Spark nudges me toward the kitchen. “Was my grandfather’s. I’m named after him.”
“Wait. How do I not know your real name? And you were military?”
He shrugs his jacket off and slides it over the back of a kitchen chair. “You do know my name. I told you the day we met on your porch.”
“In fairness, a lot happened that day and I forgot.”
He grins. “Tyler John Hyatt. Thirty-five years of age. You?”
“Iris Caoimhe O’Connor. Twenty-eight.”
He cups my cheek. “What was your middle name again?”
“It’s pronounced kee-va. But it’s spelt C-A-O-I-M-H-E.”
“Irish spelling is a bit fucked up, but your name’s beautiful. Suits you. Why O’Connor though and not Ó Ceallaigh?”
I turn and wander to the window in the living room. There’s a glimpse of the lake between the other houses on the road. “Because I don’t want any part of that life. And it’s a bit hard to escape it with my family name. I legally emancipated myself from Cillian as soon as I could and changed my name to my mom’s maiden name.”
He slips his hands around my waist and kisses the side of my neck. “I was military. Marine Corps. Sergeant Tyler Hyatt at your service, ma’am.”
I turn to face him, taken by just how handsome he is. “Thank you for your service.”
He tenses in my arms. “For all the good it did.” There’s that thing again, flickering across his face.
“When or if you ever feel ready to tell me about your time in the military, I’ll listen.”
Gently, he kisses my forehead. “If I ever feel like tripping down that memory lane, I’ll let you know. But we need to go get food. I thought we’d light the fire, cook at home, yeah?”
“That sounds great.”
We end up walking by the lake, then grabbing pie for lunch at a humble but delicious pizza place Spark knows. We grab steaks and corn amongst other things. He grabs some beer and encourages me to choose what I’d like to drink. I end up picking up some coolers and a bottle of wine. When I offer my credit card at the register, I swear to God the man growls at me.
On the way home, he carries everything in one hand and holds my hand with the other. “I can help carry something.”
“I know you can, but I want to carry it for you. I’m not here for all that feminist shit that misses the point.”
“This I gotta hear . . . tell me about this ‘feminist shit that misses the point.’” The sarcasm in my tone is so heavy even Spark can’t miss it.
Spark looks down at me, then keeps walking. “Cool your heels, little chick. I get it. Women can shoot a gun, sign up for the Corps, become CEOs and shit. And that’s what they should be fighting for, and men should be helping ’em do it. But instead, we’re having conversations about whether holding a door open, or treating them to a nice meal, or carrying their goddamn bags makes you a sexist asshole. And here’s the thing. You could go run the fucking world. Become president. And I’d still pay for dinner and carry your fucking bags. My mom calls it manners and knowing how to treat my woman right.”
I think about what he said for a moment before responding. “Okay. So not as bad as it originally sounded.”
“For fuck’s sake. Why can I never say the right thing with you? You’re going to have to start reading between the lines. I like you. Not my intention to piss you off every five seconds.”
His surliness makes me smile. “You like me.”
We reach the house, and he lets go of my hand to let us in. “Thought that was obvious, little chick.”
17
SPARK
I watch as she slips out of her leather jacket—one I intend to stick a property patch on as soon as she’ll let me—and smile as she slides the sweater back over her shoulder. It kept sliding off over lunch, and never has a glimpse of skin made my dick so hard.
I keep thinking of the way her nipples looked in the bathtub, the way she sighed my name. Woman has me hard half the time and doesn’t even know it. When I left Whip’s room after chatting with Iris for an hour, I had a steady chub going on, and one of the girls at the club noticed. Offered to drain the tank for me, any way I wanted it.
Refusing was easy, which was a surprise. I’d been loyal to my ex, but after what happened, I vowed I wasn’t going to give a woman that kind of monogamy again. With Iris, I find myself craving it. There’s something special about denying myself that pleasure until it’s with Iris. Steering us to a place where that happens is as big a turn-on as the event itself.
I’ll need to figure out how to get around King’s orders, so we don’t have to hide. Only I don’t have a masterplan yet. One is taking shape, where I prove to him just how extricated from Cillian’s organization she is. Or perhaps I pay a retainer to the club, a financial guarantee against trouble.
I wish it was clearer to me.
As she puts the groceries into the fridge, I get the fire going. It’s getting cool. We don’t really need the heat yet, but we will later. She’s still puttering around in the kitchen, so I go make the bed.
I got in the habit of washing the sheets each time I come up here, before I leave. Something the military taught me was an appreciation for a well-made bed. She doesn’t know this yet, but none of my brothers know about this place. It’s my refuge. My hideout. If shit goes south with club business, I can come up here and hunker down. I got weapons, cash, fake plates for the bike, and fake IDs all hidden around the place.
If big trouble hits, I’ll become a ghost.
I’m in the process of putting the final pillowcase on when Iris walks into the room. The weak fall sunlight warms her skin, and she walks over to the wall where I’d hung some photographs from my tours. “You look cute.”
“Cute?” I throw the pillow on the bed. “Can’t say I’ve ever been called that before.”
She turns to face me, then steps onto the bed I just made. It makes her taller than me and she puts her arms over my shoulders and threads her fingers through my hair. “I think it’s the buzz cut. Makes you more preppy.”
“Better?”
When she shakes her head, I’m relieved. “No. I like you better like this.”
I slide my hands beneath her sweater and white tank. Her skin is warm. Soft. I hold her for a moment, then scoop my hands down to her ass and lift as she wraps her legs around me. “You weigh nothing.”
“Or you are just strong.”
“Probably both.” I spin us so she’s pressed against the wall. I hear the picture frames rattle, and she smiles against my lips.
I’ve never chased a woman before. Not even my ex. Sam had chased me.
I’ve never waited for someone to be ready. They either were and we fucked, or they weren’t and I found someone else.
Sex has rarely had meaning. Just release.
But I know with Iris it’s going to be . . . different.
And believe me, my balls are fucking blue trying to give her time to adjust to the idea of us. Her legs were wrapped around me on the bike all morning, when I wanted them wrapped around me like she is now.