Hard Irish (10 page)

Still, he wasn’t willing to call it quits.   He knew if push came to shove there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do to assure her safety.  It was the whole image thing that left him floundering.

“We have a problem.”  Her hand on his stopped him in his stubborn-tracks.  He shifted his balance, leaning back against the truck frame to stop and face her.  Less than a foot away from him and just a few inches shy of his six-three, she nearly met him eye-level.  The thought a making love to a woman who matched him so nicely physically, hit his hot button.

“What?”  He didn’t pull his hand away, but forced himself to stay still and enjoy the heat of her touch despite the irritation in her gaze.

“If you can’t put common sense ahead of ego, then we’re going to go more than just toe-to-toe.  Ask yourself, if the roles were reversed what would make sense.  You carrying my bag up a few steps while I maneuvered on crutches, or I—”

“Be as stubborn as a blue-nosed mule and insist on doing it yourself.”  A reluctant grin tugged on Jared’s lips.  He liked the idea of going toe to toe, leg to leg, hip to hip, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, and everything else possible to her everything.  In every way.

“Are you calling me a blue-nosed mule?” Rocky arched a brow, humor making her clover-green eyes even brighter.

Jared smiled and slid his gaze slowly over her.  “Not at all.  Myself.”

She took the bag from him and focused on his nose.  “If the ring fits...”

“Ouch!” He tried to pretend outrage but ended up laughing.  She did too, chasing the last bit of shadows that had been lingering in her expression since he’d met her.  She glowed.  It was a beautiful thing.  The only look he could imagine as being better was ecstasy. 

He shook his head.  “You’re a hard Irish woman, Roxanne McKenna.”

Her laughter died instantly and she turned quickly away, heading toward her house.

He shut the truck door and followed.  “What is it?”

She shook her head.  “Nothing.  Let’s get you inside and pack some ice on your leg.”

He stood beside her as she unlocked and opened her front door.  But before she could march inside, he slid his arm across the doorway, balancing himself against the jamb.  Forced to face him, she turned, her brow knitted.

“If I can’t be a blue-nosed mule then you can’t be a corncob.”

“A what?”

“A corncob.  The dried up husk that’s left after all the juicy—”

“I know what a corncob is,” she said, bristling.  “I am not being a corncob.”

He looked her over a little closer than she had him.  “You’re right.  There’s still a lot of juicy left on your husk.  Then you’re not allowed to be an over-thorned rose.  If I said something wrong, then you need to explain so I don’t rain on your laughter again.”

She sighed.  “It wasn’t you pissing on me.  Just baggage from the past.  It has a way of hitting me upside the head when I’m not looking.”

“From the divorce?”

“Yeah.” She looked into her house and shrugged.  “It’s a knee jerk reaction.  Collin coined that phrase ‘hard Irish woman’ and everybody bought into it, job and family, until I finally aired some of his dirty laundry.  I am long over it all.”

“Maybe, and maybe everyone should have had faith in you,” he said, soft, his voice rumbling deep from the gut-reaction inside him that wanted to kiss her.  He slid his thumb along her cheek, bringing her gaze to his.  “Three years is a long time.  Maybe you need someone to chase those ghosts away.”

Her lips parted and he almost leaned in and kissed her hard.  But somehow, he felt as if he were coercing her in a vulnerable moment again, just like he had last night.  Instead, he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, feeling the lush softness of her flesh, feeling the heat of her breath.

His jeans shrunk in a heartbeat.  He dropped his hand while he still had the control to do so.  “You let me know when you’re ready to go ghost hunting.  Meanwhile, what’s the story behind this odd bit of architecture?  Can’t say I’ve ever seen a chopped off salt-box before.  What’s on the roof?”

She exhaled hard and looked confused then took a half step back.  “What?”

 
Just damn
.  She seemed almost disappointed.  Maybe he should have kissed her anyway.  “The roof,” he repeated, calling himself a complete fool.  “I thought I saw some greenery.  Is there anything up there besides the lattice-fenced railing?”

“Sun deck and a garden.”  She moved inside.

He followed, curious.  He expected old-fashioned lace and frills.  The solid colors, the perfectly placed plants and subtle lighting, the sparse but simple elegance of the inside of her home surprised him.  “A Feng Shui fan, I see.”

Eyes wide, she set his bag on the floor and stared at him.  “Most men I know think Feng Shui is a martial art move.”  She looked at him as if he’d suddenly been imported from another planet.

An architect had to know the ins and outs of every philosophy of design and the energy it produced.  Was it not something a security guy would know?  He thought about Jesse, and nearly cursed aloud.  Jesse would be checking out the vulnerability of her situation and what safety issues needed to be address.  He shrugged.  “Maybe you don’t know the right men.  It’s not unusual to know the difference between a life philosophy and takedown and submission techniques.”

“Take down and what?”

He grinned.  “Submission.  The foundation for success in Mixed Martial Art fighting is a solid foundation in takedown and submission techniques.  You know, determining your opponent’s vulnerability, getting him down and keeping him there.  Speaking of which, it’s the first thing we need to do.”

Her jaw dropped.  “Takedown and submission?  I think you’ve gotten the wrong—”

Jared roared with laughter.  She just stood there glaring at him.

“No, that’s not where I was going, but I can show you a few moves if you ask me nice,” he gasped when he could speak.  Putting her into the equation gave a whole new meaning to takedown and submission moves.  “We need to determine what our safety vulnerabilities are.  How many exits are there? Do they have deadbolt locks?  Do you have your windows locked?  And I didn’t see an alarm system so I am assuming you don’t have one.”

“I don’t have an alarm.  Yes, on the deadbolt locks and window locks.  And there are five entry/exits.  But all of that can wait.  You need to get ice on your leg and take a pain pill.”

“No.  This is one thing that you can count on me being a blue-nosed mule on.  I’m here for a reason.  Safety first, after that I’ll let you take charge.”

She arched a brow and her lips twitched.  “You’ll submit?”

His breath caught and he nearly lost his balance on the crutches.  The interested gleam in her gaze had him feeling as if she’d just taken him down and he couldn’t wait to lose this match.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

Rocky marched into the living room where she finally got a pale-faced Jared to lay down on the couch and prop his leg up on pillows.  She may go Feng Shui in her décor but the brown-leather, over-sized, over-stuffed L-shaped sectional had been a must even though it was a bit too large and didn’t quite match the sleek, simplicity of the room.  A woman had to have some indulgences.

Jared had been throughout the house, upstairs and down and on the roof.  He’d checked every window, found two of them where the latches needed their screws tightened, and secured every door.  He’d even traipsed around the backyard and pool, checking the fence and gate, the natural gas tank, and generally made sure everything was locked and secure. 

All of this over a dive-bombing planter seemed a bit over the top.  She still didn’t think it was connected to Collin’s rage last night.  Her ex was more of a stampeding bull than a shadow lurker.  So by separating the incidents, Rocky was left with doubts that the planter had been a deliberate attempt on her life.

Her cowering in the dark last night almost seemed silly by the light of the day.  Collin had left her alone for three years.

What had he been doing all that time though?  Had he been moving on?  Or had he been stewing in his anger just waiting to—

Don’t go there.  Not now
.  Rocky closed her eyes and sucked in air, forcing her memory back down a dark tunnel.  Maybe Jared’s ghost assessment wasn’t off base.

The one major vulnerability he’d found was that all of her deadbolts weren’t keyed on the inside.  And all of her doors had glass panels.  Anyone could break the glass, reach in, turn the knobs and unlock the doors before she could even dial 911.  She vowed to change them first thing in the morning, then had to practically drag Jared to the couch to rest.

Now she was armed with pain meds and ice.

Jared eyed the pill bottle.  “I need to stay on my game.  Just give me some Tylenol.”

“It’s four in the afternoon. Collin doesn’t get a good drunk going until about eight or nine at night.  By the time dark hits, you’ll be fine.  You promised me that you’d follow my directions now.”  He did not look happy, but the lines of pain etching his face told him she was dead on.  “Macho only goes so far before it crosses over into stupid.  You’ve a fractured leg and thirty stitches keeping your calf together.”

Jared rolled his eyes.  “Hairline fracture.  I’ve had worse.”

She held out the pills.  “You promised.”

“Fine.  I’ll take the pills under one condition.  You give me your word that you’ll stay inside until I am firing on all cylinders.  No roof top meditation.  No pool.  No gardening.  Read a book.  Watch TV.  Bake cookies.  Whatever.  Just stay inside. Okay?  I guess it wasn’t so out of line for Jesse to stick his nose into the situation and demand I check in.”

“I thought your big brother being all big-brotherly was...incredibly cool.  You can tell how much you all care about each other.  Being an only child, I always wanted to have a brother or sister.  Wished for it every day up until...well for a long time.” 

“Guess I don’t appreciate what I have.  My brothers are all blue-nosed mules.  You avoided the promise.”

“I promise I’ll stay inside.”  He took the pills from her.  She packed ice around his leg, too aware of his scorching gaze burning her senseless.  The bar incident, the planter thing, and taking him to the doctor had plowed through barriers she’d had up since her divorce.  Barriers that Dessie’s outrageous-get-him-bedroom-bound comments and her pocket
Kama Sutra
had weakened.

Sex aside.  There was an intimacy involved in taking care of Jared and even more so in the fierce protectiveness he had of her.  It was more intimate than she’d been with any man in a long time.  It seduced that part of her that had kept a man at arm’s length.  Did that mean she was weak, or did that mean that Jared was
right guy
material?

She went back to the kitchen to make more ice packs, wondering where this unexpected twist in life was going to lead.  Well, hell, she knew where it was going unless she derailed it.  To the bedroom—and moving like a runaway freight train at that.

Thank you Ms. Desmond Langford.

When Rocky returned to Jared, he’d shut his eyes and she held off adding any more ice.  He needed some rest and she took the opportunity to grab her mother’s books off the shelf.  Before reading, she realized that she should have heard from Uncle Pat by now.  She stepped into the other room and called his cell.  Getting voice mail, she left a message for him to call her.  That she could either come get her mother’s box from him at his house or that he could drop it by hers.  Her second call to the nursing home for the day, informed her that there’d been no developments in her father’s condition and he’d made no more attempts to talk.  After calling her father’s attorney again, and getting the same out-of-town message, she left her number and then she curled up on the other end of the couch and read.

Rocky didn’t know if she was just older, or if she’d been through more of the pain that life dished out than before, or if having lost her mother made everything different, but Rocky found herself more drawn into her mother’s words than ever.

One poem, titled “Unforgiven” stood out, prompting her to read it several times.  It wasn’t just because the title of it was so close to
Unforgivable
, the word her father had spoken yesterday, but the power and the rawness of the poem gripped her, along with the fact that her mother
had
at least felt unforgiven for a sin. 
What?

I know the depths of sin.

The wretchedness of the depraved.

I know the darkness within

I’ll never escape it, even in the grave.

Though I know it is wrong

And I’ll pay with my soul

I could not turn away from

The love that made me whole.

So I stole every moment of time

And lived in the shadows

To love this child of mine

Before facing heaven’s gallows

I was part of the unforgivable

Blood stains my hands

Still I pray for the impossible

That in the end mercy will stand.

A knock at the door startled Rocky.  She set the book down and hurried to see who it was.  Jared was still asleep.  Peeking through the curtain, she saw Dessie and Pebbles.  She unlocked the door to let them both in.  Pebbles went on a sniffing-the-floor hunt and Dessie clutched her chest.  “God, Rocky.  I don’t know what I am going to do.”

Rocky grabbed Dessie’s arm.  “What is it? What happened?”

“His tongue sucked my ‘no’ right away in less than five seconds.  I was in my dressing room getting dressed for the show.  Someone knocked on the door and I answered.  After all, wearing a bra and panties is overdressed for the Golden Bunny.”

“Uh, Dessie—”

“No. Let me finish.  He was there.  He marched right in, fell to his knees and planted his mouth on me.  I came right there through the silk.  Best orgasm I’ve had in years, maybe ever.  He may go by the name of Saint, but that man is no saint.  What am I going to do?  What he did with his tongue should be—”