by Zara Keane
Her mouth formed a come-hither smile to match her beckoning finger. He closed the space between them and ran his hands through her hair, wondering at the color, inhaling the scent of her fruity shampoo. Beginning with the barest of angel kisses on her temple, he progressed to nibbling her earlobes. He heard her sharp intake of breath, felt her sag against his chest.
She trailed her fingers over his stomach. “Nice abs.”
“Gav’s to blame. He has me out running in preparation for the Ballybeg Sports Day.”
Olivia gave a husky laugh, then slid her arms up his bare back and pulled him closer. Her bare breasts pressed against his naked chest. He bit his lip when her hand slipped down to stroke his shaft. Her free hand skimmed his spine before coming to rest on his left buttock. She traced the outline of his tattoo. “So you do still have it.”
He returned the favor, teasing her buttock and pinching her adorable little leprechaun tattoo, a twin of his own. “I do indeed. I’m rather fond of it, as it happens.”
“I was sure you’d have it removed.”
“You didn’t.”
She blushed. “Despite everything that happened afterward, that night was one of the best of my life.” Vivid memories of her eighteenth birthday danced before her eyes. Jonas had been studying in Dublin, and they’d arranged to meet in Cashel, a small town in Tipperary, halfway between Dublin and Ballybeg. Like a homing pigeon, Jonas had honed in on the lone bar in the town that served cocktails. “I drank my first and last tequila sunrise.”
“What about your second and third?” he teased. “We were pretty drunk by the time we passed the tattoo parlor.”
“I thought I was hallucinating. I didn’t expect to find one in a town that small.”
“What possessed us to pick the leprechaun design?”
She laughed. “I can’t remember. All I know is that it seemed like a great idea at the time. Do you remember the grimy bed-and-breakfast with damp running down the wallpaper?”
He broke into a wicked grin. “Nope, but I remember what happened in the bed.”
She poked her tongue out at him. “So do I.”
“That’s why I didn’t want to get rid of the tattoo,” he said, suddenly serious. “Whatever happened after, whatever’s happened since, that weekend in Tipperary was magic.”
Her eyes met his. “Yeah, it was.”
He cupped her chin. “Want to recreate some of that magic?”
“Yes,” she whispered, melting the moment he captured her lips in a scorching kiss.
He broke away, his breathing heavy. Then he rolled her onto her stomach. She giggled when he blew a raspberry on her tattoo. “Do you have condoms this time?” she teased. “Not stuck in an unpacked moving box in Ballybeg?”
He threw back his head and laughed. “All the boxes are now unpacked. As it happens, I have a couple of condoms in my wallet. Bought specially for you.”
“Is that so?” she murmured, pulling his head to hers. “It would be a shame to let them go to waste…”
With a low growl, he kissed her, cupping her gorgeous tattooed arse. He pulled her up onto the dresser, sweeping his toiletries to the side to make space. His fingers slid over her inner thighs, making her gasp. When he found her clitoris, he stroked it gently, teasing the nub, hearing her moan at his touch.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. “You. Inside me. Now.”
He continued stroking her clitoris, felt it harden. “Don’t you want more foreplay?”
“We’ve had months of foreplay, Jonas,” she gasped. “I want sex.”
“Far be it from me to disappoint a lady.” Rummaging through his discarded wallet, he struck gold. She laughed into his neck while he fumbled with the foil package.
And then he was inside her. She was slick, wet, warm. He waited a moment to let her adjust to his size, but she pulled him closer and ground against him. “Impatient puss.”
“Impatient? I’ve waited years for this.”
“Ye–?”
She smothered his response with a kiss, maneuvering her hips to drive him deeper inside her.
Abandoning his attempt to take it slow and sensual, Jonas thrust fast and hard, the momentum building until the only thing penetrating his consciousness was her, him, them, this. When she cried out, he had a millisecond to register her orgasm before his own hit, blasting them into the stratosphere of mutual bliss.
***
Olivia woke to sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains. At first, she was disorientated. Then the relaxed state of her body and the vague ache between her legs reminded her of the events of the previous night. She’d had sex with Jonas. She’d had sex with Jonas three times. Holy hell.
He stirred beside her, turning over on his pillow. It had been so long since she’d woken up next to a naked man. She’d forgotten how much she relished the sensation of bare skin against skin. It was so much more than physical or sexual pleasure.
“Hello, beautiful lady.”
He looked delectable, the mussed hair and rough stubble adding to his sex appeal. Deep brown eyes stared into hers, and his lips curved into a smile. Olivia sensed the now-familiar stirrings of sexual desire and reached for him.
Their lips met in a kiss, distracting her from any morning-after regrets she might or might not have entertained. He was gentle at first but quickly became more insistent. He nibbled her shoulder, then burned a path to her left breast. When he sucked her nipple, she moaned in pleasure.
“I’m regretting ordering room service,” he murmured against her breast. “I woke up famished and ordered a full Irish for both of us. Now my mind is on you, not food.”
She laughed. “I’m starving. I certainly won’t say no.”
He flashed her a wolfish grin, his eyes running appreciatively over her naked body. “So am I,” he said, giving a wealth of meaning to the words. “Do you think we’d have time for a quickie before our breakfast arrives?”
She felt a stab of lust between her legs. “I could be persuaded.”
When a hard knock sounded on the hotel room door, Jonas was on the verge of coaxing yet another orgasm out of her. “Damn. Room service was fast.”
“Too fast,” he groaned.
Olivia was still searching for her underwear when there was a second knock on the door—harder this time, more insistent.
“Put this on.” Jonas tossed her a hotel bathrobe. “I’ve found my trousers, so at least half of me will be covered.”
Olivia donned the voluminous robe and tied it at the waist. “I’ll deal with breakfast if you round up our underwear.”
“Deal.” He blew her a kiss. “You’re one hell of a sexy woman, do you know that?”
“And you’re one hell of a sexy man.”
With a smile on her face, Olivia opened the door. When she registered Sergeant Seán Mackey’s familiar features, her smile evaporated. He was in uniform, his expression grim. “Seán…what on earth are you doing here?”
“Fiona told me which room you were in.” He removed his hat. “I have bad news, I’m afraid.”
Her heart lurched. Please not Ronan or Kyle.
Seán’s hard blue eyes met hers. “Aidan Gant was murdered last night.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
THE ROOM SWAM OUT OF FOCUS. An icy chill spread from her core, paralyzing each limb in turn. “Aidan’s dead?” As if death wasn’t the logical outcome of a murder…A dull roar echoed in her ears.
“Yes.” The policeman’s voice sounded distant, indistinct.
The floor beneath her feet shifted, tipping her forward. A hand steadied her before her brain registered she was falling. The warm weight of Jonas’s palm on her shoulder was reassuring. “Come,” he said, guiding her to the bed. “Sit.”
She obeyed. Her body was wracked by shivers, and she hugged herself to stop the shaking. Jonas put a glass to her lips. “Get this down you. You’re in shock.”
When she drank, the shivers morphed into shudders. “Ugh. Whiskey is
vile.”
“It did the trick, though.” Jonas stroked stray strands of hair from her face.
“I’m sorry, Olivia, but I need to ask you a few questions.” Seán pulled out the dressing table chair and sat. “Then I’ll drive you back to Ballybeg.”
Her head jerked up. “Am I under arrest?”
“No, not at this stage.” The police sergeant slipped a notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “Have you been at the hotel all night?”
“Fiona and I met Jill at the hotel at just after seven o’clock.” She darted a look at Jonas. “I haven’t left since.”
“That’s Fiona Byrne and Jill Bekele?” Seán scribbled the names without waiting for confirmation. “Know anyone with a particular grudge against Aidan?”
“No one with a grudge great enough to kill him.” Olivia swallowed past the lump in her throat. “How did he die?”
A brief look of amusement flickered across Seán’s handsome features, quickly replaced by studied sobriety. “He was hit over the head with a garden gnome.”
“One of his prize-winning gnomes? Was it the Chucky lookalike? That one always gave me the creeps.” The words tumbled out, unfiltered.
The policeman’s mouth twitched but he maintained his composure. “Here’s a friendly tip: no jokes about the murder weapon when you’re grilled by the NBCI team.”
“Who?”
“The National Bureau of Criminal Investigation,” Jonas explained. “My fictional detective works for them.”
“Officially, they’re supposed to assist local police with a murder enquiry.” Seán’s jaw flexed. “In reality, they run the show, especially if the locals have little experience with investigating serious crimes. If you find my questions uncomfortable, you’d better brace yourself for the NBCI’s.”
“Why didn’t they send Dublin police officers to inform Olivia?” Jonas asked. “Surely you didn’t drive all the way from Ballybeg in the middle of a murder investigation.”
The police sergeant shook his head. “I was already in Dublin. It’s my weekend off and I still have my old apartment on the Northside. When the superintendent phoned to say my leave was canceled, I volunteered to break the news to Olivia and drive her home.”
“How very considerate of you.” There was a hard edge to Jonas’s tone.
The police sergeant’s gaze roamed over Olivia’s bathrobe and bare feet. “I don’t agree with the crazy divorce laws in this country. You’re entitled to move on with your life, but you’ll have to be prepared for a grilling about your relationship with Jonas. There’s no way round it. As far as the law is concerned, you were still Aidan’s wife at the time of his death.”
Which made her his widow today. A widow wearing an oversized hotel bathrobe with nothing underneath, sitting next to her new lover. Even in her shocked state, she knew it made a lousy impression. She tightened her belt and ignored the cold fear seeping into her bones. “What happens now?”
“You get dressed, and we’ll head to Ballybeg.”
A horrible thought struck her. “Will I have to identify the body?”
“Patricia Gant has already done that. She was the one who found him and notified the police.”
Olivia shuddered. “Poor Patricia. She must be distraught.”
“Are you two close?”
“No, but we’re not on bad terms, either. We’ve developed an understanding over the years.”
The policeman capped his pen and returned it to his shirt pocket. “We’ll need to talk to you later, too, O’Mahony.”
“Why?” Olivia demanded. “Jonas had nothing to do with Aidan’s death.”
“For both your sakes, I hope that’s true, but it’s widely known that he and Aidan fought recently.”
Her mind was foggy, but the full implications of Aidan’s murder were starting to penetrate. “Jonas is your number one suspect? For defending me on the beach?”
“He’s not my number one anything. Once the NBCI guys show up, it won’t even be my case. As I said before, you’ll have to be prepared to answer uncomfortable questions. Speaking of which”—Seán checked his watch and got to his feet—“we’d better get a move on.”
Olivia looked around her vaguely, at a loss. “Okay. I need to get dressed and pack my things.”
“One of your friends is already on it. Reception sent me to the room you were sharing. I didn’t tell Fiona why I was here, but I did ask her to pack your bag.”
“Should I come, too?” Jonas asked, frowning. “Seeing as you want to talk to me.”
“Best not.” The police sergeant’s tone brooked no argument. “But we will want to talk to you today, if possible.”
“Fair enough. I’ll be back in Ballybeg by late afternoon. When should I come by the station?”
“Say five o’clock? The detective leading the case will be there by then.” Seán turned toward Olivia. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in fifteen minutes. Will that be enough time for you to get ready?”
“Yes. I’ll see you then.”
When the door closed behind the policeman, Olivia locked eyes with Jonas. “I loathed Aidan but…murder?”
The truth of her situation was slowly trickling into her consciousness. Aidan was dead. There would be no divorce. She was a widow. And most likely a murder suspect. Disjointed thoughts tumbled through her mind. The ringing in her ears grew louder, and she struggled to breath.
Jonas placed a hand between her shoulder blades. “Slow down. Take nice, deep breaths.”
She nodded, trying to focus on getting enough oxygen.
He sat on the bed beside her and rubbed her back in a circular motion. “What’s your room number? I can ring Fiona and arrange to collect your bags.”
“204.” The rapid rate of her breathing was easing off, but speech was a challenge.
Jonas continued to rub her back. “Shall I tell her what’s happened, or would you prefer to do that yourself?”
“No, go ahead. She and Jill will be wondering what’s going on.”
“Okay.” He picked up the phone on the bedside table. At that moment, room service arrived. Olivia staggered to her feet and dealt with the porter. Before Seán had arrived, she was ravenous. Now the very thought of food turned her stomach.
Jonas hung up the phone. “I’ve arranged to meet Fiona and collect your stuff.” He moved to the breakfast tray, poured a cup of piping hot tea, and added a generous heap of sugar. “Drink this. It’ll do you good.”
Her hand fluttered to her throat. “I’ll be late to meet Seán.”
“Feck Seán. Five extra minutes won’t make a difference. You’ve had a shock. Get some sugar into you and then go downstairs. Fiona’s got an outfit organized for you to wear.”
While Jonas was gone to get her luggage, Olivia sipped sweet tea and stared into space. For better or worse…She’d married Aidan and spent the past eight years with him. For richer or poorer…For the first time in her life, she didn’t give a toss about her financial situation. In sickness and in health…If Aidan died, she’d expect it to be from an illness. Despite his fit appearance, he was a functional alcoholic and was careless with his health. Till death do us part…
A few minutes later, Jonas returned. Fiona had placed a mismatched outfit for her at the top of her case, alongside her cosmetic bag. Good old Fee. Practical to the last with zero fashion sense. After a lightning quick shower, she threw her clothes on in silence, not bothering with makeup. Grabbing her handbag from the nightstand, she walked to the door, pausing to give Jonas a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks,” she said softly. “For last night. I’m sorry it ended like this.”
Jonas drew her to his chest, and her tears began to flow in earnest. “All thanks should be on my part,” he said in a hoarse voice. “And I was rather hoping it wouldn’t be just last night.”
“But you can see things are different now.” She reached for a tissue from the box on the dressing table. The same dressing table on which they’d had hot sex the night before…how long ago that seeme
d now.
“I don’t see that things between us are different, but we don’t need to have this conversation right now.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll give you a call later, okay?”
“All right.” Today would be unspeakably awful. She’d never seen a dead body before, let alone a victim of murder. She’d attended a few wakes in her time, dragged by her ultra-Catholic Grandmother Dunne, but she’d always looked away from the corpse. This time she wouldn’t have that luxury.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the hotel room door, ready if not prepared to face the inevitable unpleasantness of the day ahead.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE DRIVE TO BALLYBEG was a blur of gray motorways, green fields, and cloud-speckled blue sky. Olivia barely registered the passing landmarks. Her thoughts were consumed by death. She hadn’t loved Aidan. Hell, for the past few years, she hadn’t even liked him. But murder? Even he didn’t deserve such a fate.
It wasn’t as if she mourned him. She was no hypocrite. But death was so…final. Only yesterday, she couldn’t wait to be free of him. Today, she regretted all the things left unsaid that might have given her a sense of closure.
A vision of the gnome danced before her, and a treacherous hysterical laugh bubbled up her throat. Once the laughter began, she was powerless to stop it until it morphed into guttural sobs.
Seán reached across from the driver’s seat and handed her a fresh tissue. “I know it’s tough, but you’re going to have to pull yourself together before you meet Connelly, the guy heading the NBCI team. Trust me when I say the man’s an arse. If you show any sign of weakness, he’ll go for the jugular.”
She dabbed at her eyes, relieved she hadn’t bothered with makeup. “Thanks for the tip. How do you know Connelly?”
“I worked with him in Dublin.” A brief silence. “He used to be my boss.”
She stared at him, slack-jawed. “You worked for the National Bureau of Criminal Investigation? How did you end up stationed in Ballybeg?”