Her Last Wild Ride

by Abby Green

  As I mixed the cocktails, Jenna said carefully, “So, how are you doing?”

  I smiled brightly. “Great! As long as you’re not referring to a lying, cheating bastard by the name of Steve.”

  Jenna winced and looked at me with sympathy. “You had no idea, sweetie. How could you? He was from New Zealand! How would you have ever found out that he had a wife and baby if they hadn’t come to surprise him on the last day of the movie?”

  “I can’t believe I let him move in with me.” Even now my skin crawled to think of it. I’d never even usually let a guy sleep over. The betrayal and humiliation was still painful. After a lifetime of trusting my instincts not to let guys get too close, my defenses had come crashing down spectacularly. And all because Steve the Rat had seen me as a challenge because I wasn’t giving in as easily as every other girl.

  It had been a red rag to a bull for a man who refused to take no for an answer. His single-minded seduction had taken me off guard, and it was still galling that his zeal had had more to do with his ego than any great passion for me. The fact that his family hadn’t been on the same continent had given him plenty of room to maneuver.

  Film shoots were notorious hotbeds of extramarital affairs, but I never thought I’d get caught like that. Considering my own scars from being the product of a broken home, the fact that I might have contributed to someone else’s misery, even unwittingly, was excruciating.

  “Look,” Jenna said stoutly. “He was a gorgeous stunt guy with a cute Kiwi accent, and your job was to draw freaking tattoos on his practically naked body every day.” She rolled her eyes. “You’d have to have been Mother Attracta to avoid that kind of temptation, and even she probably would have gone down on him.”

  The thought of the very strict Mother Superior of our primary school getting on her knees to give a blow job made me convulse inelegantly. Thank God for Jenna; she could always made me laugh. When I got myself under control again, I put the cosmos on the bar counter and came around to perch on a stool beside her. She picked hers up. “Here’s to giving up men to concentrate on us and our fabulous new business, and your homecoming!”

  “Amen!” I said with feeling. Jenna had just been through a pretty brutal breakup of her own, demonstrating once again how our lives always seemed to freakishly sync up. We clinked glasses and took a gulp of the bright pink concoctions.

  A sense of lightness and excitement gripped me. I was so happy to be home, much happier than I’d ever thought I might be. And even happier to be leaving the frenetic pace of working on films behind me. The long hours and insecure freelance nature of the job had taken its toll. Not to mention my recent crappy dating experience.

  I pushed down the lingering bitterness and looked at her. “So, we’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

  She nodded, making her abundance of curly red hair bounce around her shoulders. “Abso-fricking-lutely.”

  Nerves mixed with anticipation gripped me. We were setting up a joint business venture, a company called MacSullivan Inc. Jenna was a stylist, and together we were going to provide an all-in-one service for the hair/makeup/styling end of things for commercials, photo shoots and videos. Normally a production company called any number of freelancers to fill those roles, but we were going to be a one-stop shop and make a name for ourselves as the go-to girls everyone needed on their shoots.

  We already had another old friend lined up who could do hair. The plan was to do it ourselves for the first few years, get it off the ground and then train up newbies so that they could take over. Eventually we’d hopefully have built up something of an agency with a byword in excellence. It also helped that one of my specialties from working on films was prosthetics, so we’d be able to do quirky stuff, too. I was also planning on teaching some workshops.

  Ever since I’d gone to LA with my mother, I’d felt a little out of control of my own life, which had manifested as severe teenage rebellion. And even though I’d had a great career, it still felt as if I’d never really made the choice, because I’d been all but forced into an internship in the movie industry by my mother in a bid to keep me out of trouble.

  But for the first time now, with this venture, I was taking control of my life. And it felt good.

  Jenna turned businesslike. “Okay, so I’m going to Miami tomorrow for two weeks for the big family reunion for my nana’s eightieth birthday. Will you be working here?”

  I sipped my cosmo and nodded. “Liam and Caitlin left for Mexico today.” My older brother had run the family business since our father had checked out in spectacular alcoholic style some years ago. I was happy to help out and find my feet after returning from LA, and make some money before throwing all my energy and savings into this new business venture with Jenna.

  She said now with wide eyes, “I still can’t believe Liam is actually in love.”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s freaking me out big-time. He’s always been so cynical...and I’ve never seen him so...content.”

  Jenna shook her head again, still disbelieving. “This girl—is she a supermodel? Does she have magical powers?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. She’s pretty, but not extraordinary, and she’s really sweet. I like her. She can stand up to Liam, which is cool to watch, actually.”

  “Wow,” Jenna breathed, starting to space out. “I mean, if it can happen to Liam—”

  I put down my glass and took her by the shoulders, making her look at me, and said firmly, “Exception to the rule. Ever heard of that one?”

  Jenna made a face. “Too fricking often.”

  “We don’t need men.” I imagined a long, dry life ahead and qualified it with, “Well, not right now anyway. We’re what’s important.”

  Jenna lifted her glass. “Yes we are. And it’s a good thing we’re both single—no unnecessary distractions from world domination.”

  “Exactly,” I said, and forced out betraying images of the hot, sexy stranger from earlier. “So we’re agreed—no men, no distractions.”

  Jenna clinked glasses to mine and said, “Agreed.”

  She gestured between us and our general pelvic regions and said, “No boys allowed in this area.”

  And then she wagged a finger at me as if reading my mind. “Not even if Hottie McHotness from earlier makes a reappearance. If I’m going to resist the temptation of surfer dudes in Miami then you’re not getting any either.”

  I had to repress a little illicit shiver of reaction at the thought of seeing the stranger again. Before Jenna could spot it, I clinked glasses and said with conviction, “I can guarantee that nothing is more important to me right now than getting our business off the ground.”

  * * *

  The following evening I was in irritable form. I hadn’t slept well thanks to one cosmo too many with Jenna, followed by a night of broken vivid dreams featuring an unsmiling gorgeous face and dark blue eyes.

  Candy, the day manager and one of mine and Liam’s oldest friends who was also putting me up until I found a permanent home, had offered to stay and help, as I was still on my own manning the bar. But we both knew that wasn’t a solution because she already did the early shift covering breakfast and lunch, which was a vital part of the business.

  I’d assured her I’d be fine. After all, most of the crowd were regulars, and I’d survived the previous night.

  But the previous night had been Thursday. Now it was Friday, and things were already uncomfortably busy, and it was only 8:00 p.m. And there was no sign of any regulars. I would have given anything right then for Candy’s acerbic wit and tough presence, but she was on a date with a new girlfriend, and no one in their right mind came between Candy and a hot sex session.

  It wasn’t until I’d taken the orders of a crowd of rowdy frat boys who’d come in and I finally had a second to take a breath that I noticed him sitting at the other end of the bar
, on his own again, watching me. Immediately I thought of Jenna’s wagging finger warning me off fooling around and a very old urge to rebel made itself felt.

  Crap.

  I hated that my first reaction was intense excitement, followed by irritation. I was so not in the mood for this. I didn’t even realize I was glaring at him with my arms folded until he arched a brow at me.

  I walked over, a mix of that excitement and unwelcome desire pulsing through me. “Yes?”

  Those intensely dark blue eyes narrowed on me and I swallowed the urge to apologize. He’d all but run out of the place as if he’d smelled a skunk last night. So what was he even doing back here?

  “I think I’ll give that Guinness a try after all,” he drawled with that luscious accent that put a serious dent in my irritation levels.

  I fought the urge to smile—what was it about gorgeous men that had that ability to reduce perfectly intelligent women to simpering shadows of their former selves?—but I also knew I couldn’t be rude. Liam would have my hide if any customer felt less than welcome. So I just said lightly, “I have it on good authority that’s it’s as close to the real thing as you can get this side of the Atlantic.”

  I went over to pull the pint, letting it settle for a minute while taking another order and then finishing the pour. I felt jittery, and between my legs was already damp. Shit. My body wasn’t obeying my firmly avowed resolution to swear off men for the foreseeable future. The last thing I needed now was the distraction of a hot guy. I wasn’t sure I trusted that my defenses had been fully reerected yet.

  When I brought it back over, his mouth tipped into a sexy side smile and my insides tightened with pure, unadulterated lust. Christ, but you’d have to be made of stone not to react to that, wheedled a voice in my head.

  “You know how to pour it like a proper Irish woman.”

  “Well, I’d be letting the side down if I couldn’t pull a pint of the black stuff properly.”

  He tipped the glass toward me. “Sláinte.”

  “Sláinte,” I echoed. Then I heard from behind me, “Hey, miss! Can we order please?”

  My cheeks got hot to realize I was neglecting customers. And when I turned around, my belly sank. The bar was heaving. About a hundred faces all looking at me expectantly.

  I dove in, time blurring as I dealt with a seemingly unending barrage of customers. At this rate I’d run out of glasses. I cursed silently.

  Then the frat boys came back for another round. Drunker this time. “Hey, sexy lady,” one of them slurred. “How’s about you and me get together after you finish me off?”

  He leered at me. “That is, I mean to say, when you finish work.”

  I kept my tone friendly but firm. “I think you boys have had enough here. Time to go to the next bar.”

  “Hey, bitch,” said another guy, big and beefy and sulky looking. “You can’t tell us to leave.”

  The language shocked me and a definite frisson of fear crawled up my back. Then I felt a sensation behind me and heard a voice say, “Yes she can, and she’s right—you boys have had enough. Go on, get out.”

  I looked around and had to look up to see Hottie McHotness right behind me, behind the bar. How had I not even noticed? An uncomfortable awareness of my vulnerability and those recently decimated defenses made me clench my hands and face him. “Excuse me, who said you could come in here?”

  “Yeah, dude, who the fuck are you? She’s talking to me.”

  I looked back at the beefy guy who was pointing a pudgy finger at himself. The mood was turning ugly. As much as I hated it, when the sexy stranger ignored me to move in front of me and spread his hands on the bar and said menacingly, “Get out now or I’ll call the cops myself,” I was relieved.

  The guys looked at him belligerently for a few seconds but clearly they saw the same danger I did. Next to him, they no longer looked threatening. They looked soft and ineffectual, and they finally slunk away with a few muttered insults and curses.

  I sucked in a shaky breath, not even realizing till then how tense I was. He turned around, and I reacted to his proximity. “You can go back to your seat now. I could have handled that.”

  “But thank you,” I added ungraciously.

  His mouth tightened and he folded his arms across his chest, making him look intimidating and huge. “I’ve no doubt you could...on a slower night. But you’re being slammed, and those guys were knocking back drinks they’d brought with them, which you wouldn’t have noticed.”

  I looked at him. I hadn’t noticed. And now I recalled Liam warning me about those guys. They’d been in a few times before and he’d barred them.

  “I... Well, thanks. I have to get back to work.”

  I glanced at the bar. Even with those guys gone, others had taken their places.

  “You obviously need a hand. Tell me where you want me.”

  I looked back at him and blinked. For a bizarre second I had a vision of him pushing me up against the bar to grind his hips into mine.

  Shock made me blurt out, “You can’t just—”

  He cut me off. “I’m not moving.”

  Chapter Three

  I heard the clamor of the crowd, and the music had stopped. Dirty glasses were piled up. He was right. I was slammed. And I realized that even though he was a complete stranger, I felt I could trust him. Which should have been warning enough if I’d had enough time to think about it.

  Still reluctant, though, I said, “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Johnny.”

  I pushed the image of Jenna’s wagging finger to the back of my mind and followed my gut—and my ravenous libido—and stuck out my hand. “Ashling.”

  He took my hand with his and it was big and warm and callused. Be still, my pulsating pussy. Shit.

  I pulled my hand away and tried to look as stern and boss-like as possible. “You could start by collecting the glasses and putting them in the washer.”

  I showed him quickly how it worked and then he said, “It’s grand. I’ve got it—go on, get back to it.”

  For the next couple of hours I operated in a haze, totally bemused to find myself working around this six-foot-three gorgeous Irish man who was now also taking orders and serving drinks as if he’d been here for years.

  When the last customers finally left and I had closed and locked the door behind them, I watched Johnny carry some glasses from a table, bringing them behind the bar, efficiently putting them into the washer and switching the washer on.

  He flipped a tea towel over his shoulder and looked around, hands on slim hips. He’d taken off his top layer along the way, so now he was wearing a white T-shirt that was so thin I could see nothing but ripped musculature. Flat nipples. A tantalizing sliver of flat belly and that delicious line of dark hair that led down underneath the top button of his low-slung jeans.

  Man oh man. Some evil God had sent this vision of sex to tempt me away from my resolutions and back to a place of hormone-controlled decadence. Moisture pooled between my legs and my breasts felt tight.

  Still in a kind of daze, I walked over to the bar and perched on a stool. We looked at each other and something sizzled. It might have been me.

  I shook my head. “Wow. I don’t...” My mouth closed. Obviously I had to thank him. He’d saved my ass, probably literally. Even now I shuddered to think of those frat guys and what might have happened.

  And then it hit me. I didn’t even know his full name. I stuck out my hand across the bar and smiled ruefully. “I’m Ashling Sullivan. Nice to meet you.”

  He wiped his hands on the towel and I noticed that they were very masculine with long fingers. Short nails.

  He took my hand and held it tight. “Johnny Ryan.”

  Between my legs didn’t just pulse this time; it spasmed. Inner walls tigh
tening as if already imagining what his thick length might feel like thrusting in and out. He didn’t let my hand go and I could feel those calluses again. My nipples hardened against the sheer material of my bra.

  From somewhere that wasn’t keeling over with lust I said, “Thank you. Really. You didn’t have to do that.”

  He shrugged easily. “I didn’t have any plans to break. It was no bother.”

  I tugged my hand free, aware of that delicious, slightly earth-tilting feeling of mutual desire. Because he wanted me as much as I wanted him. It wasn’t an arrogant assertion. It was just...there. I could smell it, and Jesus, I wanted to taste it. To taste him. He was looking at my mouth, and it made me want to put out my tongue to moisten it.

  In a bid to stop myself crawling over the bar to get to him, I blurted out, “You obviously know your way around bars.”

  He shrugged one broad shoulder, and something in his expression tightened. He avoided my eye. “Coming from Ireland, it’s kind of an occupational hazard. And I’ve worked in a few here.”

  But then he dragged his gaze back to mine and said, “Actually, I came back in tonight for a reason.”

  My heart thumped hard. “You did?” Mentally I was already apologizing to Jenna and I sent her telepathic permission to do a surfer dude.

  “Yeah...” He ran a hand through his short hair, leaving it deliciously tousled and messy. Everything in me was poised, waiting for him to say he’d come back because he’d wanted to see me.

  Already I was imagining lowering the blinds, taking him into the office, sitting on the side of the table, spreading my legs, his hands on my hips, roughly pulling me toward him—

  He looked at me. “Yeah...the thing is that I’m actually looking for my little sister, Caitlin Ryan. Do you know her?”

  The sting of exposure and humiliation was like a slap across the face. What the hell was wrong with me? I was all but ready to jump over this bar and strip off my clothes and beg this complete stranger to do me right now? As if I hadn’t just left my dignity in tatters back in LA?