Happily Ever Alpha: Until Nox (Kindle Worlds) (Hyde Series Book 3) Page 11

  Holy shit, we’re Freaky Friday-ing in here.

  She slunk down into the bed a little and sighed. I was already bracing before she casually drawled, “Speaking of babies—”

  “Nope!” I shouted much louder than I’d intended.

  One would think that would be enough to warn anyone off, but nope. Not my meema. Not Carol Anne Allan.

  She doubled down.

  Hard.

  Faking some tremors for dramatic effect, she lifted the hand with the IV and hospital bands up to her face, drawing our attention to her pushed out bottom lip. “Being in the hospital has made me realize—”

  “Nope. No. Nu-uh.” Pulling with the hand still in Killian’s, I practically dragged him from the room. I didn’t trust her alone with him. She’d con him into moving to Tennessee, building a house on her land, and putting so many babies in me, I’d be more bunny than human.

  While some of that wasn’t a totally unappealing prospect, I still wasn’t leaving him with her.

  We got out into the hallway, and I whipped around to face Killian. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I like your nan. She’s feisty.”

  “You should tell her that, she’d love it.” Thinking on it, I decided she didn’t need to like him any more than she already did. She was already suggesting we procreate. I wasn’t sure how much more she could like him, but I wasn’t anxious to find out. “Never mind. Don’t tell her.”

  “Can she have cookies?” he asked. “I have a box of stuff in my rental.”

  “From where?”

  “Massachusetts.”

  “You brought your own cookies?” I tilted my head. “Worried they wouldn’t have bakeries here?”

  “A friend sent them for your nan.”

  That unfamiliar, and yet growing more frequent, pang of jealousy hit. “Your friend sent cookies for my meema?”

  Right, and after I collect my money from the Nigerian prince and buy that bridge in Florida, I’ll hop over to see the hot MILFs in my area who want to meet me. Then I’ll try these cookies from your ‘friend’.

  Do I look that gullible?

  “I was out for a drink with the lads last night, and one of them brought his wife. You’ll like her, she owns a bakery. When I left to catch my flight, she made Jake run out to give me the box of bakery leftovers they had in the car. Fresh yesterday, but short a cookie and a cupcake because I got hungry at the airport. The lass has a gift.”

  Just like always, Killian laid it out for me. He didn’t wait for me to ask. He didn’t hold back.

  Glancing down at where our hands were still together, his thumb grazing soft circles on my inner wrist, I decided I needed to be more like him. Ballsy and blunt, asking the important questions rather than allowing my asshole imagination to go streaking through the melodramatic recesses of my brain.

  I had a long list of questions.

  But they weren’t meant for the middle of the hospital, with nosy onlookers and a matchmaking Meema watching our every interaction.

  I jerked my head toward the circular desk. “I’m gonna check with the nurses, but I think a few will be fine.”

  “Does she like sugar or lemon?” At my lowered brows, he added, “In her tea.”

  Wrong as it was, I cracked up laughing. Right in the poor man’s face. I blamed the emotional few days, the hospital fumes, the sleep deprivation, and my lust-drunk and Killian-high. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I face-planted into his chest to muffle my hysterics.

  Eventually, I got control of my hilarity, though I was still gasping and giggling as I explained, “Not hot tea. Don’t ever mention that stuff down here. She drinks sweet tea. Not iced. Not hot. Sweet.”

  He still looked lost but nodded. “I’ll go talk to the nurse. You sit with your nan.”

  Since there was an earful I wanted to give her, I nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Aye.” It wasn’t until he loosened his grasp that I realized we’d been standing close, having a quiet conversation while still holding hands.

  Oh shit, the pews at church on Sunday will be abuzz.

  Then, like that hadn’t been enough gossip-fuel, Killian nonchalantly pressed his lips to mine. Unlike last time, he didn’t keep it close-mouthed. His tongue teased the seam of my lips, and I automatically parted them. Scraping his teeth gently along my bottom lip, he swept his tongue inside just enough to get a taste.

  A whisper of something so much more.

  He pulled back and cupped my cheek. “Really fookin’ missed you, mo chuisle.” Turning toward the desk, he left me swaying, two seconds away from going full southern belle like my meema.

  “Well, I do freakin’ declare, that man has a fine ass,” I murmured.

  Pulling myself together, I went back into the room to give Meema a piece of my mind. I pushed the curtain to the side and saw she was curled up on her side, facing away from me. I paused and watched her breathing for a second. “I know you’re not sleeping.”

  “Well, neither were you all those times you didn’t want to go to church or school, and I let you get away with it.”

  “Fine, fine. Sleep,” I sarcastically drawled. “I’m happy to eat the cookies and stuff that Killian brought from a bakery in Boston.”

  She bolted up like she was spring-loaded, but her eyes were squinty and wary. “Are they any good? Because Margaret Parker opened a cupcake shop when it was all the rage, and they tasted like couch filling topped with lard frosting. Just ‘cause you can open a bakery doesn’t mean you should.”

  “Killian’s not big on dessert, but he ate a cookie and a cupcake yesterday.”

  She folded her hands in her lap and tried to look thoughtful, but the glee in her eyes gave her away. “I guess I could try a nibble.”

  “What a sacrifice,” I muttered.

  “What was that?” she asked in a tone that made it clear she’d heard me damn fine and was giving me the chance to save myself.

  I shook my head. “Nu-uh. No way. That voice doesn’t work on me.”

  This time.

  I folded my arms over my chest before almost immediately flinging them outward. “What the heck was all that about babies?”

  She lifted a bony shoulder. “I just figured, what with you making out by the elevator earlier like it was your own personal boudoir, I’d make it clear I approved.”

  Dropping my head back so my face was toward the ceiling, I inhaled and prayed for patience or a time machine.

  I was pretty sure the time machine was the more probable one.

  When serenity wasn’t granted, I asked, “How did you find out already? I figured I had until tonight before you got wind of it.”

  “The nurses’ station has a clear view of the elevator and a couple minutes is more than enough time for a nosy nurse to try and get the scoop first. Did you forget how gossip spreads here?” She pursed her lips and flicked her wrist, the epitome of attitude. “I probably knew about the kiss before you did.”

  Miz Betsy and her grandbaby are definitely bad news.

  Attitude aside, she was right. Gossip and rumors spread like wildfire.

  And I knew all too well how bad they could burn.

  Like the air had been let out of me, my shoulders slumped, and my own attitude disappeared. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

  Her smile was as loving and encouraging as it’d been during my many teen-angst episodes. “Live your life, sweetheart. I don’t mind what anyone says, and neither should you. Actually, after getting a good look at your man, not only don’t I mind, but I’m in favor of it. Have you seen Miz Betsy’s son-in-law, Tom? He looks like a boar. Has the temperament of one, too. You go around with your looker of a beau who watches you like you make the sunrise. Make sure everyone sees. No way Miz Betsy’s will top that, no matter how many Snapchat filters she puts on Tom.”

  “Meema,” I chided, trying to fight a smile.

  Who knew pettiness was hereditary?

  “He’s a mean drunk at Big Mike’s on Saturdays but acts high and
mighty in the pews come Sunday.”

  “Big Mike’s?”

  “November’s dad. He owns a strip club.”

  “Oh.” I had nothing against strip clubs but a lot against hypocrites. “Then sucks to be ugly boar Tom.”

  She gave me a smug nod. “Now, while he’s gone, tell me about this beau. You’ve been holding out on me.”

  I shook my head and tried again. “We’re friends.”

  “Now, I know I didn’t raise you to be stupid. So, either you need to be in this hospital bed because you’re going blind, or you’re being willfully ignorant. Which is it?”

  Flopping into a chair, I tucked my feet under me. “Officially, we’re just friends. I didn’t know he was flying here. And with the enthusiastic listeners cranking their hearing up to an eleven, we haven’t had the chance to talk.”

  “Fine. Take him to my house and talk it out. You’ll see I’m right.”

  My head jerked back at her suggestion. “Meema, I’m not leaving.”

  “Well I’m telling you to, and I’m the patient.”

  “Even if I leave, I’m not taking Killian to your house.”

  Another sassy wrist flick. “I’m sure he’s not the first boy you’ve snuck into that room.”

  Actually, he would be.

  “Huh,” she murmured, reading my expression. “I knew you were a good girl, but maybe too good. Sneaking boys in is like a rite of passage. Oh well, better late than never. Ladder’s in the shed, have Killian be careful of the rain gutters when he climbs in the window.”

  “I’m not gonna have any time to have him over. I’ll be in church all night, lighting candles and saying Hail Mary’s for you.”

  “That’s Catholic,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah, but you need so much Jesus in your life right now, I’m branching out.”

  Laughing, Meema reached over and patted my arm. “I’m happy to have you here for a visit. I’ve missed you.”

  “I already told you, I’m here for good. I’m moving back.”

  Her laughter died down to a snicker. “Good luck telling him that.”

  Covering her hand with mine, I thought about how it felt.

  Warm.

  Soft.

  Alive.

  “He’s not one of the good guys,” I blurted in a hushed whisper. My eyes went wide as I shook my head, internally beating myself up for saying anything. “He’s not bad, either. He’s… gray.”

  Meema didn’t look fazed. She rarely did. “With those muscles and tattoos, I didn’t figure he was a lawyer. Don’t figure you’d fit well with a lawyer anyway.”

  My jaw dropped, but Meema’s attention was on the drama on TV.

  I never told her about Blake. Either she has spies in the city or it’s a sign.

  Both are distinct possibilities.

  Before I could respond, not that I had any idea what the heck to say, Killian came back into the room carrying a box of sweets, meema’s tea, and a giant coffee for me—fixed exactly how I loved it.

  Clutching her tea in one hand and a scone in the other, Meema grinned at me. Her expression made her point for her, but that didn’t stop her from whispering, “Told you so.”

  She’s so smug when she’s right.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TONE DOWN THE MURDER

  GUS

  DRUMMING ON THE STEERING WHEEL OF my rented SUV, I belted out an X-ers song. I was restless with nervous energy and even my enthusiastic performance wasn’t helping.

  The day before, after enjoying the most incredible baked goods, Meema had begun to doze. I’d let Killian charm me into leaving the hospital long enough to eat at a real table, but since the restaurant was small, it hadn’t afforded us enough privacy to talk.

  When we’d gotten back to the hospital, Meema had threatened to have security escort me off the premises. I’d dug in my heels, refusing to leave when she hadn’t even been awake for a day. Once I’d explained, she’d relented, but with the stipulation I left the following night.

  According to her, I was preventing her from snagging herself a ‘young doctor beau.’

  Also according to her, I smelled.

  In the confines of the SUV, I had to admit, she was right about that one.

  Which was why I was heading to Killian’s hotel room to shower. I’d shower while he picked up dinner, then we’d eat in his room, talk, and…

  It was at that part my logical brain went to war with my pussy and everything sorta fritzed out.

  The battle continued through the rest of the drive, the shower, and even after. It wasn’t until Killian walked in holding more food than the two of us needed that my decision was made.

  Lying on the mat in the fighting octagon, my brain was KO’d. My metaphorical pussy was doing a victory lap, holding a gaudily blinged-out condom up as a championship belt.

  After the long week I’d had, I was delirious, but that didn’t change anything.

  I wanted Killian. Badly.

  He turned to set the bags on the small table. “Hungry?”

  I was on him before he knew it.

  His hazel eyes widened, but he went with it, ducking his head down so I could reach his mouth.

  He’d kissed me at the hospital. Often. But they’d been little pecks and stolen kisses.

  In the privacy of his room, though, all bets were off. He deepened the kiss, bruising my lips and tasting my mouth.

  No matter how good it felt—and it felt freakin’ amazing—it was a tease.

  His body pressed to mine with too many clothes between us.

  Hints of coffee and smoky honey that lingered in his mouth.

  The long, thick hardness pressing against my belly.

  The kiss, passionate but too controlled.

  It was that control that made me realize it was just a kiss and not a preamble to something much better. I knew when I reached for the hem of his shirt, he’d prevent me from pulling it off. That didn’t stop me from trying or from being frustrated when my prediction came true.

  Tearing his lips from mine, Killian groaned, “You’re killing me.”

  I shook my captured hands. “The feeling is mutual.”

  Lifting them, he pressed a kiss to each palm. “We need to talk.”

  Half-joking and half-hopeful, I tilted my head and asked, “About how you’re going to kiss me again?”

  He released me and reached behind him, pulling out a gun. He set it on the table. “About this. Us.”

  “Okay, but I think the gun goes on the right with the dinner fork.”

  “Left,” he corrected.

  “Huh?”

  “The dinner fork is on the left. Knives and spoons are on the right.”

  “Oh. How’d you know that?”

  “We’ll get to that. Sit.” He pulled paper plates and to-go containers out of a bag, serving a dinner I wasn’t hungry for.

  Until I saw the Mexican food porn spread out in front of me.

  I guess I can nibble.

  For Killian.

  He went through all the trouble, I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

  I was digging in before he even set the plate fully down.

  He fixed his own food and brought his chair around the small circular table so it was close to mine. Angling it toward me, he sat. Like usual, he didn’t hesitate in laying it out for me. “I did time.”

  “Okay,” I drawled. Judgmental, sure, but I’d kinda wondered if he had.

  His body tightened. “I got busted for boosting drug shipments.”

  That was one of the last things I’d expected him to say.

  And one of few things he could say that would bring this all to a screeching halt.

  “Killian—” I started, the flight instinct I was feeling evident in my cold tone.

  His eyes flew to mine, and he reached out to still me. “Not like that, mo chuisle.”

  “My mom died of an OD while I was alone with her. There’s no justification you can give me that’ll make this okay.”

&nbs
p; His hazel eyes swirled with emotion.

  Anger.

  Sympathy.

  Fear.

  He kept hold of my wrist. “I didn’t deal. Swear it. But if you still feel that way after I explain, I’ll fly home right now.” At my nod, he continued. “My dad died when I was a lad. Got in the car, drove to work, never made it there. My ma couldn’t go it alone, so we moved to Ireland and lived with her brother. Handful of years later, we got dual citizenship and moved to the states. She’d always talked about doing it, said it’d been a dream of hers and Dad’s. I didn’t think anything of it. I’ll never forget the moment I figured out she was sick. Sixteen, running with a crowd of fellow delinquents, and we got picked up for something petty. My ma had to come get me from the police station. She was sitting in this god-awful green chair, under this harsh light that kept flickering, and she looked tired. Not just ‘cause of my shit. But because her body was quitting on her.”

  I may have been mad—heartbrokenly furious, actually—but I wasn’t an unfeeling monster. “Killian, I’m so sorry.”

  He shook his head. “I was a prick. We got home, and I started in. Demanding answers. Knocking shit down. I was so fookin’ scared. My ma was… I knew she was dying before she grabbed me. Held me. Told me she loved me. Then told me she had chronic kidney disease. She’d had some infections, but she hadn’t shared the details, and I hadn’t asked. I’d just figured it was normal woman shit. She’d moved us to the states after getting accepted into a promising clinical trial, but by that time, it was too late.”

  He squeezed my wrist as if he needed the reminder I was there.

  And the tether so he didn’t get lost in his memories.

  “Even with the money my uncle sent, she couldn’t afford the risky alternative treatments. Doctors visits, tests, hospital stays, meds… It added up, trying to bleed her dry. And she wasn’t the only one,” he practically spit. “A group of them—dying of cancer or kidney disease, or whatever the fook—met in the dingy hospital basement, trading tips and weed as they faced death. Most of them couldn’t afford anything stronger. They lived, day in and day out, in pain. They suffered. She fookin’ suffered.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I repeated, the words seeming empty and useless.