Page 25 of Grind
“She died when I was little,” he says simply. I reach out and take his hand. My throat catches.
“This is beautiful. She was such a talented painter. Thank you for sharing this with me.” For all the attention that this man commands, I suddenly wonder how often he is really seen.
We linger there a bit longer and then head out into the night. “Let’s walk to the restaurant?”
He doesn’t let go of my hand. My shoes aren’t great for trekking around the cobblestones of Beacon Hill, but I don’t really want to disrupt the night. To break the spell.
As we walk down the hill, I trail a bit behind him. His shoulders seem impossibly broad. What’s it like, being a Doyle? How much of his father’s legacy does he carry – and what does that even mean? Brooks had been weighed down by his family’s corruption, and I always assumed that’s at least part of why he drinks so much.
Not that it excuses for a second anything he’s done. Not by a mile. But when you’re confronted by a monster, you have to wonder what shaped them.
My eyes go back to Connor, so very, utterly different. Completely different.
From the little bit of reading that I did about Murphy Doyle, what I could dig up, he’s a conflicted figure. Definitely some underworld ties, at least early on, although that clearly hadn’t stopped Seamus from becoming a lawyer. And beloved in his parts of the city of Boston. Apparently a champion in a lot of ways, especially of the working class Irish roots he’d never gotten far away from.
I just don’t know how much of their business is above board now. Or how much it even matters.
Before I can follow the train of thought, Connor turns into a park and says softly over his shoulder. “Let’s cut through here.”
My senses flare on high alert. This is the kind of place that I’d learned to avoid after Brooks. My free hand slips down to the pocket of my coat. My inhaler is there, just in case.
Of course, I’m completely safe, because Connor’s here.
It’s more like a neighborhood garden than a park. Fairy lights hang from trees, casting a glow down over the grass and benches. Gently swaying tree branches catch the lights.
He leans down and whispers in my ear, “This is one of the most beautiful gardens in the city.” His breath is hot on my skin, and his hand proprietarily settles on my hip. I lean back against him, just soaking it all in. I can’t imagine how beautiful it is in spring.
Nearby, voices drift down from some rooftop party. Laughing and hushed tones. And over that, the strains of music float over us. I turn my face up to look at him over my shoulder.
“Damn, you’re beautiful,” he whispers. And then he surprises me again. “Dance with me.”
There’s no one else there. It’s just me, and this incredibly complex man, and a few notes of some song that we’re borrowing for one moment that seems out of time.
Folding me into his arms, Connor pulls me so close that I can once again feel the muscles of his body and how perfectly we’re in motion together through the thin fabric of my dress. He’s solid, stable, present. Right now, I’m just here – happy to be here – in this moment. That’s something that’s been missing from my life for a long time.
Something good. Something to stop my brain from racing ahead, rocketing back, constantly thinking and worrying. Connor’s anchoring me to this moment, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be.
The hardness of his cock pressing against my leg doesn’t escape my notice, either.
He leans in to kiss me as our eyes meet. Capturing my lips with his, he’s giving off a focused intensity that hints at the other activities he has in mind.
His dimples are back. “Ava,” he says, uttering my name like a prayer.
My arms circle his neck and I soak in the heat from his body. His hands slide down my back, seeking, demanding, promising. Goosebumps explode across my skin.
With great effort, he takes a step beck but doesn’t let me go. Connor tips his head back, and then looks down at me with heated eyes. “Ava.”
He clears his throat, and a wicked little smile twists his lips. “About our plans for tonight…”
One dark eyebrow arches up. “We have reservations at the best sushi restaurant in the city.”
Every good decision that I should make flashes through my mind. Caution signs, about taking it slow and watching my back. But my desire for this man, and my desire for something good in my life, are louder than the cautions for once. Before he even speaks, I know sushi is not what’s on the menu tonight.
“Or I could cook for you. What do you say to breakfast in bed?”
10
Connor
