EDGE OF HONOR: On The Edge Duet: Book One Page 14

  “Are you mocking me?” She narrows her eyes, playfully glaring at me.

  Straightening up, I move toward her until our chests are touching. “Would I do that?”

  She rises on her toes, circling her arms around my neck. “I’m pretty sure it’s your favorite thing to do.”

  My fingers thread through her waves, clutching the long, thick tresses. “No, my favorite thing to do is stick my cock in you.”

  She snorts. “Nice way to put it.”

  I smile crookedly. “It works for me.” Pressing on the back of her head, I urge her forward. “And this is my second favorite thing.” I capture her lips, and she meets my tongue with leisurely, bold strokes, instantly stoking the flames between us.

  Goddamn, what this woman does to me.

  My heart beats out a love song. Some flowery, romantic bullshit I could never find the words to say to her. Words she deserves to hear, but I’m not the guy who can deliver them.

  Georgia’s grip tightens on my neck and she arches, pressing her pelvis to mine.

  One of my hands trails down her back, cupping her ass, urging her against my hard cock. It was only this morning that I was last buried inside her, but with Georgia, I don’t think I could ever get enough.

  Groaning, I force our lips to part. “We need to pause this for now, luv.” I press down on my hard-on and take a step backward.

  “What happened to staying in the moment with you?” she retorts.

  Squatting down, I rummage through the duffel bag with the supplies. Tearing a section of old newspaper into strips, I light them on fire with a lighter. “Turning my own words on me to suit your needs, eh? I like your style.”

  “That’s not all you like,” she teases.

  I wink at her before dropping the burning papers into the pile of kindling. Lighting some more, I use a stick to adjust their positions. “Once it gets going well enough, we’re going to relax in front of this fire, and I’ve got some marshmallows to roast.”

  “What else do you have in your bag of tricks?” She touches the tip of her tongue to her upper lip.

  “I guess it depends on if we’re talking about a metaphorical bag or this one?” Her shoulders rise and fall in a shrug of pure innocence. “I’m going to pretend you’re talking about this bag.” I reach inside the duffel and pull out a thin blanket and hand it off to her. “Can you please spread this out while I get this fucker going?” I poke at the tiny blaze, adding some more small strips of paper. The flames finally start to grow, rising in height.

  Once the fire is burning strong, I pull out some wooden skewers I found in the supplies my caretaker dropped off, and hand one to Georgia. Tearing open the package of marshmallows, I hold it out for her to grab one.

  Perched on the edge of the blanket, she looks like she could be a college student. A smile teases her full lips as she pushes the white rectangle onto the tip of the stick.

  “Are you pretending the marshmallow’s my heart, Georgie? You look like you’re enjoying yourself a little too much.”

  “No, I like you today.” She giggles.

  “Tomorrow might be a different story.” I wink.

  “This is true. It varies from one second to the next. I can’t promise anything, so you better enjoy my good nature while you have it.” She tosses a teasing glance my way.

  “Be warned, I plan on enjoying your ‘good nature’ and every other part of you.”

  “You don’t really seem like the bonfire, roasting marshmallows type.” She changes the subject.

  “I don’t know. I’ve always been fascinated by fire.”

  She snorts. “Now that doesn’t surprise me.”

  “But really, I haven’t done this since I was a kid. And I only remember one occasion, where my mum helped me roast marshmallows in our fireplace. I’ve never done this on the beach. You’re my first, luv.” I wiggle my eyebrows lecherously at her.

  “Should I be honored ‘oh great one’?”

  “That kind of has a nice ring to it.”

  “Well, don’t get used to me saying that. I’ll be calling you crook again in no time.”

  My lips stretch into a wide smile. “Aw, that brings back memories of the first time we met. You called me crook and I asked you to marry me.”

  She giggles. “Did I wound your overinflated ego when I didn’t say yes?”

  “Not at all, darling. You just made me want you even more.”

  “Who would’ve thought a year later we’d find ourselves in such a precarious situation?” Georgia questions, holding her marshmallow over the flames.

  “I don’t think either of us could’ve predicted this turn of events. But on a positive note, we were both overdue for a vacation.”

  “Speak for yourself,” she retorts.

  “You work too hard, luv. It’s about time you got a break.”

  “I don’t think this really constitutes a break, but I guess it’s the closest thing I’m going to get.” She raises the skewer and blows on the marshmallow. “How do you know I need a vacation?” She plucks the sweet from the stick and pops it in her mouth. I watch her chew and swallow before she continues. “Who’s to say I haven’t had one recently?” She turns her head toward me. One of her brows is curved upward in a silent challenge.

  “Me. I know you haven’t. You’re a workhorse. You don’t know how to take a break.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Oh shit. Now I’ve tipped my hand. Georgia’s not someone I can bullshit and not be called out on it. “I just know that about you.”

  “Have you been following me?”

  “No, I haven’t been.”

  “Let me rephrase the question. Did you have me followed?”

  “Not in the sense you’re thinking.”

  “Spit it out,” she snaps.

  I run a hand through my hair and brace myself for her anger. “I kept tabs on you.”

  “Belfast,” she warns.

  “I paid someone to stay up to date on what you were doing. I wanted to know if you had met anyone else.”

  She bounds to her feet, the stick falling unheeded to the blanket. She stomps out the few steps between us, and I back away from the firepit’s edge. She’s angry enough to shove me right in.

  “Let me get this straight. You didn’t want me enough to stick around, but you didn’t want anyone else to have me either?” She punctuates each word with her index finger dead center on my chest.

  “You make it sound pretty bad.”

  “It is bad.”

  “It’s not that I didn’t want you, Georgia. You know it’s not that simple.”

  “You know what? It doesn’t matter. You’re you and I’m me.”

  “You’re right. We’re different as night and day, but we have a lot in common too.”

  “Pfft. Like what?”

  “We’re hard working and loyal. We’re both focused and not afraid to run into battle.”

  “Hmm,” she grudgingly agrees, avoiding looking at me. Catching hold of her chin, I turn her face toward mine. The flames bathe her flawless cheek in a golden glow as our eyes meet.

  “Neither of us has been able to forget the other, no matter how hard we tried.” She licks her lips and starts to lower her eyes. “Look at me,” I order, still holding her chin between my fingers. Her orbs center on mine. “Tell me that what I said isn’t true. Tell me that you didn’t think about me at all.”

  “I can’t,” she admits, and I exhale a relieved sigh. “I wanted to forget you more than anything, but no matter how hard I tried to shove you to the back of my mind, you wouldn’t cooperate. In typical stubborn Irish fashion, you refused to be forgotten.”

  Leaning forward, I press a soft kiss to her lips. “I’m not going to apologize for keeping tabs on you. All I can say is, if I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t have. Now what do you say we enjoy the fire. We can eat too many s’mores and then take a walk on the beach.”

  “You never said you had chocolate in that bag.” She narrows
her eyes.

  “Did you know that s’mores are an American treat? I’ve never tried one before.”

  “I can tell you from my own experience, if you eat too many of them, taking a walk is the last thing you’ll want to do.

  I move toward the bag, remove two bottles and pop the caps off with the bottle opener. “I also have beer.” I hand one to her.

  “Thank you.” She immediately slips the green glass rim between her lips, taking a long sip. “Ahh, that hit the spot.”

  I raise my bottle in a silent toast to Georgia and take a deep pull before I dig through the duffel bag to find the chocolate and graham crackers. We toast marshmallows and make s’mores until we run out of supplies and our stomachs are too full to eat another bite.

  Georgia falls back onto the blanket with a groan. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She rubs her palm over her stomach. “I need a nap.”

  I lie down on my back next to her. “Those were well worth the stomach ache.” Staring up at the clear, dark sky, I search for shooting stars. “What were you like as a little girl? Did you take ballet or gymnastics?”

  “What a random question. Where did that come from?”

  “I don’t know. I was thinking about how differently we grew up and trying to picture you as a little girl.”

  “Well, my mom put me in ballet when I was four and I hated it. I was bored by all the slow, classical music. I tried gymnastics, too, but I didn’t care for that either.”

  “Let me guess, she tried piano lessons next?”

  “Nope. She let me play softball like I wanted. I was good enough to get a college scholarship for it too.”

  I grin, imagining her in a college softball uniform.“What position did you play?”

  She turns her head, meeting my gaze. “Pitcher.”

  “Really?” She nods. “So you know how to do that crazy winding softball pitching?”

  She laughs. “Yes. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have been a pitcher.”

  “Maybe I can dig up a softball back at the house so I can see a firsthand demonstration.”

  “Did you play any sports?” she questions.

  “Just neighborhood pickup games.” I don’t want to go into details about my childhood. How there wasn’t time for playing ball. My dad was too busy teaching me to load and unload guns and making me practice shooting. Those were the priorities where I grew up. Being tough, being a soldier, was all that mattered to him.

  “What do you remember most about your mom?” Georgia asks.

  Her question takes me by surprise. I hardly ever speak about my mum, but I think about her at some point, every single day. “She loved music from the 80s. Every time I listen to those songs I might as well be back in our house.”

  “What was her favorite song?”

  ““Here You Come Again”.”

  “I don’t think I’m familiar with that one. Who sings it?”

  “Dolly Parton.”

  Georgia giggles.

  “What?”

  “I’d give money to go back in time and watch little Brennan Collins listening to Dolly Parton.”

  “Darling, you don’t need to go back in time. I can put it on for you and you can witness it for yourself.”

  Sitting up, I pull a small CD player out of the bag and set it down on the blanket.

  Georgia sniggers. “Going old school, huh?”

  I throw her a side eye. “I’m all about technology, but sometimes you have to go with what you have available. And it just so happens I had this CD player at the house and a CD with my favorite songs.”

  “I’m picturing you blaring the music and singing along whenever you’re here alone,” Georgia teases.

  I nod as I skip ahead to the song I’m looking for. “You’re not far off, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. The best thing about hearing an old familiar song is the memories it stirs up. Sometimes when I hear my mum’s favorites, it’s like I’ve been transported back in time. I can see the images of days past so clearly in my mind. And hear my mum’s voice as if she’s right there with me.” Rising to my feet, I hold out my hand. “May I have this dance?”

  Georgia extends her hand to me and I help her rise to a sitting position, and then to her feet. I pull her into my arms without releasing her hand as the beginning piano notes of “Here You Come Again” begin to play. We sway side to side, my other hand resting on the small of her back.

  She watches me carefully as we dance in the golden glow being cast from the bonfire. “This song means a lot to you.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  “Aye. I can see my mum smiling every time I hear it.” My own lips curve in reaction to the image of my mum’s beautiful face.

  “How old were you when your parents passed?”

  “I was ten.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, I’d like to know how they died.”

  “I don’t mind. They were killed.”

  “That’s horrible.” Her eyes are filled with compassion.

  “It happened so long ago, sometimes it seems like another lifetime.”

  “Who raised you after they were gone?”

  “My uncle. He was like a carbon copy of my dad. Nothing much changed, except I didn’t have my parents anymore. I lived in the same city and was trained in all the things I would’ve been had my parents lived.”

  “Did your mom ever want more for you?”

  “Aye, all the time. She wanted me to come to America the first chance I got, so that’s what I did. Her love of Dolly Parton translated into a love for all things American. She would have loved you.”

  “I’m sure she’s watching over you and she’s happy you made it here.”

  “I’m not so sure. She wanted more for me. She hoped I’d be a law-abiding citizen when I did make the move. But there was more opportunity for me on my current side of the law.” I shrug. “I’m not making excuses for my behavior. It was easy for me to fall into that world. I liked feeling important. I still do. And I probably always will.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Georgia

  I can’t help but feel remorse for all Belfast has been through. Losing his parents so young helped shape him into the reckless person he is.

  I know he’d argue that he’s not reckless, that he makes well-thought-out business decisions all the time. But that’s not the kind of reckless I’m thinking of. I’m referencing how he ran toward the gunmen while they were still firing his way. It’s a miracle he didn’t get killed.

  Belfast is definitely a fight not flight type of person. I question what motivates his actions. Is it because he thinks his life isn’t of value?

  Or is he trying to redeem himself for some of his past deeds?

  It’s possible he just likes the action.

  But if I had to guess, I’d say he’s protective of those he cares about. And I consider myself lucky to have his protection, because without it, I wouldn’t be standing here.

  The song switches to “Leather and Lace” and we keep dancing. Belfast edges me closer, the side of his jaw resting against my temple. His beard is soft against my skin. He holds my hand over his heart. I feel the strong beat pounding beneath his skin, a reminder of his strength and vitality. He’s solid, the type of man a woman can count on to be there for her. I can count on him to be there for me. He’s proved it enough times for me to know it as fact.

  There are so many unexpected and attractive parts that make up this man. So many layers I never imagined and never would’ve noticed if we hadn’t been forced together.

  Belfast’s other hand glides up my spine and slides back down, caressing over an ass cheek before urging my pelvis into contact with his hard cock. “You’re a fucking never-ending temptation, Georgia Cohn. If we weren’t on the beach right now, you’d already be naked, riding my cock.”

  I scan the beach for observers but see no one. “I don’t see any witnesses.”

  “As tempted as I am to take you up on your challenge, what I want to do to you involves
spreading you out on a bed and licking every inch of you. And the anticipation will only make it better.”

  “Better for who?” I mumble.

  We spend the next few minutes repacking the bag. Belfast places it on the deck and jogs back over to me. “Let’s take a walk. The fire can burn down while we’re gone.” He holds out his hand, and I slide my palm into his. I barely hold back the shudder our skin meeting creates. Carnal images of us play like a series of snapshots in my mind.

  Belfast kneeling before me in the shower.

  His unrepentant grin before his mouth latched onto my pussy.

  His abs rippling as I took his cock in my mouth.

  It takes all my willpower to stop my x-rated visions. There will be plenty of time for the real thing tonight.

  We start down the beach together. The soft sea breeze sends wisps of hair across my lips, tickling my flushed cheek. Brushing the strands back, I tuck them behind my ear and take in the beauty surrounding us. The beach houses are large, the windows plentiful. Most of the homes are dark; the families are only summer residents. But there are a few as we move farther along that are brightly lit.

  “I like looking at all the houses and imagining who lives there,” I mention.

  “Who do you think lives in that one?” Belfast points to a three story, modern structure.

  “Hmm. Let me think about this.” I study the backside of the home. “Whoever it is obviously has a lot of money because the house is enormous and new. And modern architecture isn’t common in this area.”

  “I can agree with both of those statements.” Belfast nods.

  “Oh, you can, huh?” I aim a quick side-eye glance at him. “Okay, I’m guessing the house is owned by a mid- to late-thirty-something couple. He’s a financial advisor and she’s an interior designer.”

  He runs his hand up and down his bearded chin. “I can see that.”

  “But you don’t actually know who lives there, right?”

  “No, luv. I’ve only made it down here a handful of times and my visits are usually during the off season. It’s my favorite time to come. I like the privacy and the relaxed feel.”