it. Not quite bass, but a low baritone, it rumbled in his chest with just a hint of an accent.
Heat flooded my cheeks and I looked up, my apologies already stammering from my lips, only to freeze at the impact of meeting his gaze.
“My fault,” he said.
The heat of embarrassment activated my voice. “Oh no, I wasn’t watching…”
He smiled. “Cassidy? Is that your name?”
“How…?”
“I saw your name tag this morning.”
“Oh. Oh.”
Mischievous light twinkled in his eyes the color of Ireland. “And Mary told me.”
I blushed even more, knowing my pale, freckle-prone skin turned a blotchy red clear up to the roots of my carrot-colored hair. Dad called it light auburn, but it was orange. My blush could be seen along the line of my part. I could duck to hide my face, but my scalp would give me away. “I’m so sorry… about your latte this morning.”
“I hope I didn’t get you in trouble…? I wouldn’t have called, but Mary asked me to let her know. And I wanted to find out when you got off work.”
Staring at his chest, I felt the flush of embarrassment sweep me again. “Uh, no, not really, but Mary and I decided barista probably isn’t the best career choice for me.”
A hot breeze blew under the awning and an unruly curl finally escaped the control of my ponytail holder and a netting of hairspray. I saw orange as it waved across my eyes. Ryan gently released me enough to brush it away and tuck it behind my ear, taking time to linger.
“Soft,” he murmured.
“Hey, that’s my sister you’re groping there, buddy.”
The flash of a camera followed and I closed my eyes. Brennan. Brother number two, who was obsessed with his digital camera. Newly graduated with a degree in photo journalism, he’d just started at the local newspaper. While out running errands, getting donuts, bagels, coffee and dropping off newspapers, his job was to take photos. Lots of photos. Apparently he thought a picture of me being felt up in front of Esteban’s counted.
“I’ve got the evidence.” His shutter clicked again. “Let her go.”
My savior carefully eased me from his embrace, though he still held my shoulders. As I shook like a leaf, I didn’t blame him for making sure I was steady on my feet.
Personally, I wasn’t too sure my knees would hold me up. I later learned this was my normal physical reaction to Ryan–a heated rush that left me trembling and ready for him. Since I was still a virgin that day, I didn’t recognize the nuclear-hot chemistry between us for what it was.
He held out his hand to Brennan. “Ryan Malone.”
“I ran into him, Brennan,” I rushed to explain as they exchanged a brief shake. “He wasn’t groping me, he saved me from falling on my a–rear.”
“You bounce all right,” Brennan said. “No need for him to be grabbing your butt.”
Humiliated, I thrust my coffee at Ryan. “I haven’t tasted this yet. Mary made it. It’s a mocha that should make up for the latte from this morning.”
Ryan held up his hands. “It’s okay. Really.”
Brennan, of course, zeroed in on this. “Latte? This morning? Tell me Mary didn’t let you start making espressos already.”
I sighed. “It’s okay, Brenn. It seemed so simple…”
“Lattes too? You can’t handle a simple latte?” He slapped a hand to his forehead. “My God, you’re a walking disaster when it comes to anything involving food.”
“That’s not fair,” I protested. “Anyhow, Ryan, I apologize–”
“No, I apologize. Let me make it up to you?”
The wind knocked my errant curl free again and before I could tuck it back, Ryan’s long fingers were there. I found myself staring up into his eyes as he smoothed it away from my face. I heard the camera clicking again, even as Brennan complained.
“Damn, if you weren’t my sister getting handled by a stranger, I’d be excited about this. You two make great photos. Danny’s gonna love these shots for the personals section. Ryan Malone? That’s your name?”
“Yeah,” he said, not once glancing Brennan’s way.
“What d’ya do?”
“Grad student. Physics.” He absently answered Brenn’s questions, but I felt as if he were talking only to me. “Have dinner with me.”
“All right,” I accepted.
“Oh no you don’t, pixie princess. Dad’s expecting you home tonight. And you know the rules. No dates until all of us meet the guy.”
Ryan raised a dark eyebrow. “All of us?”
I sighed. “My dad and six brothers. The three older than me think they’re my fathers too. This is one of them.” I waved a hand at Brennan, who continued to snap photos. By then I was distinctly annoyed with him. “Brennan is number two on the Shaughnessy list of outlaws, and not even the most obnoxious.” I spared him a glance. “Put that stupid, nosy camera away, will you?”
“No,” Ryan said.
“What?” I turned my attention back to him.
He gave me his smile. “I want all the pictures he can take. How many people are lucky enough to have a photo of the most important moment of their lives?”
Another thing about Ryan I eventually grew accustomed to–his ability to render me speechless. His words, his smile, his touch all stroked something so very deep inside of me I hadn’t known it existed until right then. Something opened up inside me, and reached for him.
“Let him shoot away. I don’t care.” Ryan leaned close and spoke softly, “I want to preserve this moment forever.”
Chapter 2
That day, which had the magic to feel like yesterday and a lifetime ago in the same breath, Brennan had caught the moment we collided and looked into each other’s eyes. In fact, he had taken a series of a dozen photos we made into a collage that hung on our bedroom wall. We called it the moment we fell in love, but really, we both knew it was hours after the fact. Cupid had nailed us both the very first time our eyes met over that horrid vanilla latte. How many people are lucky enough to have their moment preserved on film? We had many photos, both sillier and far more intimate. However, I considered that photo my greatest possession. It was also one of Ryan’s greatest comforts in his final days.
Thinking about Ryan and the hollow spot left by his death was just another way to avoid thinking about the events of my lunch hour. I rocked in my chair, feeling his touch via the piercing I’d gotten for our third anniversary. Lately I’d been noticing it more and more and, at times like this, the pressure of the steel ball positioned over my clit provided stimulation that both distracted and soothed me as I stared at the picture on my desk. That picture had become the source of my calm as well as the focus of a million unanswered questions.
My life since Ryan’s death had been a series of small goals. Goal one: wake up each morning, dress, and pretend I still had a life worth living. Goal two: go to work and immerse myself in the impersonal numbers of other people’s lives. Their bookkeeping, payroll, financial reports and taxes.
I worked for a firm of accountants and tax attorneys. We had a steady business of keeping other businesses on firm financial footing. I was merely a cog in the works, a worker-bee hired by Jacob Levin, the senior partner. Ostensibly I was the quasi office manager. In reality I was pretty much devoted full-time to his cases and clients, even more so since Ryan’s death. It was Jacob’s way of keeping a paternal eye on me.
At