Bree peered past me, nibbling on her bottom lip. “I have an idea. I could say I need you to look at something upstairs, then you could hide up there until everyone leaves.”
“Smart.” It gave us a reason to be upstairs together that wouldn’t raise suspicion.
Giggling, she wiggled in a little dance. “I’ve always wanted to do this. Follow my lead.”
I’d follow her anywhere. I tried not to let that thought grab hold as I picked up my toolbox and followed her down the hall toward the stairs. She stopped in the space where the pub started, leaving us in between the business and her personal space.
She pointed toward the apartment over us and lifted her voice. “I’m sorry to ask, Ronan, but while you’re here, I have something I need fixed upstairs. If you have a minute, I’ll show you.” Her voice carried across the room.
A few patrons glanced our way, mainly Tom Finnegan and a couple of his buddies, but no one gave us a second look and no one picked up on the subtle flirtation in her body language.
“Sure.” I kept my usual bored tone and carried my toolbox up the stairs.
We walked toward the stairs together, and I slowed to let her go ahead of me. Partly because I loved to watch her ass sway going up the stairs and partly because it’s what I would’ve done for anyone else. Bree’s fingers trailed along the banister. I imagined those same hands on me and hardened to the point of pain. Thank fuck we’d ascended far enough no one below could see more than my calves and feet.
Bree unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside. Her hair fell over her shoulder, and she rested one hand on the curve of her waist. “Welcome back.”
The instant I stepped over the threshold, she closed and locked the door.
The second the lock clicked, something inside me snapped. I dropped my toolbox as quietly as possible and framed her face in my hands. God I loved the feel of her. So soft and smooth. So willing.
“Ron–”
I kissed her before she finished saying my name. Before I talked myself out of it.
Her lips parted on a gasp, and I took full advantage of the chance to taste her. I claimed her lips with mine, guiding the kiss while turning her so her back pressed against the wall.
A quiet whimper rattled in her throat, and she wrapped her arms around my waist.
Gods I’d missed this. A week without the feel of her melting into me was a damned tragedy. The small sounds she made when I changed the angle brought up a possessive growl.
Mine. I slid my hands to her waist, then beneath the hem of her shirt to stroke her ribs and spine. She arched to fit tighter against me. I’d swear on my life she’d been made for me. For us.
My own audacity shocked me, but I didn’t care. Especially when she twisted her fingers in my shirt and held on like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
All the restraint I’d been holding onto this week evaporated. I wanted her now. Right here. No more wasting time.
I tugged her shirt up and cupped her breasts.
Bree gasped and broke the kiss. “Ronan. I should…” She moaned when I flicked my thumbs over her nipples. “I need to go back downstairs before someone notices how long I’ve been gone.”
“Not yet.” I’d never have asked if I wasn’t so desperate. I’d always been the voice of reason, but with Bree, all that flew out the fucking window.
She giggled when I kissed her again. “I’ll be back. I promise.”
“Tell me to stop.” I kissed my way up her neck to her ear. “Tell me and I will.”
She hummed and raised her chin, exposing her neck while threading her fingers through my hair.
I took that as permission to let my hands wander down her sides and over the curve of her hips, then along her thighs.
So soft. So fucking soft and perfect.
A scraping sound came from across the room.
I lifted my head, body tensing at the strange sound. The window at the far end of the apartment slid open. A leg appeared, then another, followed by a very familiar blond head.
Finn climbed through the window with practiced ease, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. The fucker had climbed the fire escape outside Bree’s window. He closed the window and brushed off his pants. “Starting without me?”
