“She probably worried that you wouldn’t understand them with all those brothers.”
“Exactly. So she took me to this tree and told me that someday, I would…” Damn it, his throat closed again.
“You would what, James?”
He would love. That’s what she wanted for him—to love the way she and Dad did. He turned abruptly from the tree and let go of Kyra’s hand, but she easily took his right back again.
“It must have broken your heart to lose her.”
He closed his eyes, ready to leave, but she wasn’t going to let him. “It broke everything,” he admitted softly. “My heart, my family, and my spirit.”
“Oh.” She stroked his jaw with her thumbs as if her very touch could coax more words out of him. And it did. Words that needed to come out, whether he liked it or not. He wanted to look away, but Kyra’s crystal-blue eyes held his gaze like magnets. He’d never told this to anyone, but right here, right now, with this woman under this tree, he had to.
“She went out for ice cream,” he said. “We were playing a game of Monopoly, which, I can tell you, got crazy and competitive and cutthroat. And she decided we all needed ice cream in order to make the night perfect.”
But the night had already been perfect, he thought. Nine Brannigans in the family room, a fire crackling, everyone just…content. Nobody needed ice cream, damn it.
“That night was…” How could he explain it to her? The before and after-ness of that moment in time. It was quite possibly the last time James had ever been fully and completely content. After that, nothing was ever the same. Nothing.
“Tell me, James,” Kyra whispered.
“None of us wanted to leave the game.” He cringed at the thought, feeling the pang of guilt that always tapped at his heart when he relived that evening. He could have gone with her. Should have. Maybe her life would have been spared if they’d just taken an extra minute getting out of the house. That’s all. Ten seconds later, and there never would have been an accident.
“She insisted on running out alone, teasing us about how many gallons of ice cream it would take for all those boys.” He could still see her vividly as she stood in the kitchen doorway, pointing at them. “‘Be good or I’ll bring back Rocky Road,’ she said.”
They all hated Rocky Road.
His whole body and soul drifted back to that night, the woodsy scent of the fire and the sound of little Finn’s ringing laughter as they let him roll the dice. He could hear Hunter and Gabe whispering as they teamed up to beat everyone else, and remembered that Luke had nudged James’s knee under the coffee table as if to say, We could team up, too, and beat those two idiot twins.
And Dad. Oh God, Dad.
Dad was sitting on the floor—when the hell had that ever happened since that night?—holding Finn on his lap and guiding Max and Knox, who were a little too young to be playing the game but refused to be left out.
Dad, who’d looked up at his wife with nothing but love and contentment in his eyes.
“‘I’ll hold down the fort, honey,’” James whispered out loud. “They were the last words my father ever spoke to his wife.”
But he hadn’t held down the fort. He’d disappeared into work and left the keys to the fort in James’s hand, and thus began a lifetime of attempting to have control.
He closed his eyes, and something slipped in his heart, like a rock tumbling off a cliff. He could practically hear it fall and hit bottom and leave him…lighter.
Holy hell, he had let go of some of that grief.
Opening his eyes, he refocused on Kyra, seeing the tears in her eyes and one on her cheek. He wiped it away, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest because…because he had to.
He had to cling to her, had to squeeze her hard, because…
Women leave.
The thought was random and rough, but so, so real in his heart. Women leave. And once they did, life was never the same.
Which would be why he’d never invited one to stay in his life. Except, why was he blaming all women for an accident that had taken his mother and changed his life? It wasn’t her fault, and she didn’t leave on purpose.
“What happened, James?” Kyra asked.
He swallowed, knowing he owed it to her to hear the whole story. “She was less than a mile from our ranch when a young driver, a kid who’d gotten his license the day before, whipped around a blind corner and plowed into her.”
Kyra gasped. “Oh God.” Then she pressed her hand on his face again. “No wonder you hate turns like that. I understand now.”
Was that the reason? He’d never put those two things together, but it made sense. Kyra made sense. So much sense. He held her close, squeezing her a little.
“She was in a coma for about a week, then she died,” he finished. “And that was the end of the perfect Brannigan family.”
“With all that love and stability?” She sounded stunned. “I have no doubt her death left a hole in your life, but seven kids and a loving father—”
“He died a little with her,” James said. “He was never quite the same, and honestly, she was truly the glue that held it all together. Her infectious joy. Her crazy ideas and spontaneous acts of…fun.”
She gave him a wry smile. “And now we know why you hate fun.”
He pulled her all the way into him, pressing a kiss on her sweet-smelling hair.
“I don’t hate it.” He tipped her face up. “In fact, it’s growing on me. And so are you, lemondrop. You and your brand of magic, which makes me talk and laugh and do crazy things…like this.” He pressed his lips on hers, lightly at first, easy and gentle.
“Mmm. Not crazy,” she murmured into his mouth. “Delicious.”
He intensified the kiss, backing her into the thick tree trunk so he could feel her pressed against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with all the passion that bubbled in her, purring each time his hands coasted up and down her sides and lingered at her breasts.
“James,” she whispered.
“Mmmm.” He kissed down her jaw to her throat.
“I feel like your parents are watching.”
He froze, and couldn’t help laughing. “You do?”
“Well, this is their place. For all we know, they made love here.”
His eyes widened in horror. “Why did you say that?”
“Did it kill the mood?”
“A little.” He held her waist and eased her against him. “You know something?”
“What?”
He put both hands on her face and inched her closer. “I want to make love to you and not under a tree.”
Her lips curved up. “You do?”
“Come back to the hotel with me,” he whispered. “And don’t leave. Don’t leave for days and nights and days and nights. How’s that for fun?” It might not seem like it was to her, but to him, it was a monumental change and loss of control and step forward.
And he wanted to take it. With Kyra.
“So. Much. Fun.” She let her eyes shutter close and answered with another kiss, this one a deep, soulful promise of paradise.
Chapter Fourteen
Kyra careened down the mountain on the motor scooter, doing her best not to risk their lives but giving the bike plenty of speed to get them to where they both wanted to be.
In bed together.
She was breathless by the time they parked the bike outside of the Eden Roc, shaking as James whisked her through the lobby so none of the friendly staff could stop them, and helpless when he pressed her against the elevator wall before the doors fully closed.
Alone, he kissed her while they rode, holding her body, touching and caressing, anxious to finally enjoy every inch.
Upstairs, they broke the kiss, blinking, neither one focused or balanced. Half laughing, half sighing, he led her to the suite, nudged her inside, shut and locked the door as he pinned her with a hungry gaze.
“Kyra,” he whispered, his breath as
strangled as hers. “Finally.”
“Finally?” She laughed softly. “I’ve known you less than a week, James.”
Holding her face in his hands, he kissed her again, more tenderly this time, taking a moment to explore her lower lip and let their tongues get even better acquainted. “But I wanted you from the minute you blasted me with your first ray of sunshine.”
He threaded his fingers into her hair and kissed some more, guiding her deeper into the suite, heading for the bedroom.
“You thought I was ditzy,” she said between kisses.
“No, just…perky.” He started working on the buttons of her sleeveless top. “And you thought I was an asshole.”
She helped with the last button and shrugged it off as they reached the bedroom door. “No, just…jerky.”
He barked a laugh at her rhyme. “Honestly, Kyra. I wanted you since the moment you breezed in front of me and started…melting me with warmth.”
She dragged her hand down his chest over his shirt, her destination clear. When she got there, she put her hand over the huge bulge in his pants. “Nothing has melted.”
“Except…” He closed his eyes, clearly stopping himself from finishing.
“Except what?” she asked.
He shook his head, reaching around her back to get to her bra clasp. “Your clothes. They are about to melt off. And then your body is going to melt in my mouth.”
“Promises, promises.”
He slid her bra straps down her shoulders, his gaze smoldering as he stared at her bare breasts. “Just like I thought.”
“What? Perky?”
“Pretty.”
“Pretty what?” she teased.
“Pretty perfect, like the rest of you.”
He kissed down her throat and covered one breast with a sure, warm touch and sucked the other one. Somehow, she got him to stop long enough to tug his shirt over his head.
She sighed noisily at the sight of his bare chest. She’d seen it before—she’d admired the hell out of it before—but this was different. Now his body was hers to explore and taste and adore.
At the bed, he eased her down on her back and hovered over her, suddenly still for a moment as he searched her face.
“Second thoughts?” she asked, a twinge of fear twisting her chest.
“Are you kidding?” He stroked her cheek, catching his breath, lost in his thoughts.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’ve never known anyone quite like you.”
“We’ve established I’m not your type, James.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” he said. “But if I had a type, she’d be warm and funny and sexy and bright and beautiful, and God, I sound like an idiot, but I have to tell you this.”
He didn’t sound like an idiot. He sounded like a lover, and it was so sweet that she swallowed against a thick throat, as hungry for his compliments and feelings as she was for his body.
“I’m just trying to say that I don’t take you for granted. Now hang on and don’t you move.”
It surprised her when he got off the bed, but he only went into the bathroom and came back with a foil packet, tossing the condom on the bed next to her. “Where were we?”
“Right where we’re supposed to be.” She pulled him down, exploring abs that were taut and delicious, with a sexy trail that led down to the button and zipper her hands itched to open.
The first pull of an orgasm tortured her already, making her skin tight and tingly, and her hips moved against him like she had no control. He worked his mouth and hands down her belly, and all she could do was tunnel her fingers into his thick hair, holding his head as he kissed her, sighing as he tugged off the white jeans she’d thought would be perfect for a day of sightseeing.
She studied the angle of his broad shoulders, the olive tone of his skin, and the way his hair feathered over his neck.
She was sightseeing all right. Beautiful, sexy sights.
At her appreciative moan, he looked up at her, a smile in his dark eyes. “Even your panties are yellow.” He dipped a teasing finger into the silky thong. “Definitely your color, sunshine.”
Had she made that decision subconsciously this morning?
“Sunny. I was going for sexy right now.”
“Trust me, you are that.”
She sucked in a breath as he circled her most tender spot, already aching with need and ready for him. Whispering his name, she spread her legs as he slowly, easily, crazily eased one finger into her.
Biting her lip so she didn’t cry out, she moved with him as he found a rhythm that matched the slamming beat of her heart. He brought her right to the painful precipice of an orgasm and then worked his way back up to kiss her some more.
He slid his tongue in and out of her mouth like a foreshadowing of what his body was about to do to her. She sucked his tongue, bit his lip and, with trembling hands, unzipped his shorts. Finally, she closed her hand over a mighty, thick erection.
He moaned as she stroked him, then reached for the condom and tore the packet with his teeth, enough desperation in the move to take her a little closer to the same edge. He held her gaze as he sheathed himself, the only sound in the room their ragged, uneven breaths. She searched his face, memorizing every feature and line, the slackness of his jaw as he fought for air, the darkness of his eyes as he studied her right back.
She grazed his cheek, touched again by his words and by his restraint at a moment when most men wouldn’t exhibit any at all. “You’re special, too.” At his look, she stilled her fingers. “Especially when you let your walls down.”
His eyes closed partway. “I don’t know how you do that…”
She smiled, dragging her hand from his face, over his chest, and down to his hard-on, guiding him to her. “Like this, James. We do that just…like…this.”
He kissed her hungrily as he found his way inside her, very slowly and easily at first, building to a perfect tempo and speed with each increasingly deep thrust.
He filled her, hot, hard, and thick, plunging in and out and never, not once, breaking the kiss. His mouth was as sexy as his body, as intense and warm and wet. His weight was secure and masculine, his legs strong as she wrapped her thighs around his to get every inch of him inside her.
He murmured her name, groaning with raw, ragged pleasure, both of them lost as an incendiary heat built. She fell first, giving in to the ribbon of desire that wrapped through her body, squeezing a climax out of her, blinding her with bliss.
After she came, he surrendered to the same power, moving ferociously in and out of her, his breath like growls, his hands grasping her until he lost all shred of control and spilled into her over and over again.
Finally, his full weight pressed on her, his mouth against her ear, every breath an effort.
“Lemondrop,” he managed to whisper.
She wanted to smile at the ridiculous nickname, but it took too much work to move a single muscle.
“I’m in trouble.”
“Why?” she managed to ask.
“Because I’m still inside you, and I already want more.”
“Mmmm. Why is that a problem? I’ll stay all night.”
He let out a sigh. “No one ever stays.”
She lifted her hands and put them on his face, forcing his head up so he had to look at her. “Didn’t you just tell me I’m not like anyone else?”
“Yeah.” He searched her eyes, something that looked an awful lot like fear in his. “That’s why I’m in trouble.”
* * *
She thought he was kidding. Of course she did. Sunny, bright, warm, completely adorable, and totally honest Kyra Summers didn’t know that icy, cold, heartless James Brannigan had arrived in Italy with one plan: to sell the winery she and her adopted family loved so much.
And that’s why he was in trouble.
Still grappling with the decision, he left her sleeping in his bed, naked and spent. As hard as it was to walk away—and damn, it was,
because she was so silky and warm and womanly and perfect—he got up, pulled on some shorts, and went out to the balcony, his gaze drawn to a sunset faded by a thick band of silvery clouds that hovered over the mountain and warned of an early evening shower.
Deep in his gut, the weather mirrored his mood. Churned up. Confused. Hazy where there should be nothing but sunshine.
Why would he feel that way? He just had sex with a hot and willing woman, and he should be satisfied, content, and replete with a sense that everything was just fine.
But something wasn’t fine, and he knew it. Was this just garden-variety fear of a commitment? Resentment that someone got behind his walls? Or was it something deeper?
He didn’t get crippled by emotions and attachments, because he didn’t have time or interest in such things. He made a point of being sure that even a “girlfriend”—and there’d been mighty few of those—knew he preferred to wake up alone.
Why was that?
He had no idea. Just that the women in his life had accepted that, along with all the perks that came with dating a wealthy, attentive man.
He felt his lip curl in an unexpected bout of self-disgust. Was he that much of a coldhearted bastard? Was his coldness purely self-preservation because there were so many women who wanted his name, his bank account, and his access to society? Or was that an instinctive act to protect his heart because…
Women leave.
Okay, one fairly important woman in his life left, but not by choice. She died. And when she did, James started putting that wall around him brick by brick. If this woman took those walls down, then what? Would he feel raw all the time? Vulnerable? Out of control? Wretched when someone who bounced around the world like a rubber ball left him? Because she would. He knew she—
“Pretty lonely out here, isn’t it?”
He turned at the sound of Kyra’s voice, inhaling softly at the sight that accompanied it. She’d wrapped the sheet around her, holding it in a bunch just above her breasts. Her hair was tousled, wild, like a waterfall of blond silk tumbling over her bare shoulders. Her eyes were sleepy and her lips a tiny bit swollen from all the kissing.