“What about an upturned nose?” He sucked air through his teeth.
“Adventurous in bed?” Lucy let her nipples drag across his chest, testing them both with the merest touch. She put two fingers to his lips to catch his ragged exhalations.
When he opened his mouth to nip at her fingers, she giggled.
Wriggling to settle herself more comfortably, she ran her palm down one side of his neck and followed with tiny kisses to his stretched neck muscles. “You feel a bit tense. I must be doing something right.” With deliberate slowness, she learned the smooth, muscled texture of his shoulders with her fingertips, feeling her way back to his centre via his collarbone. From there she moved across his ribs, toward his flanks. “You’re very well made, Mr. Quinn.”
“So are you,” he growled, and the sound settled low in her pelvis. His hands rested on her hips, his thumbs pressing and retreating into the softer skin at her waist, fanning her excitement.
Leaning lower, she let him take the full weight of her breasts, the friction of skin meeting skin delightful torture. She mouthed one nipple until it stood taut. His breathing was laboured, his chest rising and falling. Because of me. When she laid her ear against him, she was sure she could hear his heart pounding. Positive she could hear her own.
“Am I allowed to explore?” His hands cupped her buttocks.
“Soon,” Lucy crooned. “I’ve never introduced myself to a lover this way before.” Never felt safe enough to do so. Slithering further back, her skin cooled where his hands had been. She trailed her fingers over the concave of his belly. “You’re hard here too.”
“You’ll find I’m harder a bit lower.” His sigh was barely audible.
“I’m getting there.” She chuckled at the power rushing through her, made more valuable because he was giving it to her. Uncurling her spine, she raised her hands above her head, then lowered them to brush over her breasts and her belly to where her thighs gripped him. Dipping two fingers into her heat, she lifted them to her mouth. “You’ve made me wet.”
“You’re stunning,” he said hoarsely.
“Can you see me?” She smiled, before wrapping her hand around his cock, the satin smoothness making her muscles clench in wanting. The quiet light behind her closed lids, the bombardment of her other senses kept arousal bright and needy.
“I like watching you pleasure yourself.”
“This is for both of us.” She let her tongue drift up the length of his cock, cupping his balls gently with one hand and squeezing. More, I want this intimacy to last forever.
“Praise the saints!”
Lucy opened her eyes to find his hands tangled in the feather doona, as if he needed to anchor himself to remain unmoving. She loved him in that moment. His face a rictus of taut control while he trusted her with his body.
“Lucy. Let me.” His fingers closed on her shoulders, and he drew her closer.
“I want your hands on me,” she pleaded, craving the power and reverence of his hands for herself.
Reversing positions, he knelt between her knees, his voice a dark chocolate. “We’re upping the speed for this second stanza.” His cock nudged at her opening, a dance where he inched forward, barely breathed as he drew back, and finally buried himself deep inside her.
“Please,” she moaned, urgent now, seeing the banked passion in his expression.
“If you insist.” His hand slipped between them, encouraging her to seek release. “You do insist?”
“Niall,” she cried, her body convulsing.
His back was a sheen of sweat beneath her fingers. Still, he waited for her spasms to ebb before he picked up speed and rhythm.
She was aware the instant his patience shattered. Gripping his forearms, she pulled herself up to fuse her mouth with his. Her body started to buck as another orgasm exploded through her. “Now,” she demanded.
He searched her face, and his thrusts deepened, before he threw his head back with an exultant roar. Tremors rocked from him to her, the sensations powerful and humbling. When his weight settled on her, his breath was still ragged. Long seconds later, he murmured against her temple, “I should move.”
“Soon,” she whispered. He wasn’t ready to hear she loved him. She wasn’t ready to tell him, when it might be a case of the-best-sex-she’d-ever-experienced talking. Although she didn’t think so.
He rolled off her. “Snuggle up.”
Lucy crawled under his arm, hiding her face against his chest. “You were rather wonderful.”
“You were pretty good yourself.” Kissing the top of her head, he held her close, soothing her with long, slow caresses down her back.
Lucy could read the subtext, and had her mother’s example in her ear. More words were dangerous when your body felt as light as air, and magic tickled all the secret spaces in your heart and mind.
––––––––
When she woke, shewas still nestled under his heart, the steady beat the best reminder he was real and, for the moment, hers.
“Awake?”
“Barely.” She pushed herself up to see his face and remembered the dinner. “Why were you so evasive about your work?”
“I wasn’t evasive. I just had nothing to talk about.” His dismissal sounded off.
“You’re an artist. Your work is every bit as important as Liam’s or Mr. Property-developer Hunter’s.” She worried at his false modesty. “I mentioned the frames because he looks like the type who’d spend money on expensive, modern art.”
“What did you think of him?”
“A deflection rather than an evasion.” Lucy tugged his hair to let him know she knew he was prevaricating. “I know the difference, Mr. Quinn. I liked the bit of him I saw tonight. He hides behind his wealth. He’s not ostentatious—”
“You don’t think the Rolex or the Merc are ostentatious?” he muttered.
“Your prejudices are showing. I’m betting his relationship with wealth is complicated.” Lucy recalled the caution Hunter had carried. “He wouldn’t be an easy man to live with. His comment about risk was ‘verra’ interesting, as Grandpa would say.” It occurred to Lucy she might benefit from continuing that interesting conversation about risk. Just not now. Lucy walked her fingers from Niall’s sternum to his navel. “I prefer a man whose body reflects his labour.”
He held up a hand and examined it. “Callouses and nicks?”
“I’m talking about your stamina and your dedication to the task at hand.” Her hand drifted lower. “You are interested.”