Which was fine. He did the same. It was just …
Hell no. It wasn’t fine. And that was the problem.
The only person who should be spanking Riley’s swimsuit-model-worthy ass was
him. There were just a few hiccups.
First, her father might kill him. And Liam likely would kill him, because he’d sworn
to his best friend that he’d keep his hands off his baby sister.
And the biggest problem? He wasn’t even remotely worthy of her, and he was
pretty sure she knew it. Sure, maybe there was that … thing that happened
whenever they made eye contact or accidentally touched.
Even she couldn’t deny that there was some serious physical chemistry there.
But it wasn’t something she’d act on. Riley’s men were brokers in bespoke suits
(a term he hadn’t even known until he’d had to meet one of these overpaid bores
at Kate’s birthday party last year), who stopped off to get manicures on their way
to overpriced cocktail bars. They were the ones who had access to luxury suites
at Yankee Stadium, rather than saving their pennies for an extra seat in the
nosebleed section.
Riley’s men certainly weren’t rough-around-the edges Brooklyn natives who only
owned one pair of pants that wasn’t denim. And he didn’t even know where those
were.
In other words, it didn’t matter how badly he wanted her—and he did want her,
acutely.
But at the end of the day, she wasn’t for him. Wouldn’t ever be for him.
“Dude. I think it’s dry.”
Liam grabbed the pot that Sam had been absently drying for the better part of
five minutes.
“Liam, honey, would you walk Riley to the subway station?”
Sam snapped to attention. Riley was leaving?
Sure enough, she was shrugging on her fancy trench coat and doing a damn
good job of not looking at him.
“Ma, I don’t need someone to walk me to the subway station,” she protested. “I’ve
been doing it on my own since third grade.”
Erin moved in to fuss with Riley’s collar. “Yes, but that’s before Mr. Blanton
thought he saw an intruder in his front yard last week.”
Riley rolled her eyes. “Mr. Blanton also mistakes his own cat for the mailman. I
think I can manage the five-minute walk.”
Her mother ignored this. “Liam?”
Liam popped the top on his beer. “Is Dad still doing his nightly walk? Maybe Riley
can tag along and they can detour to the train stop.”
“Your father’s ‘nightly walk routine’ is simply on his weekly rotation of reasons he
can’t do the dishes.”
Liam’s beer can paused halfway to his mouth. “Wait. Rotation?”
Erin gave him a look.
“Damn,” Liam muttered. “So his arthritis isn’t aggravated by water?”
“What arthritis?” Erin said with an amused lift of her eyebrows.
“Wily old bastard,” Liam muttered. “Fine. I’ll take baby sister to the subway. But
you’d better have your MetroCard this time, Ri, because I’m not falling for the
old—”
“I’ll walk her.” The words were out before Sam realized he’d opened his mouth.
Riley’s head snapped around, fierce blue eyes boring into his. No.
“I don’t need anyone to walk me,” she said through gritted teeth.
Liam patted her head and made his way toward the living room. “Mom says you
do.”
And in the McKenna household, that was enough.
Riley’s shoulders sagged only briefly before she straightened and lifted her chin.
“Fine.” She leaned in and pecked her mom’s cheek. “Love you. Thanks for
dinner.”
Erin cupped her daughter’s face. “You remember what we talked about, okay?
The passion?”
“Ma!”
“Told you she was a prude,” Kate muttered not so quietly to Megan.
Sam’s eyebrows crept up. Now, this was interesting.
Riley pointed at both sisters, her glare livid. “We are not having this conversation
right now.”
“Definitely a prude,” Megan whispered.
Riley let out a huff of frustration before heading toward the front door. “Come on,
guard dog,” she snapped, not bothering to look at him as she stormed past.
Wordlessly Sam trailed after her, grabbing his leather jacket on his way out the
door, hoping it was cooler out than when he’d arrived.
The irate Irish wench marching down the sidewalk needed to cool off.
“Wait up,” he called.
She didn’t.
He trotted after her, slowing back to a walk when he pulled even. “Whew, that
was close. Mr. Blanton’s creep could have jumped out and got you at any time.”