Page 47 of Power Play with My Brother's Irish Friends

26

MIRANDA

My eyes bugged out of my head when we pulled into the driveway leading to a swanky two-story house surrounded by trees and a tall fence that made it feel secluded and safe. “Where are we?” I tugged on the hem of my black dress, making it reach my knees. It sprang back halfway up my thighs when I released it, and I almost pulled it down again. I’d chosen the dress when Duncan’s text saying he’d planned something extra special for us arrived early this morning. I’d expected dinner at a restaurant, not the quiet solitude of a single house.

“My house.” He stepped out of the car and came around to open my door, holding out a hand for me to grasp. “I wanted to make tonight special. Not much says special like an intimate dinner I’ve cooked for you.”

“You’re going to cook…in that?” I motioned at his suit. The clean lines and dark color stood out against his red hair and green eyes. I couldn’t stop looking at him. Hand in his, I rose from the car, bringing the bouquet of multicolored roses with me. He’d surprised me twice already, and the date hadn’t even officially started.

Mirth danced across his face as he tightened his grip on my hand and headed up the brick pathway leading to a concrete porch with iron railings. A quick turn of the key and the heavy front door swung open to reveal a clean foyer with gray hardwood, beige walls, and enough paintings to make a museum look sparse. Everywhere I looked, I found Ireland. From castles to rolling hills, to steep cliffs and crashing waves, Duncan had brought his homeland here and plastered it on his walls.

“What do you think?” He slid his suit jacket off his shoulders and hung it on a wooden coat rack beside the door. His cufflinks dropped with matching clinks into a ceramic bowl on a Victorian style sofa table. He rolled his sleeves up, each twist revealing swaths of muscled forearms.

I yanked my attention from his arms to the rest of the house. The floorplan was simple but charming, with a living room to my left, a study to my right, and a staircase tucked in the back that led to the upstairs where I guessed the bedrooms were located. “It’s clean.”

A dark laugh rumbled all around me. “You expected less?”

“No.” I answered honestly. I’d seen how fastidious he was with his gear. He might be a brute on the ice, but he cared for his equipment. How did that translate to the bedroom? I cursed my foggy memory of our night together and walked around the living room, going from frame to frame. “You must miss it.”

“Not as much as I did.” He hinted at a deeper meaning with the words, the soft way he caressed the statement drawing me around to face him. “Would you like to stay here while I cook?” He offered a devastating wink. “I’d hate for you to think less of me when you see my cooking style.”

“Oh, then I have to watch you cook.” Grinning, I followed him into the kitchen and dropped onto one of the wooden chairs that surrounded an antique dining room table. “You like old things.” I ran my palms over the scarred wood that had been polished to a high sheen.

“I see no need in discarding things that still have value.” I tapped the table in passing. “Rescued this beauty from an estate sale last month.”

“And those?” I pointed out the state of the art appliances that somehow blended with the soft blue walls and wooden cabinetry.

“I’m frugal, not masochistic.” He ran a hand along the stove. “Having the proper gear is a huge investment but worth every cent when it comes to quality.” His arms flexed when he set his palms on the counter and leaned forward. “Now then, lass. Sit back and relax while I whip up something delightful.”

I did just that, comforted by the sounds of Duncan puttering around the kitchen. He’d taken off his shoes at some point, leaving him in socked feet. I laughed when I spotted the kittens holding hockey sticks on his socks.

He stopped and wiggled his toes. “Birthday gift from my niece. I send her a picture every time I wear them.”

“That’s sweet.” Unexpected and sweet. As was this softer, domestic side that I’d never seen or expected. To look at the burly man with his enormous shoulders and dark scowl, anyone would think him incapable of standing at a stove, much less cooking up a meal that smelled exquisite and exotic at the same time. I’d underestimated him and Patrick. They both showed a deep interest in me, not just my body and the pleasure they could find there. A man like Duncan did not bring a woman into his sanctuary and cook her dinner unless he cared. He valued his privacy too much. It showed an extreme amount of trust and faithfulness for him to bring me here.

“She’s a good lass.” He carried two plates over to the table and set them down, one in front of me, the other in front of the seat beside me. “Wine?”

“Water, please.” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth at the request, worried he’d see through it and question why I made the decision.

Duncan didn’t bat an eye as he pulled two glasses from an overhead cabinet and filled them with water from a pitcher in the refrigerator. He carried both over and sat while placing one in front of me.

I tried to stuff down the constant battering of questions that had my throat locked so tight I barely managed to swallow the first bite. The explosion of flavors from the roasted garlic potatoes and juicy steak demanded another bite, then another. “This is amazing. Better than any restaurant.”

Duncan tipped his glass toward me in thanks and finished chewing the bite in his mouth. “Not fancy, but flavor is the main thing I go for.”

“Fancy is overrated.” I swirled the next bite of steak through the drippings and stabbed a carrot onto the end of my fork, eating the whole thing in one bite. My eyes closed with a mixture of satisfaction and bliss. Eating had been something of a chore with the nausea gripping me every afternoon. I almost wished it would be morning sickness. It would be easier to deal with since most of my work happened later in the day and it was difficult to concentrate when my stomach turned itself inside out. Duncan took my glass and refilled it, handing it back to me and setting another steak on my plate.

“I shouldn’t.” But I was going to. For the first time in a month, my stomach remained firmly where it belonged without a hint of nausea.

Seeing him like this, all warm and cozy in his own home, brought up a thought I’d reminisced on for weeks. He’d make a good father. Patrick too. He’d changed since my arrival, and I trusted more than I expected. Maybe they deserved to know about my pregnancy. But if I was going to tell them, I had to tell all three, at the same time. It was only fair. My thoughts spiraled deeper and darker as I plowed my way through a second steak and finished the vegetables.

Duncan took our dirty dishes and tucked them into the dishwasher, then cleaned up the space where he’d cooked. A quiet tune slipped into the room, his low voice crooning what sounded like an Irish lullaby. It snapped me from my stupor and the barrage of questions making it difficult to enjoy the moment. “Do you sing to your niece?” I kicked off my heels and carried them over to the door, setting them beside his polished Oxfords.

On the ice, he showcased a gruff meanness that helped him succeed. Watching him in his own home, I saw through it to the teddy bear underneath. He possessed a romantic streak that surprised me even as it delighted and put me at ease.

“Every time I win a game, I call my family in Ireland. Little Bree demands I sing her to sleep, and that’s her favorite song. It must’ve been on my mind after winning yesterday.” He finished cleaning and prowled my way with the same languid ease he showed on the ice. He stopped inches away. “Would you like a tour?”

“Of the house?” I asked it with a raised brow. “Are you trying to get me into your bedroom?”

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