by CA Quigg
“Have I ever told you how much I love your sarcasm?” He moved forward, lowered his lips, and skimmed a kiss over her forehead. “Don’t miss me too much.”
“It’s safe to say I won’t. And be careful. I wouldn’t want you to do something stupid like touch a live wire or fall off a ladder.” She ironed her hands over his shoulders, and he imagined Quinn digging her nails into his skin while his head was buried between her shapely legs.
“Ay yai yai.” Lily drummed her taloned fingers over the screen of her phone. “If I have to spend the rest of the week with Romeo and Juliet, I’ll stab myself with a blunt butter knife. You, Romeo, go talk to the contractors. Don’t forget to tell them honeysuckle pink paint. You, Juliet, get me the chef. Ella’s extremely particular about what she puts in her body.”
“As I stated in my email last week,” Quinn said, turning to face Lily, “I’ve secured Lorcan White, a Michelin-starred chef, who’s sourced the best organic food Ireland has to offer. We have a tasting scheduled for one this afternoon at his restaurant. We should probably leave within the next thirty minutes.”
At the mention of food, Ronan’s stomach grumbled. He hadn’t eaten anything since the congealed Aer Lingus chicken and rice dish over ten hours ago. “How could I forget about the tasting? I’ll meet you outside.”
Quinn pivoted on her heels and glowered. “But, darling, aren’t you going to talk to the contractors to make sure they do everything as discussed? The correct shade of pink is vital, wouldn’t you agree?”
“But, darling, since it’s the same chef who’s catering our wedding, don’t you think we should taste the food together?”
“We’ve planned a different menu.”
“For Pete’s sake,” Lily bit out. “You’re making me want to hurl. It’s snowing. I’m freezing, and I’m not going anywhere. Bring the chef to me.”
“But it’s already been arranged,” Quinn said. “He’s expecting us.”
“Then he can unexpect us when you unarrange it. I want him here. Got it?”
“Yes. Sure. No problem.” The corners of Quinn’s lips lifted up with a forced smile.
She was a regular little miss people pleaser, wasn’t she? Doing and saying anything to keep the peace. He could learn a few things from watching a professional swindler like her in action.
“And for the remainder of the week,” Lily said, the vaporizer bobbing between her lips. “You’re both staying at the castle. I want you close by in case anything goes wrong.”
“I don’t have anything with me. Clothes. Toothbrush.” A deep groove creviced the area between Quinn’s eyes and underlying panic laced her voice. “I can’t stay here.”
Staying at the castle wasn’t something he’d planned. He’d planned on surprising his mother by showing up unannounced, but since he hadn’t told his parents he was home yet, there was no reason for him not to stay at the castle for a few nights.
“Did you say something?” Lily removed the vaporizer from her lips and cupped her hand around her ear. “Because I hope I didn’t hear ‘I can’t.’ If ‘I can’t’is what I heard, then I can’t transfer money into your account, and I can’t recommend you to anyone else.”
“I can stay.” A saccharine sweet smile spread across Quinn’s face. “It’s not a problem.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Before the snow storm hits,” Quinn said. “I’ll have to stop by my apartment. Pick up a few things.”
“Then let’s go, honey bunny.” Ronan draped an arm over her shoulders. “Maybe we can… catch up on lost time.” A few hours alone with Quinn might help him understand where she was coming from. Might help him understand her desperation, and might make him understand what Brady’s part in all of it was. But that didn’t mean he was going soft, or he’d trust her. He still wanted the job and would still do what he could to get it, even if that meant pretending he was on her side.
“Enough already.” Lily dragged on her vaporizer. “Don’t take too long.” She waved her hand as if dismissing everyone and left the office.
“Looks as if we’re going to have the opportunity to get to know each other very well.” Ronan couldn’t help but grin.
“I didn’t think it was possible to hate someone as much as I hate you.”
She strode toward the door, and Ronan couldn’t help but admire the enticing swing of her hips. Maybe this week wouldn’t be so bad after all. A few years had passed since he’d had a decent sparring partner, and Quinn seemed like she’d be the perfect opponent.
Chapter Three
Bloated snowflakes looped and swirled down in a rush to turn everything white. Puffs of Quinn’s chilled breath misted the air, and she wobbled down the icy stone steps at the castle’s entrance, clutching the frosty wrought-iron railings to stop herself going ass over boobs.
Chaotic thoughts about Ronan tumbled over one another like a group of sugar-high three-year-olds jostling for their mom’s attention. He had to get the fuck out of her life. How had he found out about her pitch, and how had he found out about her not so little white lie? None of that mattered right now, though, because thanks to however he’d found out, she had to hop aboard his crazy-train to crazy-town and pretend he was her fiancé. If her life hadn’t crumbled to crap, and if he wasn’t such a bastard, falling into bed with someone as hot as him would be a no-brainer.
Nope. Not going there. She gave her cheek a mental slap. She wouldn’t imagine what he looked like naked. Wouldn't imagine what kissing those full lips of his felt like, and she most definitely wouldn’t imagine his strong hands moving over her body.
What other choice did she have except keep up the façade of him being her fiancée? None. Saving her business and paying off her debts was her number one goal, even if it meant going along with a farce of a relationship. One stupid lie and now her dream job and a chance at redemption were turning into one epic fail after another.
She shuffled along the snow-covered pebbles and made it to the parking lot and her car without too much slipping and sliding.
“Leaving without me?” Ronan asked from a few steps behind, his lilting accent muffled by the falling snow.
“Not at all. I came out to warm up the car. Wouldn’t want my fiancé freezing his balls off, would I?”
He caught up with her, laughter filling his blue eyes. “You’re too thoughtful.”
“Aren’t I?” Quinn opened the driver’s door as Ronan reached for it.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“What do you think I’m doing? Solving world hunger?”
“It’s snowing.”
“It is? Where?” With a deliberate widening of her eyes, she raised her hand and caught a few feathered flakes on her palm.
“We’ll take my rental. It’s safer and about twenty years newer than your rust bucket.”
“I’m driving my car.” She perched sideways on the driver’s seat, her feet firmly planted on the frozen ground. “By the twang in your voice, you don’t live in Ireland anymore.”
“Brooklyn, but what’s that got to do with anything?” He lifted the collar of his coat until it touched his ear lobes and then buried his hands inside the pockets. A pink blush from the cold highlighted his cheeks and nose. Snow spiked his eyelashes, and his hair fell over his forehead. He was a magazine cover come to life.
She stamped her feet to shatter the ice cubes enclosing her toes. “I bet you use cabs or the subway most of the time, or walk. I’m used to driving these roads—you’re not.”
“I grew up a few miles away. I know these roads like the back of my hand.” He hopped from foot to foot and hunched his shoulders. “The roads are going to be an icy mess. I’m not sure you can handle them.”
She rummaged through her bag, and when she found her cell, she held it to her ear. “Hello, 1950. One of your chauvinists managed to make his way here. Want me to send him back?”
He gave her an e
asy, slow smile. One that was way too dangerous and way too sexy. “You’re quite the comedian.”
She lowered her phone and focused her attention on the mountain peaks. “I live here. You don’t. When’d you leave? Five, six years ago?”
“Ten.”
“Long enough to forget what driving here’s like.”
Her insistence on driving had zero to do with who should or shouldn’t drive or whose car could handle the twisting roads better—hands down his could. It had everything to do with giving in and giving him what he wanted. If she caved over something as small as driving, Ronan wouldn’t merely walk all over her. He’d stomp her into the ground. Quinn swiveled her body into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. She switched on the ignition, blasted the heat, and winced when nothing but cold air hit her face. Once the car warmed up, the heat would kick in, she hoped. Ronan hadn’t moved, and she had a good mind to leave him there, but if she did, he’d jump in his rental and tailgate her the entire way home. She cracked open the window.
“Stay there, or get in. Either way, I’m leaving.”
He jogged around the car, opened the passenger door, and slid into the seat. She controlled the urge to punch the air in victory.
The tip of his nose and cheeks were now a delicious winterberry red, and the rich scent of his sandalwood cologne infused with snow filled the air. Why did he have to smell so goddamn delicious and why did she have a ridiculous desire to lick him from head to toe? She’d welcome a cold and a stuffy nose, anything not to spend the entire journey smelling his aftershave. There was nothing else for it. She’d have to spend the car ride breathing through her mouth. That, or stuff her nose with tissue.
“Don’t kill me,” he said.
“Wouldn’t that be a shame?”
While the car idled and warmed, Ronan occupied himself by skimming through his phone, and Quinn called Lorcan to rearrange the tasting for the next day at the castle. The culinary wizard’s expletive-laden response would’ve impressed Gordon Ramsey. After promising him the wedding would make him into a worldwide celebrity chef, she hung up and maneuvered her way over a rickety wooden bridge and out of the secluded grounds.
Thick hedges and tumbling stone walls hugged the narrow two-laned road, and bleating sheep huddled together in patchwork fields in a bid to keep warm.
The snowfall thickened and stuck to the roads, hiding the many pool-sized potholes scarring the asphalt, and despite the turmoil whirling inside of her and her foot wanting to put the gas pedal through the floor, Quinn forced herself to drive slowly. At their current zero-mile-per-hour speed, the drive to her flat would take more than an hour instead of the usual twenty minutes.
The repetition of driving the route for the past few weeks set her on autopilot. There was no doubt she was in a sucky situation. How to get out of it was the question. She could either use every ounce of her creativity and business acumen to fight for what was hers, or she could hand the job over to him and walk away with her pride somewhat intact, but maybe even that wouldn’t stop him blabbering to everyone. If he exposed her, no one would want to be associated with a liar. Ireland was a small place, the wedding and event community even smaller, and once the gossip started, nothing would save her already ice-thin career. Screw Brady fucking Gibson and his fucking empty promises. She smacked the heel of her hand against the steering wheel.
“Everything okay?” Ronan didn’t look up from his phone.
“Oh, everything’s perfectly fine.” Her irritation said the opposite. “Frustrated by this weather and the roads, is all.”
“I should have driven. You’re too timid.”
“And I suppose you get all ‘I am man, hear me roar’ and aggressive behind the wheel?” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
He leaned over the center console, close enough that his breath fanned over her cheek and his musky cologne invaded her senses. “If you mean I like to be in control, you’re right, I do.”
Desire shoved her irritation out of the way, and her breasts conspired with her nipples on the best way to bust out of her bra and get closer to him. Previously comatose hormones opened their eyes and fangirled, leaving her underwear more than a little damp, which, in subzero temperatures, wasn’t as fun as it sounded. His sexy accent and alpha male act would not turn her into a swooning simpleton. No way. That particular road was one she had no plans on traveling ever again.
“You’re an arrogant ass.”
“I would say confident.”
“I would say conceited.”
“I would disagree.” Ronan shrugged and shifted back into his seat. He shoved his phone into his pocket. “We should find out a wee bit more about each other, don’t you think?”
“Thanks, but no. I know all I need to know about you.” She switched on the radio and the sound of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” blasted from the speakers.
“You don’t know anything.” He switched off the radio.
“Exactly. Like I said, ‘I know all I need to know.’”
“I have three brothers and three sisters.”
“Don’t care.”
At a turn in the road, a tractor with monster-truck wheels bigger than her car swung around the corner and cut her off. Quinn slammed on the brakes and sent up a silent prayer thanking God she was driving so slowly and that her tires had enough tread to grip the road. The glove box fell open, and a landslide of unopened letters plummeted onto the floor and onto Ronan’s lap and feet.
“Great filing system,” he said. “Don’t you ever open your mail?”
“None of your business.” Quinn leaned over to pluck up the envelopes. The final demands inside would give him more ammunition. Not that he couldn’t already assassinate her with everything he already had.
“Drive.” He motioned toward the now clear road. His finger hovered over the back of an envelope as if undecided about opening the flap.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Her eyes darted toward the envelope in his hand. “It’s illegal to open someone else’s mail without their permission. And you, most definitely, do not have mine.”
“These all look like bills. Final demands, if I’m right. Hiding something?” Ronan swept the envelopes together and rammed them into the glove box.
“Again, none of your business.” She gripped the steering wheel tighter. “You’ve invaded my life enough without sticking your nose in any deeper.”
“I haven’t even begun.”
With a flick of her hand, Quinn turned up Christmas FM and set the volume loud enough to drown out his voice and her thoughts.
Sammy, a homeless teen who sometimes slept outside her apartment building, sat huddled in a corner, with his grimy, and now wet, sleeping bag draped over his knees. Pour soul. He should be in a hostel, or somewhere warmer than a street corner, but Quinn guessed his dog Max had something to do with him still being on the streets.
“You live here?” Ronan glanced out of the car window and eyed the graffitied building with apparent distaste.
“What were you expecting, a penthouse overlooking the river?” Her neighborhood wasn’t the safest place to live, but it was all she could afford. When she’d paid off her debts, she’d move somewhere better, cleaner, more secure.
“It’s not in the greatest of areas.”
“It works for me.” She opened the door and went outside; admitting he was right wouldn’t happen. “Stay here. Make sure no one steals the car.”
“This jalopy? People are more likely to give you money out of pity to fix it than steal it.” He followed her out of the car. “I should know wherewe live and what our love nest looks like.”
“Whatever. Suit yourself.”
Not bothering to see if Ronan was behind her, she hunkered down in front of Sammy. “You need me to take Max?” At the sound of his name, the scraggy dog whose tongue was too big for his mouth and eyes too small for his head stuck his fa
ce from beneath the stained sleeping bag. Max’s breed was indeterminable, but perhaps the resulting cross-species love child between a Chihuahua and a possum.
“I was worried you wouldn’t be coming home.” Sammy shivered and wiped the back of his hand beneath his runny nose. “The thing is, they have a permanent bed for me, but I can’t take Max. They said I should take him to the pound.” He scratched the trembling dog behind its ears. “I can’t do that to the wee fella. He’s already been through the wars. Can you take him for me? Find him a home?”
The dog lifted his head and widened his eyes, as if trying to charm her into finding him a place to live.
“I don’t know, Sammy. I have a lot on at work right now.”
Max whimpered as if he knew he was seconds away from abandonment, but permanent beds didn’t come easy and it’d taken Sammy months to find one. More than once, she’d offered him her sofa, which, if the weather was bad enough, he took, but more often than not, he refused.
“No worries. I understand.” The sorrow in his eyes stabbed her heart.
There was no way she could let either of them down.
“Give him here.” Quinn reached for the dog. If she didn’t take care of Max, Sammy would stay on the streets, and she didn’t need yet another worry weighing down her conscience.
“You’re the best. I knew I could count on you.” Sammy handed over the dog, who slobbered kisses all over Quinn’s face.
“Stop kissing me, you mangy mutt.” She laughed and put the rat-sized dog on the ground. “I won’t be home for about a week, but he’ll be somewhere safe, and after that, we’ll see what we can come up with.” During the day, she’d keep him in the castle’s kitchen out of harm’s way, and at night, he could sleep in her room. Brendan wouldn’t mind.
Sammy gave her a beaming smile. “You’re a legend.”
“I don’t know about that.” Quinn dug into her coat pocket, pulled out a twenty, and held it out. “Get yourself something to eat.”
Sammy shook his head. “Keep your money. Taking Max is enough.” He stood and rolled his belongings into the sleeping bag, and when he wasn’t looking, she tucked the money into his backpack. He needed the money more than she did.