Page 20 of Irish Legacy

The kiss started slow. Trish led, no hesitation now. Her lips moved against Quinn’s with purpose, soft at first but demanding more with each pass. A slight tremble ran through the fingers cradling Quinn’s head. Years of want seemed to anchor that careful pressure, and Quinn opened to it, letting her in.

Trish made a low sound in her throat that shot straight between Quinn’s legs, her mouth opening wider, taking more. Her tongue traced Quinn’s lower lip before pushing inside with a bold, thorough heat. Quinn matched her, tilting her head to get closer, one hand coming up to grip Trish’s waist.

They shifted without breaking apart. Trish pressed forward and Quinn gave ground until her back hit the mattress. The frame groaned as Trish followed her down, body covering Quinn’s in a line of heat and weight. Their legs tangled, the thick denim of Trish’s jeans heavy and rough against Quinn’s thighs, and she rolled her hips up into the contact without thinking.

Trish broke the kiss only to drag her mouth along Quinn’s jaw, teeth scraping just enough to make Quinn gasp. The sound seemed to undo something in Trish. She came back to Quinn’s lips, kissing harder now, her tongue deep and possessive.

One of her hands slid under Quinn’s blouse, palm hot against bare skin at her lower back. The heat radiated outward, erasing every other thought. Quinn arched into the touch, her fingers digging into Trish’s shoulder, her other hand fisting in all that dark hair.

The ache from Thursday night roared back tenfold. She wanted Trish’s weight heavier, wanted those hands everywhere, wanted whatever other sounds Trish would make when she finally stopped holding back.

Trish shifted her thigh between Quinn’s legs, pressing up with deliberate pressure. Quinn moaned into her mouth, her hips rising again.

Trish’s breathing broke against her lips. Her fingers tightened in Quinn’s hair, tugging just right. The kiss turned into a messy, desperate tangle, and Quinn couldn’t get enough.

13

Trish kept her thigh pressed firm between Quinn’s legs. Quinn’s mouth tasted sweet and hot, raw enough to make Trish’s own body clench in answer. She tugged harder at that blond hair, the strands thick and soft between her fingers, and kissed her deeper. Quinn’s mouth opened wider, wet and eager, their tongues sliding together in a rhythm that blocked out the Sunday daylight.

Heat built fast in her chest, in her stomach, lower still where Quinn rocked against her leg like she couldn’t help it. She had spent years telling herself this part of her life was finished, that wanting someone this much only led to empty mornings and heavier routines.

Yet here she was, forty-nine years old, pinning a famous actress to her own bed. It was worth every mess it would create. They had crossed a line, and Trish had no intention of stopping.

The kiss turned messier. Quinn’s hands roamed under Trish’s shirt, palms skating up her back, nails scraping lightly enough to raise goosebumps. Trish swallowed the sound Quinn made and gave her one back, low in her throat. She shifted her weight, pressing closer, their legs tangled so tight that every small shift against the seam of her jeans took her breath clean out of her.

Quinn’s knee nudged up between Trish’s own, and the friction drew a sharp sound from her. She wanted bare skin. She wanted the sound Quinn would make when she finally came apart. Jack could handle the bar for another hour. He had done it before, and she wasn’t going downstairs yet.

Her phone started vibrating in her back pocket. The buzz demanded attention against her hip. Once, twice, three times in quick succession. Trish pulled her mouth away with a gasp. She rolled onto her back, chest heaving, and dragged in a lungful of air that tasted like Quinn’s skin and the faint trace of her perfume. The water stain above the wardrobe was exactly where it had been this morning, anchoring her back to the room.

“It’s Jack,” she said, voice rougher than she expected. “Let me just tell him to keep things going for another hour and then I’ll be down.”

Quinn shifted beside her, pressing a kiss to Trish’s shoulder through the thin wool. The contact drew a slow, unsteady breath from her. “Tell him two.” Quinn kissed the side of her neck next, a slow, open-mouthed slide of teeth grazing the skin just below her ear. “Tell him you’ll be a while. An hour’s not nearly enough for what I’ve got in mind.”

The words sank straight into her. Heat prickled low in her belly, and her body answered before her brain could catch up. Her thighs pressed together without permission, chasing the ache Quinn had left there.

She tried to breathe normally, tried to steady the tremble in her fingers as she fished the phone from her pocket. Christ. The thought of Quinn’s mouth on her, those clever hands, the weight of her body pinning Trish down instead, sent a heavy pulse through her. She wanted it so much she ached with it.

She swiped to answer before the call could go to voicemail. “Hey Jack. What do you need?”

Jack’s voice was pitched low, the hum of the Sunday crowd behind him. Margaret Donovan was at the counter, he said, looking for Quinn Fallon.

Trish rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Tell her she’s on her way down,” she said, and tapped the red button before Jack could ask anything she didn’t want to answer.

She dropped the phone onto the duvet and looked at Quinn. “Margaret Donovan is downstairs looking for you.”

Quinn sat up fast. She glanced at the time glowing on the screen and swore under her breath. “Shit. It’s six thirty. We’re supposed to be having dinner at six.” She was off the bed in a second, already reaching for the blazer draped over the back of the chair. “She wanted to run through the statue unveiling with me. I’m so sorry.”

Trish pushed herself up against the headboard. She ran both hands through her hair, trying to smooth what Quinn’s fingers had wrecked. Her lips felt swollen and tender. The sudden space between them left a hollow ache in the middle of the mattress, but Trish swallowed it down.

“It’s fine.”

Quinn stood at the foot of the bed, shrugging into the tailored blazer.

“It’s really not,” Quinn said. She paused with her hands on the lapels, then stepped back toward the bed. “Fuck, you are so gorgeous.”

The look in Quinn’s eyes hit Trish right in the center of her chest. Quinn leaned down, cupped the back of Trish’s neck with that same firm hand from earlier, and kissed her. Slower this time, thorough and deep enough to set Trish’s pulse thumping against her ribs again.

Trish kissed her back, letting herself yield for three full seconds before she forced her hands to let go.