The O’Haras fought more often than not, but to Marnie’s trained eye it wasn’t out of real anger. They seemed to enjoy it, actually. As if it were a sport, a way of showing affection that she’d never understand.
Beckett moved before fists could start flying, stepping between the two brothers with easy authority. “This isn’t the place for a fight,” he said quietly. “You’ll be hauled out by your ears before you get started. And watch what you’re saying in front of the girls. Mrs. O’Hara would skin you alive if she heard you talk that way.”
That was probably the only threat that could keep them in check. Simone O’Hara was a force of nature when it came to keeping her children in line—and that included her nephews too.
Jax nodded and took a step back, the tension draining from his shoulders. Then he grinned and gave Hank and Levi a one-finger salute before they disappeared into the crowd.
Marnie could feel heat in her cheeks at their candid talk, but she tried her best to act like it was no big deal. The truth was, she was terrified of sex. Mostly what she’d learned about it, she and Sloane had overheard by listening in on her brothers’ conversations. Her father had always said that only certain kinds of women enjoyed it, but Sloane said that was a flat-out lie and that she was going to enjoy it a lot when she was ready.
Marnie had never thought much about sex until the dreams started creeping in at night—Beckett’s face and his lips as he kissed her in the dark—only to be interrupted by the snap of her father’s belt as he punished her for having impure thoughts. Even her dreams were terrorized by him.
Sloane had talked her into borrowing the white cotton shorts and red top tonight. The shirt stopped just above the button of her shorts and hung off one shoulder a little, showing the thin strap of the white tank she wore underneath. She hadn’t been brave enough to go without it as Sloane had suggested. She’d never felt comfortable showing much skin, but she had to admit the bold contrast of colors showed off the tan she and Sloane had been working on by the lake.
Her dark hair was thick and long and she’d braided it over one shoulder. Her eyes were dark and enhanced by the mascara she’d bought, though Sloane said it wasn’t fair how she hardly needed it at all, that women would kill for lashes like hers. The lip gloss had in fact plumped up her lips a little and they stung just slightly. But she felt pretty tonight. Normal. A little more grown up.
She could never hope to fill out the outfit like Sloane could—the shorts bagged on her just a little—but they were still finer than anything she owned.
“Marnie,” Sloane said, getting her attention again. “Let’s head over to the House of Horrors before the line gets too long. I saw Justin Appleby earlier. He’ll ride it with you. He likes you a lot.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree there, Sloane,” Jax warned. “Trust me on that one.”
“Why can’t you just go away?” Sloane complained, pouting a little. “You ruin everything. I swear I’m going to find your adoption papers and prove you’re not really one of us.”
Marnie smiled. Sloane and Jax could’ve been twins, so similar was their appearance—black hair and piercing blue eyes shared by only a few of the O’Haras. Not to mention identical smiles that could charm their way out of any kind of trouble. And they were less than a year apart in age.
Bells and whistles went off from the games around them and the crowd increased in size as the hour grew later. The air smelled of funnel cakes and popcorn and summer heat. Someone jostled her from behind and she was pushed off balance, stumbling forward.
She felt a solid wall as her shoulder made contact and a hand came up to steady her, strong and sure. She looked up into clear gray eyes and watched the dimple flutter in Beckett’s left cheek as he smiled at her.
“Easy,” he said with a laugh, catching her before she could fall. “Though I have to say, I’ve always wondered what you’d feel like in my arms.”
Chapter Two
Her breath caught at his words, at the heat from his fingers where they touched her arm, penetrating her skin and sizzling across her nerve endings like electric currents. Sound and movement stopped. It was only him and the blood rushing in her ears.
And for a split second, her eyesight dimmed and she saw it—felt it—the softness of the quilt beneath her back and the fullness of the moon as it shone between the branches of the trees above her. The weight of him as he pressed her into the blanket, their bodies close in the darkness. The warmth of his skin against hers. Her heart thudded in her chest as his lips took hers in a passionate kiss and her body arched against his as the world fell away.
Sound whooshed back and she sucked in a deep breath. He was looking at her oddly and no wonder. There was no telling how long she’d been standing there blank faced and unresponsive.
Sloane called it her “ramblings.” When a vision overtook her and there was nothing she could do to control it. Sometimes they lasted for seconds. Sometimes several minutes. But there was no bringing her back from them once she was entrenched in the vision. It’s when she was at her most vulnerable.
She couldn’t explain her gift. It was just part of who she was. And it had taken her a long time to realize that not everyone could do what she could do and that she made people nervous. It was easy enough to see everyday thoughts or get strong images if she focused—especially if she physically touched the person she was trying to read. But the visions were different. They slammed into her like a freight train and left her helpless where she stood. They were powerful, and what she saw almost always came to pass—unless some odd hand of fate turned things in another direction.
What she’d seen had been as real as anything she’d ever experienced. Joy burst in her heart. This wasn’t like the hopeful imaginings she’d had in the darkness of her bedroom. This was reality that would come to pass. There’d been love between them—at least the beginnings of it—in the vision she saw.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to bump into you.”
“Relax,” he said, as if he were soothing a frightened mare. “Like I said, I like how you feel in my arms.” His smile was easy and disarming, but there was something in his eyes that was different than before. Or maybe she’d never noticed.
His gaze lingered on her bare shoulder and then moved up, so he was staring at her lips. His hand lingered on her arm, and she was glad she’d taken Sloane’s advice and spruced herself up a little.
For one night, she was normal. She was like the other girls. There was no worry over whether there’d be a roof over her head by the end of the week. No worry over how they’d put food on the table. No worry that she’d washed and worn the same clothes more than once in a week. She was like Cinderella at the ball and she hoped that midnight never came.
The taste of that small amount of freedom went to her head and made her dizzy with elation.
“Hello? Earth to Beckett and Marnie,” Sloane said, waving her arms near their faces.
