“Shannon was my mam. God rest her soul.” Mike’s mouth tilted down. “And no, Lydia and I haven’t tied the knot.”
Relief thrummed through him, but it still didn’t explain their relationship.
He glanced at the top of the stairs, probing the thick blackness. Was she up there, standing just beyond the reach of his sight? He was seconds from knocking Mike out and scaling those steps.
“Who is she to you?” Mike cocked his head, his body rigid and unmoving.
“She’s a risk,” he said honestly. “A risk I want to take.”
“Of course, you want to take her.” Mike laughed, his accent thickening. “You’re a manky stalker. Following her around for months and months. You have a problem, pal. An obsession.”
“Yeah, I have an obsession, one that takes dedication, discipline, and sacrifice.” His voice vibrated with a growl. “I’m not walking away from this. Nor will I leave it up to chance or fate. Not this time. I’m taking this risk because, without her, there can only be a lonely goddamn existence.”
Mike blinked, his expression cast in shadows. After a long, fraught silence, he opened his mouth, but Lydia’s voice cut him off.
“I love you, Micheál,” she said from the dark landing above. “More than anything in the world. So I say this with the utmost respect and adoration.” Her tone turned to steel. “Get lost.”
Cole’s breathing quickened, and he wrestled to control it. A swell of heat spread inside him, blooming into a fire so intense it made his pulse spark and flutter.
Cautiously, Mike stepped forward until his chest pushed against the barrel of the gun, which brought a playful smile to his face.
“If you hurt my sister, I’ll remove your bollocks with a bloody spoon.” Mike clapped him on the shoulder and strolled toward the door. “Merry Christmas, fecker.”
Sister.
Not lovers.
The door shut, and he closed his eyes, just for a moment, savoring the pure and utter joy in that revelation.
Siblings.
“Lock the door,” she said.
His skin heated with buzzing energy as he stowed the gun in the pocket of his jacket and engaged the outrageous number of locks, bolts, chains, and bars on the house’s only entry point. “Mike won’t be able to open—”
“He’ll be gone all night.”
“Where?” He stepped toward the stairs, straining his eyes, trying to see her at the top.
“Wherever there’s pussy. He hasn’t left my side in…I don’t even know. It’s been a long time.”
“He trusts me with you?” He climbed a step.
“He trusts you’ll be here all night and that you’ll shoot anything that tries to come through that door.” Her voice grew breathy, and she coughed, hardening it. “Did you mean it? What you said? Or are you just here for sex? I know you’re not going to kill me. You would’ve done that by now.”
“I meant it.” He felt his way up the railing, ascending into the dark. “Where’re the lights?”
“No electricity on this level. Old wiring.” She shifted, creaking the floor just a few steps away. “You never lost me.”
“No.” He measured his footfalls, his entire body strumming, attuned to her voice. “I followed you out of the desert and across the Atlantic. I’ve been following you ever since.”
“Four-hundred-and-forty-one days of dedication. Why?”
“Because you were mine, Lydia.” Hot anticipation coiled inside him as he reached through the dark and caught her nape. Then he hauled her gasping mouth to his. “You’re still mine.”
Their lips collided, tongues seeking and connecting. She flung her arms around his neck, and he lifted her, stumbling blindly until her back hit a wall.
The kiss caught fire, desperate and starving, building into a tameless, unholy fever. The aggressive savagery with which she met the strokes of his tongue only made him harder. Jesus Christ, he was so fucking hard for her.
His hands threaded through her hair. Long, silky, heavy waves of hair down her back. He found her delicate neck, her slim shoulders, and continued downward, searching for skin beneath her clothes.
She wore a baggy t-shirt. Nothing on her legs. By the time his fingers reached her pussy and sank deep into her heat, he was ready to explode.
Goosebumps prickled her thighs, and she shivered in the chilly air. He needed to move her to a warm bed, where he could take his time looking at her. He’d never seen her without clothes, and dammit, he needed to see her.
With his hands cupping her firm, bare backside, he turned and carried her up the next set of stairs. Her legs circled his waist. His palm pressed against her lower back, and he curled his middle finger deep into her asshole. A placeholder, to let her know he was coming for it.
Her gasp tore their kiss. He bit at her lips, her neck, nipping at her shoulders and marking her flesh with his teeth.
“I own you.” His mouth covered hers, claiming her with rough, unbridled hunger.
“I own you.” She molded his urgency to her own with a fierce passion.
“You don’t have an Irish accent.”
“I’m not Irish.” She frantically kissed his face, panting. “Mike and I have different mothers.”
“You’re going to tell me everything.”
“Yes.”
“I want it all, Lydia. All of you.”
“Take it.”
A possessive hum resonated in Cole’s chest. A wanting wrenched his gut. He ran a shaking thumb across Lydia’s lips, unable to stop himself from touching her. Then he kissed her, claiming her with the sweeping, stroking blade of his tongue.
Mouths locked, hands grappling, they bounced off the wall, bumped into the railing, stumbled over the last stair.
The third level greeted him with more darkness. But a sliver of moonlight poked through the curtains, giving shape to furniture and obstacles as he carried her through the space. A modest room with an open kitchen and a couch.
Without breaking the kiss, he headed toward the door that led to the only bedroom. Except he didn’t make it past the next wall. He crashed against it, deliberately falling against her, trapping her tight little body beneath his mindlessly grinding, humping, trying to assuage his blistering need.
He tore off his jacket, dropping it. She lowered her legs and fumbled with his zipper, opening it. His shirt and hat went next. Then his boots, his jeans, until he wore nothing but ink.
She bit her lip, breathing heavily and eyes slitted, trying to see him in the dark.
“Need light.” He gripped her waist and looked around.
“Bedroom.”
With spiking urgency, he hoisted her legs around his hips and attacked her mouth. She weighed nothing, her body twisting as she wrestled off her shirt.
Her sexy moans and whimpers drove him crazy, vocalizing unspoken wants. He quickened his gait, each step increasing the friction and persistence between them. Her hot mouth fell upon his neck, his shoulder, showering him in a frenzy of kisses as her hands clawed and pulled, scratching his back and tangling in his hair.
“You grew back your beard.” She kissed the scruff from one cheek to the other and cupped his face. “You’re so handsome, Cole Hartman.”