Page 11 of Chasing the Fall

It’s arousal.

I swallow hard, my hand wrapping around and my fingers flexing into the curve of her torso. The lust I’d been trying to hold at bay slams into me with the force of a locomotive, hard and punishing.

Too far! Danger, Will Robinson!

“You’re a bully,” Tallulah whispers, a frown creasing her brow. Within my grip, the pulse in her wrist beats a frantic rhythm.

Without another word, I lever myself off her and move to the couch. “We’re moving somewhere with more space tomorrow,” I say when I’m in control of myself, the words flat and brooking no protest.

That can’t happen again. She’s off-limits, the Boss’s baby cousin. I don’t even know how it happened, how the chronic irritation she inspires turned so swiftly to desire.

All I know is that she’s forbidden fruit, and if I value my life, I’ll do as Kael said and keep my hands to myself.

Six

Twiggy

I’m going stir crazy,and it’s all Bran Kelly’s fault.

Sitting at my computer now with my back to the man, I shove half a Boston cream in my mouth and try my best to ignore his presence. He sits behind me on the couch, quiet and unobtrusive, yet here.

Watching.

He never stops watching, whether it’s me or the landscape on the other side of my big picture window. I’ve never seen a person with such utter, intent focus, and having it all directed at me is unnerving.

Lifting my hand, I smooth my hair away from the back of my neck, unsure if the prickle of sensation there is from Bran’s steady regard or just an errant hair.

I didn’t sleep last night, images of Bran hovering scant inches above me playing like a movie on the backs of my eyelids. I can still feel his weight pressing me into the mattress, the heaviness of his thighs against mine, and that unmistakable ridge against the juncture of my hips. Craziness.

He should have been too heavy; his solid bulk should have made it difficult to breathe; he should’ve made me want to escape.

Instead, he had stolen my breath for an entirely different reason.

I wanted Bran Kelly.

The idea disconcerted me—for many reasons. He was my cousin’s right hand, deeply ingrained in mob life. This meant he was off-limits.

He was significantly older than me, in his thirties to my twenty-one. I squinted at my computer screen. I wasn’t sure of his exact age…

“How old are you?” I blurted the question without deliberate thought, the sound of it in the quiet room a surprise. Bran doesn’t answer immediately, and I turn to look at him.

“Why?” His expression is guarded.

I turn back to my computer. “If you don’t want to tell me, I can find out on my own, you know.” My fingers fly over the keys.

Bran grunts. “I don’t care if you know I’m thirty-two. I’m just curious why you want to know.”

Thirty-two… I look at the date on his driver’s license displayed on my screen. “…almost thirty-three. Happy birthday to Brandon Finley Kelly on the twenty-fourth of December.”

I feel him rise and come to stand behind my chair. “Cut that shit out.”

“Or what?” I don’t know why I’m compelled to sass him, but there it is. He brings out the best in me.

A big hand slinks in front of me and circles my neck, the fingers tangling in my hair and the thumb stroking a spot beneath my ear that makes me shiver. “Just don’t. If you want to know something, I’ll tell you.” His voice is deeper than usual. Or is that just me?

I nod, swallow against the heat of his palm, and force myself to squeak out a response. “Fair enough.”

Bran’s hand slides slowly away after one more stroke of his thumb, and he returns to his seat on the couch. That was the other thing that kept me off-balance—my physical response to him. It was nothing I’d experienced before, and I didn’t have a clue what to do with it.

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