The Aces MC Complete Collection

  “Now, just lay yer arms in there,” Mum said soothingly as I stepped quietly into the kitchen. “That’ll help yer poor arms a bit, I’m sure of it.”

  Amy murmured something back that I couldn’t catch because they had their backs to me, and it took me a minute to comprehend Mum’s words.

  “What’s wrong wit’ yer arms?”

  Amy jumped, but Mum just turned to me with a smile.

  “Ah, yer awake then! Hungry?”

  “No, I’m not hungry. What’s wrong wit’ her arms?” I strode toward them quickly, imagining all sorts of horrible injuries.

  “It’s nothing,” Amy said hoarsely, still looking toward the sink. “Just some hives.”

  “Hives?” I came to a halt, standing stupidly in the middle of the kitchen. Something was off. What was it? Mum was smiling like always, but I felt the tension she was attempting to ignore.

  Amy was making no move to look at me.

  “Amy, me love.” I took another step toward her and watched her shoulders bunch with tension. “Sweetheart?”

  “I’m just goin’ to run up to the grocer, forgot some cabbage for tonight’s supper,” Mum commented quietly as she moved away from us.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, I stepped forward again until my chest was flush with Amy’s back.

  “I’m fine, Trick,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Just some itchy hives.”

  “Ye caught somet’in’?” I wound my arms around her waist and peered over her shoulder as she hunched a little farther into the murky water, her forearms almost flat against the bottom of the sink.

  “No, I just get these sometimes.”

  Her arms were red as a tomato and from what I could see, covered in big blotches of raised welts.

  “What in God’s name?” I lifted one of her arms out of the water even though she pulled against the movement. When her forearm cleared the sink, I couldn’t stop the noise that came from my throat. It was far worse than I’d thought and it looked incredibly painful. “What did ye do to yerself?”

  “Nothing! It just happens.”

  “It doesn’t just fuckin’ happen! Yer arms are swollen to twice dere size!”

  “It’s not that bad. Stop being so dramatic,” she snapped back, trying to rip her arm from my hand. When she gasped in pain at my firm grip, I immediately let her go. Shit. My fingers had left small white imprints in her flesh that quickly turned crimson again before my eyes.

  She hissed as she laid her hand back into the water, and I gripped her belly in response, trying to brace her. Her arms looked like they were on fire, and I still couldn’t understand what had happened.

  “Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what happened.”

  “I already told you,” she replied dully. “It just happens sometimes. I get hives, and they itch, and since I was wearing my uniform sleeves all day, any time I scratched them, they got worse.”

  “Why do ye get hives?”

  “It just happens.”

  “Bullshite. I’ve not seen dem on ye before.”

  “Yes, you have, they just weren’t as bad as they are now. They usually go away after a while.”

  “Why, Amy?” Our voices got quieter the longer we spoke, as if that could stop us from yelling, so by this time we were practically hissing at each other.

  “I get them from stress or if I’m upset.”

  “Stress?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are ye stressed about?”

  She went silent at that, and my mind raced through the past few days, wondering if something had happened. Had her parents tried to contact her? Were they the ones who’d been calling at all hours? They’d left the house they were renting in the middle of the night—probably because they owed money to someone—and no one had heard from them since. No, she would have told me if it were something like that.

  She didn’t say a word as I tried to think of a reason for her stress. When I remembered our fight that morning, my gut clenched in apprehension.

  “I did dis.” It wasn’t a question.

  “No! No, it was just stress,” she countered, backpedaling.

  “I hurt ye.”

  “I hurt you back.”

  My arms tightened around her and she sighed as I rested my face against her neck.

  “I apologize, me love,” I whispered against her throat. “I was cruel.”

  “No, I was a bitch. I kept pushing. You asked me to stop and I ignored you. I shouldn’t have said I’d be with someone else.” Her words drifted into a whisper.

  “De day ye stop pushin’ is de day ye no longer want me. Dat’s not somet’in’ I ever want to happen, darlin’.” I kissed her gently beneath her ear. “I was fuckin’ tired, and I could feel me good intentions sailin’ away in de wind, and I had to stop us. I went about it all wrong.”

  “I don’t understand why—”

  “I know ye don’t. But can it not just be enough, for now, to allow me to make dese decisions?” My words were exactly what I should have said that morning… but my wandering hands were completely contradicting anything I was trying to get across.

  “I don’t want anyone but you,” she said quietly as I bit down gently on her neck.

  “I know.”

  My arms were still wrapped solidly around her waist, but I couldn’t resist the lure of the bottom curve of her breasts. They were heavy against my forearms as she bent over the sink, and without thinking, my thumbs had begun sliding back and forth against the sides. She was so full there, thick and round and perfect.

  My hips were snug against her arse, and I knew the exact moment that she realized my cock had become hard as stone. She froze, barely breathing as I kissed her neck, running my tongue against the pulse there. She tasted so good, a bit salty with a hint of something sweet. I couldn’t help but imagine my mouth on other parts of her body, places where I knew the taste would be magnified.

  The longer she remained frozen, the more I wanted to thaw her out. My thoughts were consumed with the idea of making her warm and willing against me, and for a few moments I forgot the frustration I’d experienced that morning over Amy pushing me for more. I couldn’t think of anything except the fact that she wasn’t responding to me like she usually did, and I wanted—no I needed her to, especially after her words that morning. Why wasn’t she arching her hips like she usually did, or tilting her neck to give me better access?

  “Patrick? We need to stop,” she whispered, pulling her hips away from me timidly.

  The words were like a bucket of ice water thrown over my head,

  What the hell was I doing? My hands were completely covering her breasts, my fingers clenching against the resilient flesh, and I let go so quickly I could see them bounce a little as I glanced over her shoulder. After all I’d said, all the decisions I’d made for the both of us concerning sex and the fight we’d had that morning that had upset her so much that she’d broken out in hives…

  I was the one who was supposed to stop things from going too far. I was the one who was supposed to protect her.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, tripping backwards as I ran my hands over my face.

  “It’s okay. I just…”

  “Ye’ve got whiplash from me givin’ ye mixed signals? Fuck me.” I shook my head in disgust.

  “I just wasn’t sure what to do.”

  “I know, lass. De fault was mine.”

  I sat down heavily in a kitchen chair and braced my elbows on my knees. Christ. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could live like this. I wanted her. Badly. And I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I took her.

  I was living with the woman I wanted above all others, yet I couldn’t allow myself to touch her the way I wanted to. I could barely touch her at all without becoming so turned on that I had a hard time remembering why I held myself back. It was a hell of a position to be in.

  “It’s time I go back.”

  “What?” She spun toward me in surprise, water splashing across the floor
around her. “No! We’ll just be more careful. I can—”

  “Love, it’s not anyt’in’ yer doin’ or not doin’. I’ve got to get back to school and work. Can’t be stayin’ here forever and livin’ off me mum.”

  She stood there in the kitchen, wringing her red hands and her eyes filling with tears, while little tendrils of hair curled around her face from the steam.

  She was as beautiful as the Madonna statue they kept in the church. Her beauty went so much deeper than her face or body; it was a manifestation of her innocence, the sweetness she showed everyone, the steadfast loyalty that she gave to others even though it had never been given to her.

  And for some reason, she loved me. She hadn’t said the words, but I knew it. She showed it in every action, in every secret smile and small brush of her hand against me when she thought no one was looking.

  She was everything—messy and emotional and pragmatic and snarky and possessive and beautiful—and I couldn’t go another day without making her mine.

  I knew with sudden clarity that I wasn’t going anywhere before I quieted the doubts I knew were running through her head.

  I stood from the table slowly, my eyes never leaving hers and she sniffled even as she raised her chin proudly. She wouldn’t beg me to stay or try to change my mind—that wasn’t her way. She’d made her argument, or attempted to before I cut her off.

  She didn’t beg for scraps. It was beneath her to do so.

  She expected everything, as she should. Lucky for her, I’d give her anything.

  I stepped closer and raised my hands, resting them at the sides of her throat, my thumbs tracing her delicate jawline.

  “Marry me.” It wasn’t a question.

  The wind-up clock in the kitchen ticked at least fifteen times as she stared at me with wide eyes. I’d surprised her.

  “Marry you? Are you insane?” she said finally.

  “No. Marry me.”

  “I’m eighteen. I haven’t even finished secondary! I can’t just—”

  “Marry me.”

  “Stop saying that!”

  She gripped my forearms tightly in her slender hands, her nails digging in, and I couldn’t help but smile happily. Finally, finally, something in my life felt right. This felt right. I’d anchor to her to me so securely, she’d never again think of a life without me.

  The front door opened and my mum walked briskly into the kitchen, pausing as she caught sight of us.

  Checkmate.

  “Marry me.”

  Mum gasped in delight, and Amy’s eyes closed in defeat.

  Then her lips tipped up just a fraction.

  “Marry me,” I whispered again, pulling her face toward mine.

  “Are you sure?” she whispered back, opening her eyes. “Absolutely sure? This isn’t a game Patrick Gallagher, you can’t just change your mind.”

  “I’m more sure of dis den I’ve ever been of anyt’in’.”

  Her eyes shifted from side to side, searching for something in my gaze, and I knew when she’d found whatever she’d been looking for. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Okay, I’ll marry you.”

  I heard my mum clapping her hands together gleefully, but I couldn’t focus on anything but Amy’s flushed cheeks and excited eyes.

  I kissed her hard, pushing my lips against hers as I pressed my tongue between her teeth. I ignored the fact that we had an audience and were standing in my mother’s kitchen. Nothing mattered but her.

  I inhaled deeply, taking in her scent and the slight smell of the oats she’d been soaking in as one of her hands left my arm and wrapped around the back of my head. Her nails dug into my scalp as I stood taller and pulled her with me until her feet barely touched the ground.

  I wanted her to remember how she felt at that moment— loved wholeheartedly, yet perched precariously on her toes and leaning on me for balance as I controlled our movements.

  Chapter 17

  Amy

  “You’re still leaving?” I knew I was gaping like a fish, but I had a hard time trying to school my features. I was blindsided. We’d only just decided to get married, and I’d thought we’d have longer—that I’d have longer—to just bask in the excitement.

  “I’ve still got responsibilities, love. More so now den ever.”

  Patrick continued packing his small duffel, pulling t-shirts and socks from the bottom drawer of the dresser we’d been sharing.

  “But I thought—” My words broke off as I realized how ridiculous I’d been. Of course he hadn’t been leaving to get away from me. How self-important I’d been to assume that.

  “I’ve only got a few more classes before I’m finished. It’ll go by quickly, especially while yer finishin’ up yer own studies and plannin’ for our weddin.’ ” He glanced up at me with a grin, and I couldn’t help but mirror it.

  We’d been discussing our plans most of the night, cuddled up on the couch while Peg knit in a chair next to us. It didn’t seem real yet, the idea of being married. Where would we live? What would it be like to fall asleep next to Patrick and wake up the same way? Would sex be as awesome as I’d been imagining, or was the all the hype just bogus posturing?

  I had a thousand questions and very few answers, but I couldn’t help but be excited. I was getting married. Married. I’d never again feel like a guest who’d overstayed her welcome. I’d belong to Patrick. He’d belong to me.

  “I’ll be home again in a few weeks. Mum says dat she’s sure Fadder Mark will be anxious to get de deed finished and he’ll probably let Kevie do the ceremony, especially since ye’ve been sleepin’ in me bed for so long already,” he commented with a sly look as he zipped up his bag. “Ye’ve less den a mont’ to find a dress and some sexy undergarments.”

  “Less than a month,” I said quietly to myself as I dropped to the edge of the bed. “It feels so far away and so soon at the same time.”

  “I’d marry ye tomorrow,” he answered quietly, sitting next to me and taking my hand in his. “Dis’ll give ye time to be certain.”

  “I am.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I laid back against the cool quilt, dragging him with me until we were lying side by side with our feet hanging of the edge of the bed. I could feel the heat of him from my knee to my shoulder, and for once I didn’t feel the urgency to connect our bodies more fully. I was happy to be just breathing the same air as him and clasping his fingers between mine.

  “Where will we live?” I asked dreamily, rolling my head to the side so I could watch him. “How many children will we have?”

  “Here for now, I suppose, dough I’ll be back and forth from Uni for a while.” He squeezed my fingers between his own. “I’m sorry I’ve not more to give ye yet.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “It’s not, but I promise ye, some day ye’ll have everyt’in’ ye want. Once I’m done wit’ school, I’ll find some job—maybe teachin’—and we’ll move far from dis place. Get us a house wit’ a garden where ye can lie in the sun and bloom like de roses.”

  “What about Peg?” I loved this game we were playing. I wanted to know all of his dreams, all of the things he imagined for us. I wanted, for once, to picture a happily ever after.

  “We’ll take her wit’ us. Perhaps I’ll be hired in Scotland and we can bring her dere for a while.”

  “She’d love that.”

  “She would.”

  “She could babysit our kids while we go on romantic dinners.”

  “Keep dem overnight so I can fuck ye in every room of our house.” His thumb began to trail over my fingers, never hesitating over the missing ones, as if he didn’t even notice them anymore.

  “I’ll wind up pregnant again from all that fucking.”

  “Christ, it’s hot when ye curse.”

  “Focus. We were talking about our children. How many will we have?”

  “As many as I can plant in yer belly.”

  “Two.”

  “Six.” br />
  “Three.”

  “Four.”

  “Okay, four.”

  We lie there, smiling at each other for a long time, the future full of possibility and promise. I knew that things wouldn’t be easy, life rarely was, but I couldn’t imagine it being less than perfect if I was with Patrick.

  He could make me giddy then livid within the space of a few moments, and I couldn’t have loved him more. We fit somehow, the two of us. His overwhelming need to look after the women in his life matched my need for security, as if we were two pieces of a puzzle.

  “Are you sure you have to leave tomorrow?” I asked quietly, dreading the answer.

  “If I don’t go tomorrow, I won’t go at all. De lure of ye will be too strong to resist,” he answered, turning to his side so he could brush his fingers through my hair. “I know it’s been hard to wait…”

  “Now we don’t have to.”

  “Aye, we do. We’ve still a mont’ until de weddin’, we’ll not be anticipatin’ de vows.” He lifted an eyebrow at my snort. “Be patient, me love. Less den a mont’, and I’ll be wakin’ up to all dis beautiful hair wrapped around me.”

  I giggled like an idiot at the picture he painted, and he smiled at me indulgently as he waited for me to finish. No one had ever looked at me the way Patrick did—like everything I said and did was the most important thing in the universe and he didn’t want to miss a moment.

  “What would you do if I came down the aisle with my hair cut to my chin?” I teased.

  “I’d marry ye, kiss ye hard and den spank yer arse before we even made it to de reception.”

  “You would not!”

  “Aye, I would.”

  “You’re full of it. You’d never hit me.”

  “I’ll ask ye a question den. Do ye t’ink me mum would ever hit ye?”

  “No. No way.”

  “But she flicks ye every time ye take de Lord’s name in vain, does she not?”

  “That’s completely different!”

  “So is a spankin’ from yer husband.”

  “Bullshit!” I sat up in irritation. “I’m not a kid you can just spank when I do something wrong!”