Page 50 of Beat of Love
Yeah, well,forty-year-old men donotcommunicate telepathically.
And the very last thing he needed was for his brother to probe his deepest secrets. Worse, share hisdreams.
He glanced at the shrinking bulge tenting his black boxers. “Fuck,” he muttered and scrubbed his hands over his face. His dreams were unwelcome. Highly forbidden. And fucking disturbing. Literally and figuratively.
Bzzz-bzzz.
Turning his head to look at the cellphone vibrating on the nightstand, he debated answering.
Answer the call, brother, so we don’t have to communicate telepathically.
Rafferty swore again, surged upright, and grabbed the device, swiping at the green icon. “We agreed to stay out of each other’s heads,” he growled.
“I made an exception for today.”
“Noexceptions,” he grumbled, getting to his feet. He stalked across the room and yanked back the curtain. It was still dark outside, but not enough to hide the blustery wind and lashingrain. Great, another wet and icy day, the cold front that moved in last weekend not letting up.
“Marielle sends birthday greetings.”
“And how is your charming princess?” He fought to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He’d yet to meet Marielle in person, but the couple of video conversations he’d had with her were downright awkward. How his brother fell for the uppity woman was beyond him. Marielle was nothing like—
Stop. Not thinking ofher.
Bad enough Brandy-Lyn invaded his unconscious moments.
He shook his head, focusing on his brother saying something about a lighthouse. “Lighthouse?”
“We’re on Quoin, one of the small fishing islands …”
Rafferty lowered his head to the cold window as his twin enthused about his great life with the woman he loved. And he was glad Sullivan had found happiness. Truly.
But he couldn’t stop the sliver of envy piercing his soul. Complacency had ripped Charlie from his life, and he had learned his lesson. It was his penance to live his life alone. A future with a woman was not on the cards for him.Especiallynot his brother’s ex-girlfriend, no matter how much he was drawn to her.
He had gone to great lengths to avoid her since that night at Daisy’s.
“… need to go. Have a good day, brother,” Sullivan said, rudely interrupting his thoughts.
Straightening, he murmured, “Yeah. You too, brother.” He ended the call and tossed his cellphone on the bed. “Time to shower, eat, and tackle whatever punishment Aidan dishes out.”
*
Fifteen minutes later he entered a dark and quiet kitchen. It was unusual for him to beat his mom, but his day had startedmuch earlier than normal, so he wasn’t surprised.He set the coffee to percolate, checked today’s menu on the chalkboard, and gathered the ingredients. Soon, a pot of oatmeal simmered, the aroma of cinnamon and apples intermingled with brewing coffee.
Mammy walked into the kitchen and came straight to him. “Happy birthday, grandson,” she whispered in Irish, pulling him into a hug, a fragrant cloud of roses wrapping around them. It was the same perfume Charlie had worn.
Her hands stroked his back, light and soothing, and he exhaled, easing into her hold. They’d always shared a special bond. As a boy, there had been countless times she’d simply held him like this, steadying his restless spirit. And somehow, speaking in Irish only deepened that sense of peace.
God knows, he could use a little peace in his life. Too soon, she released him and stepped back. “How about fixing this old woman some coffee?” she said, continuing in Irish.
He grinned. “Old woman? You’ll outlive us all.” He poured them both a mug, adding pumpkin spice creamer, her flavor for the month.
“Thanks, my boy,” she said. “Did I ever tell you about my great-grandfather?”
Rafferty sat at the foot of the table, catty-corner to her chair. “Only that I’m named after him.”
“Hmm. Dónal Ó Raifeartaigh. He was a chieftain. I never met him, but my grandmother often spoke about him. About his bravery and loyalty. And his great love for the girl he lost.”
“The girl he … lost?”
