Kiss of the Irish (Foreign Fling)

by Lauren Hawkeye

  Not much had ever scared Cian in his almost thirty years alive, but the gleam of machination in his sister’s eye when she had his credit card in hand made him uneasy. “Don’t I pay your salary, wench? What the hell d’you do with that money?”

  “Pay bills.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Are you suggesting that I go shopping instead of paying my light bill, Cian?”

  Goddamn it. “No,” he finally groused, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. Ainsley would be the death of him one day, really she would.

  “Besides: your idea, your money.”

  “All right, already! Get out of my damn pub!” Cian pointed at the door, fed up with her games. “And don’t come back till you’ve all…bonded. Or whatever it is women do.”

  To her merit, Ainsley seemed genuinely excited as she leaped from her seat. And why not? He was giving her a day off work and his credit card. As far as he was concerned, she owed him. “You’re a darling, Cian!” Leaning over, she kissed his cheek fondly before making her way from the pub. “See you later!”

  Alone in his establishment, Cian massaged the headache starting at the nape of his neck as he imagined the damage Ainsley would do. But after a moment, he forced himself to let it go. His credit could handle it. After all, this was for Sarah.

  And he was beginning to find there was relatively little he wasn’t willing to endure for her sake.

  Chapter Six

  Sarah wasn’t sure exactly how this had happened. She was in a cute dress, wearing mascara and lipstick, walking the streets of Dublin arm-in-arm with Ainsley and Nell, and feeling completely out of her element.

  Only two hours ago, she’d resolved to spend the day tidying her flat and trying not to think about how effortlessly Cian had brought her to orgasm in his office. It had been no easy fight, but perhaps given the whole day, she could have managed. While she was making herself tea, however, Ainsley and Nell had shown up on her doorstep. While each was very friendly and kind in her own right, combined, the women were a force to be reckoned with. No excuse Sarah gave could have kept them from ushering her into her room in preparation for a day out.

  They insisted that they wouldn’t go without her and that it would be the most fun she had in ages.

  If she was honest with herself, getting ready had been fun. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d dressed up to go out. She’d put a bit of makeup on with her suits when she went for her shifts at the auction house, but Ross had always told her not to bother when they went out together, complaining that she took forever in the bathroom. Of course, when she joined him bare-faced, he commented that she looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.

  Remembering the comment stung even now, especially having come from someone who wasn’t exactly movie star handsome himself. Four years. Why had she stayed with him for so long?

  “Oooo, look at this, Sarah!” Nell’s enthusiastic call brought her back to the matter at hand. Sarah found they’d come to a stop before the window of a very fancy lingerie shop. In the display, slender mannequins draped themselves over chaise lounges and armchairs in scraps of lace that were only barely there. The sight of them was enough to make her blush.

  “That black set there is lovely. I have to have it!” said Nell.

  “To impress your newest boy toy?” Ainsley teased her with a grin. “You hardly need it, Nell.”

  “I’ll have you know,” the snowy blonde returned cheekily, “That I’m buying it for myself. No one else has seen my knickers in a year, and you well know it, you wench.”

  “Well, if we’re buying for ourselves, I might have to have the whole shop!” Ainsley laughed, before unexpectedly turning to Sarah. “Which ones to you fancy, Sarah?” She pointed at a particularly risqué moss-green chemise and lacy boy short set in the corner. “I think that would look amazing with your coloring.”

  Almost immediately, she balked. “I…I don’t think so.” She hadn’t bought such nice things for herself in ages. She had never been able to justify the expense beyond the cheap lace trim on the underwear she’d bought years ago. “Ross said I’m not the type of girl who should wear lingerie.”

  The statement slipped out before she realized, and Sarah was immediately annoyed with herself, toying with the handle of her purse to cover her feelings. “I mean…that’s not really my style.”

  “No, no, no!” Nell interrupted her with a flourish. “Who’s Ross?’ Her expression turned mischievous in an instant. “I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend?”

  Ainsley arched a brow, insulted on her brother’s behalf. “Cian won’t like hearing that.”

  Under both of their anticipatory gazes, Sarah knew she could no more have lied than she could have gone invisible. So, she came clean. “He’s not my boyfriend. Ross is…” She swallowed thickly, forcing the words out. “He’s my former fiancé.”

  For what seemed like an eternity, both women stared at her in surprise, and Sarah wished she could just fade away. She had a hard enough time as it was, strolling around Dublin with two women who far outshone her. She would have far preferred staying home than to revealing her shame. Now she would inevitably have to tell them what she’d done to drive him away.

  “He’s your ex.” Nell mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully for a moment before she continued. “What the bloody hell did he do to make you so…squirrelly?”

  “What did he do?”

  “He sounds like a bloody nutter, telling you what he thinks you should wear.” Ainsley added her two cents then took Sarah’s hand in a firm but gentle grip. “If he’s your ex, then I could give a flying frig what he said. Let’s go in.”

  She couldn’t stop them. In fact, all Sarah could do was let the two women lead her inside while her face burned.

  The moment they set foot in the shop, a gorgeous, impeccably dressed older woman with raven hair and deep scarlet lips greeted them, asking if she could help them with anything. Ainsley and Nell immediately asked her to pull half the shop for them to try on, and as she bustled about preparing, they sat down with Sarah in the small sitting area close to the fitting rooms.

  “Did you break up before you came to Ireland?” Ainsley’s question was surprisingly direct, and Sarah noticed that she hadn’t released her hand yet. Rather than cloying, however, her grip was warm and soothing.

  “Yeah.” Sarah intended to answer only that one question and then change the subject, but before she knew it, the entire story came tumbling out. “We dated for four years. We were engaged to be married, and he left me for an exotic dancer the week before the ceremony. I, uh…I haven’t returned his calls since then, and two weeks after it happened, I booked Cian’s flat, took a leave of absence at my job, and came over here.” Strangely, it was cathartic to tell all. Sarah had wondered how long it would take the memories eating away at her to drive her up the wall, and now here she was, spilling everything to two people she hardly knew. Not that Nell and Ainsley were strangers. They were the closest thing she had to friends in Ceanmore.

  In all of Ireland. Actually, anywhere. And wasn’t that sad?

  “Am I an idiot?” It was a question she had pondered time and time again since her hasty departure from the U.S. Was she absolutely crazy for leaving everything she knew behind and taking a break from life because of a man? Was she weak for running away? It was one of her greatest fears—one that kept her awake at night when she should be sleeping soundly.

  Ainsley and Nell shared a glance before looking back to her. Nell spoke first, her tone low and taut with outrage. “You most certainly are not an idiot, Sarah. You’re nothing of the sort! It’s that bastard Ross who’s the idiot. When a man loves you, he doesn’t leave you at the altar, and if he told you anything otherwise, it’s absolute bullocks!”

  “A man who loves you,” Ainsley cut in, equally affronted, “Wouldn’t tell you cruel things—like how you shouldn’t wear whatever knickers you like. If he loved you enough to marry you, he’d buy you heaps of knickers, and tons of other things besides. He�
�d move mountains for you.” Squeezing her hand reassuringly, she went on, “Not to speak ill of him, Sarah, but your ex sounds like a slimy piece of rat shite.” Surprisingly, laughter bubbled up from Sarah’s throat at the way Ainsley’s lilting Irish tone slid so confidently over the words. “And you’re much better without him.”

  Was that true?

  During the weeks that she and Ross had been apart, Sarah doubted herself almost constantly. She doubted her worth, doubted her morals, and she doubted any plans she had for the future. For so long, her world had revolved around a man who would rather go out with his friends than give her the time of day. Who would rather belittle her than raise her up—and now, with Ainsley and Nell to reassure her, she was beginning to realize just how horribly he’d abused her pride.

  “I…I guess so.”

  “Don’t guess,” Nell replied instantly, holding a finger up as she instructed her. “Know it. Know that you’re better than that.”

  It was no small feat, changing her entire way of thinking in an instant, but Sarah supposed she could give it a try.

  “I know it.”

  “Excellent.” Ainsley grinned, clasping Sarah’s hand in both of hers and giving it an affectionate peck before finally releasing her. “Now, forget about him. Today is not about him, it’s about you. So, screw Ross. Say it.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened at Ainsley’s request, but she could hardly refuse. Not with her and Nell both looking at her so expectantly. Besides, the moment Ainsley had suggested it, Sarah found that she didn’t think the words sounded so bad. She wanted to say them. “Screw Ross.”

  The moment she uttered the epithet, Sarah felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. So she said it again. “Screw Ross.”

  Both women beamed at her statement, and Nell laughed, reaching for a portion of the lingerie the shopkeeper had brought them. “Brilliant!” she exclaimed. “Now try on some of these. I bet they look fantastic on you!”

  Sarah inhaled sharply as the blonde passed her a navy-blue teddy that was all but see-through. She could have never worn such a thing to bed with Ross…but for herself? It might just feel good to slide between the sheets in something so unapologetically sexy.

  “Okay.”

  …

  Back in Boston, all of Sarah’s girlfriends were usually too busy for more than a quick lunch, and Ross and her parents scoffed whenever she suggested spending money on herself. Today, for the first time, there was no one to tell her how she should live her life, and Nell and Ainsley were more than encouraging as they browsed through the numerous shops on Grafton Street. They went into little stores crammed with trinkets so Sarah could buy souvenirs and visited huge departments stores with ridiculous sales. After lunch at a charming bistro, they sipped cappuccinos and looked over art at an amateur gallery. She’d wanted to linger there far longer than the other two, but contented herself by buying a small oil painting of rolling green hills that she couldn’t tear her eyes from.

  She didn’t think she’d ever spent so much money in a single day in her entire life. But really, Sarah reminded herself, what else was money for? Her parents, ex, and elitist friends had always told her to build her nest egg to prepare for the disaster down the road and build toward her future. She had a very respectable 401K and retirement plan, and besides that, she hadn’t touched her savings in years. The very modest dent today’s little shopping excursion made in it was peanuts, she told herself. It was nice to treat herself every once in a while.

  And for the first time in an eternity, she didn’t reprimand herself for thinking so.

  By the time they returned to Ceanmore that evening, laden down with their purchases, Sarah was glowing and happy. She dropped Ainsley and Nell off at their houses with promises to meet them for lunch the next day, and there was no doubt in her mind that they were no longer strangers, or even anything close to acquaintances. They were her friends—and she adored them.

  Once she parked her car, it was a precarious five-minute walk to her flat balancing her many purchases. On her way in, Sarah picked up a package on her doorstep, tossing it on the kitchen counter. She spirited her things to the bedroom where she took her time trying on the clothes and lingerie she’d bought, piece by piece.

  She forced herself to stare at her reflection in the mirror until she saw what Nell and Ainsley had been insisting all day that they saw. She was pretty—gorgeous, even. The navy blue slip she ended up buying made her feel like a siren from a pin-up poster, dipping low over the swell of her cleavage and just barely covering her behind. She gave a little twirl before the mirror, fluffing her hair—and it was then that she noticed she was smiling.

  By herself.

  God, she needed this. Leaning close to her own image, she spoke softly, but with conviction. “Screw Ross.”

  After a long shower, she returned to her kitchen in a pair of jeans and one of her new sweaters. As she delighted in the soft, glorious cashmere, she considered the package on the table before her. Slowly, she peeled the paper from the heavy contents to reveal no less than five thick, dull-looking volumes.

  The textbooks for her classes. She’d forgotten that she’d ordered them—actually forgotten.

  Regardless of how gung-ho she’d been she signed up for the courses, when Sarah looked at the books now, she felt nothing. No anticipation, no sense of accomplishment. All she could think was that she would rather do anything with her three months in Ireland than read those goddamn books.

  For over five minutes, she considered them. Then, before she could change her mind, Sarah slipped on a pair of moccasins and rushed to the town post office before it could close for the evening. “I’m sorry!” She apologized to the postmaster, who frowned as he lifted the gate for her. “I just want to send these back! I’ll be quick.”

  And she was. Within five minutes, she had paid for her postage, bundled up the books, and posted them right back to where they came from. Sarah felt an odd sense of satisfaction as the postmaster dumped her package in the outgoing box. She would never see the books again, and she didn’t feel an ounce of regret.

  On her way home, she passed the library. At least, the first floor was a library. Sarah had popped her head inside on her second day in Ceanmore and been impressed by the small but well-cultivated collection of books there. Now a sign hanging in the front window caught her attention, and she came up short, stopping to read it.

  Amateur Painting Class, Mondays and Thursdays 3-5 p.m. No fee.

  Inexplicably, her heart began to race. She glanced up at the building’s second floor, which served as a studio for any artist that asked to use it. Dancers practiced there, the librarian gave music lessons…and they were holding a painting class.

  For a moment, nervous Sarah was back. She twisted her fingers together as she stared at the sign, her thoughts awhirl.

  She could sign up. It had been years since she had even touched a brush, but she was sure she could find supplies somewhere in town. Now that she’d given up her classes, she needed to find another way to fill her time. What could it hurt, really?

  It could hurt a lot. When Sarah attended college, all her professors had marveled at her work. They told her how much potential she had and encouraged her to major in art itself, rather than art history. But the expectations of others had stopped her from pursuing her dream.

  Now, what was there to stop her? Anxiety? Fear of the unknown?

  No. Nothing stood in her way.

  Taking a deep breath, Sarah tugged the flyer down and entered the library.

  “Can I help you?” The woman at the front desk was in her early thirties, with bright pink hair, thick plastic-rimmed glasses, and a nametag that read “Roisin.” She smiled as Sarah hesitantly approached the desk.

  “Is this…is there where I sign up for the art class?” She held out the piece of paper, and the other woman took it, glancing quickly at the information before pulling out a thick binder.

  “I’ll just get you to fill out this form
, then you’ll be all signed up.” Only as she reached for the pen did Sarah notice that her hands were trembling, her palms sweaty.

  The unexpected nerves, the fear of signing up for a stupid little painting class pissed her off and spurred her on, her pen biting hard into the page. It was her choice to take a class or not, wasn’t it? Why should she allow—why had she ever allowed—herself to be swayed any other way?

  Finished with the form, she pushed the binder back across the desk to Roisin, then all but ran back outside, trying not to hyperventilate.

  Just like that, it was done.

  She was enrolled.

  Bending over, hands on her knees, Sarah released a huge breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She didn’t know what she thought would happen—that the world would end or that a bomb would go off. All she knew was that no dire consequences had come. She’d signed up for the class, and now she had to resist the urge to skip back to her flat.

  No.

  She didn’t want to go back to her flat. At that precise moment, there was only one person she wanted to see.

  She made her way down Main Street until she reached the corner—and Wild Irish. Even though almost every other shop on the street was closing, at eight in the evening, the pub was just gearing up for prime time. Sarah entered and her mouth immediately watered at the scent of frying fish. When she looked toward the bar, her heart rate doubled at the sight of the bartender.

  Cian.

  Did he ever take a day off? He was always at Wild Irish. It was for that exact reason that she always seemed to be avoiding the place. Now, she walked in almost boldly. Greeting several patrons she’d become familiar with simply by meeting them on the street, she made her way to the bar where she took a seat upon one of the only empty stools.