He grinned, an irresistible glint in his eye. “Oh, will ye now?” He leaped up and pressed me against the dresser.
It was really the perfect height to lean back against as he moved his lips to my neck, then face.
“I missed you!” I said.
“Missed me?” Cullen questioned.
“I mean… I will miss you.”
He cupped my face in his hands and pulled my mouth to his. He was wonderful. He was all I wanted. All I had to do was be honest with him, trust in him that he could handle the truth.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Listen Up
He angled his body so he was just out of her line of vision and watched Sophia Marcil, with her long dark sleep-tousled hair, while she stood poaching an egg at the stove. He admired the way the old Republic of Ireland jersey scarcely covered her perfect, apple-shaped bum.
“I swear, Les, it’s the ring—the Purple Delhi Sapphire. You brought the book right?”
She was talking on the phone. He could hear her conversation perfectly and what he’d overheard was almost as revealing as the jersey.
She turned to pour a cup of coffee and revealed hardened nipples jutting against the shirt. He smiled. She was indeed beautiful, with her large, almond-shaped blue eyes and scattered freckles. She wasn’t exactly tall but he wasn’t either, so she was perfect for him. Her legs were shapely and tanned. The sight made his heart thump and he ached to burst into the room and make himself known, but it wasn’t time. She shivered and reached for the housecoat tossed over one of the chairs. He clenched his fist, not wanting her to cover up. Never had the urge to see her naked been so strong.
He stood a moment longer, hidden in the doorway of the enclosed porch, listening as she divulged her secrets, the mahogany-framed mirror across the wide room reflecting him. If she’d looked up in that moment, she might have seen him too. He stepped back out of sight and the floorboards under him creaked, almost giving away his position.
She turned toward the door. “What is it, Daphne? You were just out.”
That damn cat. He hated that cat. He’d have to be more careful if he wanted to continue keeping tabs. He turned to go. He would see her again. Soon.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Nick Knock
Nick Bexx Jr. cast an eye at the clock. “Betty! What’s the hold up?”
“One more minute.”
They were now an hour late for the fundraiser. Betty always ran late, but, then again, didn’t all broads? Well, not quite all broads; Sophia had always been on time.
His mind flashed to Sophia. He’d seen her earlier, but she hadn’t seen him. She probably didn’t even realize that he’d followed her to Ireland. Her long, silky dark hair had been down, just the way he liked it. He could imagine wrapping his knuckles in it as he pinned her to the bed.
What the hell had happened to them, anyway? He wondered, downing his J. D. in one gulp. Before that fall over the cliff, everything had been so good. Although she was always going on about him not listening or some shit. All he knew was that she had a spectacular body—not skinny and bony like Betty’s but perfectly proportioned, with swollen breasts that could make a grown man cry. Stretching, he stood up and poured another drink at the bar. God, he hoped she was at this party. The last time they’d been together had been hot. She was a wildcat in the sack.
One of her favorite bands was playing and he’d made sure she’d received an invite. Bribery was sometimes too easy. He ran his hand through his thick hair. Damn it—was it receding? At 5’10, he could not afford to bald, but then again who could compete. He allowed his gaze to wander down to his chest, lifting his white shirt to reveal the deeply suntanned, hard body beneath. He’d taken forty minutes to get a good pump on with the weights. Now he was showered and dressed and he was still waiting for Betty. Usually he was the high maintenance one in the relationship, although he would never admit that to anyone. Two more Jack Daniel’s and Betty finally emerged.
“Don’t I look fabulous?”
No answer.
“Darling?”
She was clad in a tight metallic Balenciaga pant suit that made her look like a shiny tinfoil alien. Clearly his face said it all, because her smile turned to a scowl.
“Well?” she demanded.
It crossed his mind to lie, but that wasn’t really his style and she’d whine even more once she saw the photos splashed across the magazines.
“You look like shit. Now go put on that red dress you bought yesterday and let’s go.”
“But that’s a Zac Posen and I want to look like a rockstar.” She pouted.
“Then stick a damn leather jacket over it and let’s get the hell out of here.”
“A leather jacket! Oh, that’s good, honey,” she said, happily bouncing off to her closet.
Nick was unimpressed. “You’ve got five minutes or I’m leaving without you.”
Spoiled botoxed blondes with fake tits were not his thing. Time to move on. Besides, if he was being honest, he’d only used her as an excuse to come here. Now he could get what he really wanted.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bloody Ex
“Sophia.”
I glanced behind me, positive someone had called my name, but no one was there. Squinting my eyes, I stuck my hand in my bag and traded my umbrella for shades. The rain had passed and shards of sunlight were multiplying through the clouds by the moment. This place was funny like that, but that’s what made it so green. The air, the grass, even the wood and stone of the buildings seemed alive.
Leslie was staying for Cullen’s cousin’s bridal shower and I was so excited to spend more time with her that I’d forgotten one of my bags by the door at home. Unfortunately, it was the one that had my deodorant and lipstick, and some things you just couldn’t borrow, so I’d decided last minute to duck out. The pharmacy on Merrion Road was a fourteen minute walk from Cullen’s parents' home in Ballsbridge, but I’d been gone almost twenty minutes now and the limo had most likely arrived.
The shower was being held at some fancy restaurant downtown to accommodate Cullen’s paternal grandmother. And Leslie was meeting me there.
Halfway down the block, footsteps sounded behind me. I turned and froze in mid-step.
“Nick!” My heart slammed into my chest. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. I spotted you leaving the store, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”
His shirt was wrinkled and stained and his hair was sticking up on one side. Not his usual look.
“But what are you doing in Ireland?”
“Sophia.” He reached out to touch me.
Stepping back, I intentionally put some distance between us. “I told you to leave me alone. How did you find me?”
His face grew dark. “So you ran away from me. And here I thought you just shacked up with that limey bastard from the hospital so you could cheat on me.”
My temper flared. “Cheat on you…oh for heaven’s sake. Do we really need to go over this again? Are you that thick? We’re over and you’re the one who did all the cheating. Not to mention you tried to rape me at Gigi’s and you pushed me off a damn cliff.”
“I told you that was an accident.”
“Right,” I mumbled, backing farther away.
“I—I just want to talk.” He stepped closer.
“No. I’ve moved on and, from what I hear, you have too.” I turned around and headed away from him.
“What do you mean? You are with that Irish asshole, aren’t you?”
I rounded on him, shaking. “Yes! I’m living with Cullen.” He was away on a business trip right now but I wasn’t about to inform Nick of that. “Is that what you need to hear?” I snarled, and to my horror, I raised a shaking hand and slapped him.
He hadn’t expected the assault, but his fingers wrapped around my wrist with a powerful grip that threatened to crack bone. His cheek reddened with the imprint of my hand.
Trying to regain my composure, I took a de
ep breath and worked to free my wrist.
“I’m marrying a good man who is faithful and respects my choices and doesn’t push me off cliffs, accidentally or otherwise.”
“You’re getting married?” he said incredulously and then made several incoherent sounds.
His face was losing color by the second. He looked remorseful and I caught myself almost feeling sorry for him.
“We had some good times, didn’t we, babe?”
My pulse raced as I continued to try to free my wrist. He was holding me too near. “Please don’t call me that and for heaven’s sake, will you let me go?”
He let go as if he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding me so tight. He looked pathetic.
“Didn’t we?”
His eyes were on me so intently. Nodding my head, I swallowed. “Yes, briefly, before you turned into an asshole.”
“Remember when we met on the Promenade.”
I thought back to the street in Nice—all shaded by palms and lit with lamps. It had taken two years of scrimping and saving just to experience it.
His lips trembled and I thought he might cry. No—stop feeling sorry for him. He’s a master manipulator.
“You looked so cute rollerblading in your little white dress.”
“I’m sorry, but I really have to go. I have somewhere to be. ”
He reached into his pocket and took out a little square matchbook which he held out to me.
“Nick, what is this?” I said, taking it from him.
“It’s from the place I’m staying. My flat number and cell are written on the other side.
”You just carry matchbooks with your room number written on them?” I shook my head.
“No. It’s not like that. I saw you in the store and I asked the lady for a pen.”
“Whatever, Nick, I have to go.” I was about to walk away when I once again noticed his shirt. “Are you—have you been drinking?”
He nodded.
“And fighting? There’s blood on your shirt.”
He glanced down as if realizing for the first time how disheveled he was. A cold look came over his face and he covered the stain with his hand. “That bitch Betty kicked me out of the flat last night. She thought I was hitting on her friend at that stupid fundraiser. Hey, that reminds me. Why didn’t you come?”
I narrowed my eyes and he looked away sheepishly, which told me everything I needed to know. “So that’s why I got an invitation, so you could corner me. And then when I didn’t show, you went out and picked a fight with some other drunk, or did Betty try and slap some sense into you?”
“Who cares, I was tired of that skinny little piece of ass anyway.”
“Same old Nick,” I said, turning and crossing the street.
“No, wait, I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve changed,” he whined.
“Gigi always said, ‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots.’” Falling in step with a crowd of women, I picked up the pace.
“Stop. Have a coffee with me, I’ll tell you what happened. Sophia, I need to talk to you.” His voice faded as I turned the corner onto Shrewsbury Road and rushed in the direction of the O’Kelley residence to escape him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Betty of Evidence
Nick stomped through the courtyard. What a bitch! She was probably in a hurry to get home and screw that Irish prick. He bent his head into the wind, feeling bitter at the thought. He’d promised himself he wasn’t coming back here, but he’d forgotten his passport.
The path opened up, revealing the converted Georgian coach house with its carved brick doorway. He spotted a petite, red-haired woman hoisting a bucket up the steps.
Great! It was the same maid who’d talked his ear off yesterday: “You know this bed and breakfast has been home to some of the biggest movers and shakers since the ‘70s and this is one of the best flats in the whole city—what a view!” As if he cared what she thought—she probably lived in some flea-infested hole in the ground.
She massaged her lower back and lifted the bucket again, climbing the last step.
God, she was slow. He debated on whether to just disappear or to try and shoo her away. She rang the bell, waited a minute, and then rang again. He chuckled to himself. Not like Betty is gonna answer. The bone-colored curtains were drawn.
He watched her as she pushed the door open a few inches. “Cleaning service,” she called out in her sing-song voice. “Anyone here?”
She pushed the door wide open, hesitating only a moment before letting out a blood curdling scream.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Family F-Worst
There was no sign of Nick but I flicked my gaze around anyway before ducking, breathless, into the O’Kelley residence. Rage smoldered inside me. I despised him for turning me into the sort of woman who would run away. It was infuriating knowing that after everything he put me through, he was still free to roam and stalk at will. The foyer was empty so I paced, trying to eliminate my nervous energy before seeing the rest of the family and heading to the shower.
“Sophia, is everything all right?”
“Liam,” I said, and moved quickly to kiss him on the cheek. “What are you doing here?”
“I was just droppin’ Móraí off. She’s in the loo. Come in and sit down. I’ll not bite.”
Mindlessly, I followed him into the sitting room. It was furnished in a cold yet fashionable style, the sort of white and gray decor that you couldn’t really fault or admire.
“Ye look like ye’re in need of a stiff drink.”
He walked to the bar and poured a splash of amber liquid into two glasses.
“I really shouldn’t, Liam.”
“Nonsense, ye’ll need it. Trust me.”
He downed his in one gulp while I sipped mine slowly. The whiskey burned my throat and warmed my stomach.
“So, are ye goin’ to tell me why ye were after pacin’ the hall like a caged beast?”
“It was nothing, really, just nerves.”
“Got it, say no more.” He winked, refilling his glass. “I’ve spent my share of time around that flock of birds. Lord knows they eat their young, but ye’ll have Móraí to defend ye.”
I took another sip and cringed. I’d never been big on straight whiskey, no matter how much it cost.
Móraí cleared her throat from the doorway. “Sophia, ye’re here. Now where are the others? John? Lucille?” she called out in a sing-song voice.
I tugged at the high neckline of the lace dress Móraí’s stylist had set out for me.
“They’re still ignorin’ us, I see. Glad to see someone had the manners to keep ye company.”
“Er, yes,” I said.
“Ye look lovely.”
I nodded, looking down. I hadn’t had much of a choice but I liked it all the same. The short hemline of the tight winter-white lace dress showed off my legs, but the sleeves were full and the neckline was high. A thin red ribbon encircled my waist.
“I’m not overdressed, am I?”
“Heavens, no! Ye look elegant, but not overstated. And those pumps. Well done. How smart ye look. I hope ye’re soon-to-be mother-in-law looks half as tasteful.”
I looked around awkwardly, wondering where Lucille was. This was her house, after all. Móraí was always dropping such negative comments about her daughter-in-law. I made a mental note to ask Cullen what had caused the rift.
I took another sip of my whiskey and watched as Móraí stalked out of the room and yelled up at Lucile.
“If ye don’t hurry up,” Móraí said, “the brides goin’ to be married and it’s goin’ to be a moot point to throw her a shower.”
“Hold your horses!” Lucile yelled back. “It takes time to look this good.”
Móraí looked over at me. “There’s not enough time in the world.”
Liam poured himself another glass of whiskey.
“Are they always like this?”
“Like what?” Liam asked.
“The catty c
omments.”
“Oh, no, they’re usually much worse.”
Móraí walked into the room as if she’d heard her own name.
“I’m convinced she does this to torture me—ye know, they’re probably up there laughin’ and kissin’.”
“It could be worse,” I said. “They could be unhappy.”
Liam and Móraí both looked at me like I’d just said the craziest thing in the world.
“And that would be worse?” Móraí asked.
“I think the limo just pulled up,” Liam said, changing the subject.
“Of course. Let’s be on our way.”
I handed Liam my glass. The whiskey swished in the bottom as he took it.
“It's bad luck not to finish it, ye know.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I said and followed Móraí down the front steps. “Isn’t Lucille joining us?”
“No. I think not. John can drop the ‘Queen of Sheba’ off. He married her, so she’s his problem.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Extra Extra
Ten minutes later I stood in the center of a crowded room. Everywhere I turned, women stood sipping drinks and cooing over wedding plans and gifts while spooning caviar from tiny crystal bowls.
“Thank you,” I said, as I accepted congratulations on my recent own engagement.
I needed to extract myself from Móraí, who kept introducing me to perfect strangers. The flock of women seemed happy for the guest of honor but a few seemed genuinely bitter to hear the bride-to-be’s cousin, Cullen O’Kelley was soon to be off the market.
“Champagne?”
I smiled at the formally-dressed waiter standing at my elbow. “Thanks,” I said, lifting a flute off his silver tray and watching the bubbles burst one by one.
“Why so glum?” Leslie asked, appearing suddenly at my elbow. My oldest friend did not rattle easily, but she looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable as she picked at a lock of auburn hair that had escaped her tight bun. She took a sip from her wineglass and grimaced. “This way,” she said, tugging me to the left. “I see a hiding spot near the bar.”
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