The Pleasures of Autumn

by Evie Hunter

Sinead stared down at their hands. His was warm and broad; hers was pale and small in comparison. ‘I swear to you that I didn’t steal the jewel. I love my job, I would never do anything to jeopardize it.’

  ‘Then who did?’

  She only wished she knew. ‘I have no idea.’

  Niall paid the bill and they strolled to the car park. There was a chill in the air that even a Granny O’Sullivan sweater couldn’t keep out. She shivered and Niall was immediately all concern. He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around her. The woollen coat almost reached her ankles and she caught the faint scent of his aftershave as he pulled the collar up around her, a heady blend of citrus, leather and sandalwood – sexy and intensely masculine. She resisted the urge to bury her face in the collar and sniff.

  Something flickered behind his brooding gaze. The events of the day had definitely addled her brain. She was tempted to stand on tiptoe and kiss him. As if he had plucked the thought from her head, Niall brushed his lips against hers in a barely-there kiss.

  Her pulse hammered at the touch of his lips and she pulled away. Had he just done that? Kissed her? She had been right about that mouth and the encounter left her wanting more.

  ‘Sinead, I can help, but only if you trust me.’

  She hesitated. It would be nice to trust someone, to be able to lean on him and share everything. She could never seem to break through the barriers she had built around herself. Something always held her back.

  All of her friends were still in London. Her cousin Summer was in South America. She barely knew a soul here in Geneva and it was months since she had really talked to anyone. What would happen if the police started snooping around and found her connection with Lottie? She dreaded to think what the museum would do if they found out that their curator was a former burlesque dancer. They would believe that she was lying about stealing the Fire of Autumn. She needed to talk to someone.

  ‘Niall, I –’

  The sound of a car alarm shattered the moment and they broke apart.

  On the drive back to her apartment, Sinead watched the city shut down for the night. It was barely 10 p.m. She had never known a city that went to bed so early. She tapped her fingers against her thigh. There was no way that she could sleep yet.

  Up ahead she spotted an off-licence. The lights were still on. There was a nice bottle of Bushmills whiskey back at the apartment. ‘Pull over here. I need to get some ice.’

  Niall watched her as she hefted a bag of ice into the back of the Jeep.

  ‘What’s that for?’ he asked. ‘Because if you are thinking of getting kinky, I should warn you I don’t put out on the first date.’

  She glared at him, her eyes dark under the streetlights. ‘Idiot. I don’t do kinky. I don’t do anything.’ She sounded almost triumphant.

  Niall’s finely honed instincts, which had saved his life on too many occasions to count, went on the alert. There was something off about Sinead O’Sullivan. He had the feeling that she was hiding something. There was definitely something going on beneath her placid surface.

  Had she stolen the Fire of Autumn? She was lying about something.

  What had she said? ‘I don’t do kinky, I don’t do anything.’ Somewhere in that statement was a lie, and a lie she was proud of. So Ms O’Sullivan had hidden depths? This assignment was starting to look a whole lot more interesting.

  ‘So what’s with the ice?’ he asked, forcing his attention back to the road.

  She shrugged, the movement almost lost in her big sweater. ‘I fancy a nightcap, that’s all.’

  He drove on, the ice rattling every time they passed over a speed bump.

  Her apartment was warm and quiet, and very small. It was going to be interesting spending so much time at close quarters with her. As she fiddled with the door key, he caught her distinctive scent. The smell of the shampoo had faded, leaving pure woman. He filled his lungs with it. He had no idea why women insisted on paying a fortune for all sorts of fake perfumes, when they already possessed the most enticing smell in the world.

  He grinned. Well, second most enticing smell.

  She turned and caught his expression. ‘What are you laughing at?’

  ‘Just thinking about smells I love.’

  He held the door open for her. She headed straight for the kitchen and rooted in one of the cupboards. With a shrug, she took out two water tumblers and the bottle of Bushmills. ‘Hmmm, I love the smell of the sea. And cut grass.’

  ‘Everyone loves those. What about ones that are personal to you?’ He sprawled out on the sofa and watched her splash whiskey over ice-cubes before she handed him a glass.

  Sinead took a sip of her drink and considered. ‘The smell of boxty cooking. Granny O’Sullivan used to make it.’

  ‘What about bread baking? Did your mother bake?’

  Her expression clouded and she shook her head. ‘I don’t remember.’

  Interesting. Reference to her mother closed her down. ‘Let’s see. I love steak of course. And the smell of onions frying. And bacon!’ He smacked his lips.

  ‘Saturated fat!’ But she was interested again. ‘Have you any idea of the dangers of processed meat?’

  Niall patted his stomach, still flat, thanks to a punishing workout routine. One thing about the Rangers, they didn’t take on weaklings or let them get lazy. He had been at 5 per cent body fat when he left the wing. Even now, he was around 7 per cent and planning to stay there. ‘I think I can handle the odd slice. So what smells do you love?’

  ‘Eyelash glue.’

  Niall sat up straight. She couldn’t possibly need eyelash glue with those lashes. They were already longer than most fakes. But she went on before he could demand details.

  ‘Saddle soap. And newborn babies.’

  He wasn’t going to touch that one. He had a fleeting vision of Sinead holding a red-haired baby and found himself becoming strangely intrigued. Not somewhere he wanted to go. She’d probably put the baby on a timetable. ‘You have a thing for horses?’ he asked instead.

  ‘There was a really cute stable boy who used to clean the tack for the O’Sullivans,’ she said with a sly, unexpected grin. Then she sobered. ‘Not that he had eyes for anyone except Summer.’ She was matter-of-fact about it, as if being ignored in favour of her cousin was something that happened a lot.

  She topped up their drinks. Funny, he had no memory of emptying his glass. ‘So what is your favourite smell?’

  He leaned back on the sofa, stretching out so that his foot touched hers. ‘Fresh pussy juice, of course.’

  She choked on the sip of Bush and coughed so hard Niall got up to thump her on the back. Eventually she caught her breath and pulled away, glaring at him.

  ‘And this is why I’m still single,’ she told him.

  She clambered to her feet, slightly unsteady after the whiskey and headed for the bathroom. ‘I’m going to bed. You can stay up if you like but this apartment building has a late noise rule, so don’t put on loud music or make a racket. In fact, it would be better if you didn’t shower until morning.’

  She closed the door in his face, and, a few minutes later, he heard her brushing her teeth.

  With a sigh, he went into the tiny spare room. The bed was going to be grossly uncomfortable for a man of his height.

  He’d had a couple of hours’ sleep when he was woken by noises from Sinead’s room. Not bothering to put anything on over his boxer shorts, he hurried into her room, but came to an abrupt halt when he saw that she was still asleep.

  She twisted in the bed, her limbs caught up in rumpled bedclothes. She slept in panties and a short camisole that looked damp. ‘No,’ she murmured. ‘Please, don’t go.’ Her eyes remained closed.

  Niall put his hand on her shoulder to wake her. ‘Sinead, it’s okay.’

  She flinched. ‘No, no, no, no. I won’t.’ Her voice had gone up an octave, more like a child than the assured woman she seemed to be.

  He shook her again and she batted his hand away. She wa
s deep in the grip of whatever nightmare she was enduring. ‘RoRo!’ Tears leaked from under the closed eyelids.

  Ah, damn it. Niall could never bear to see a woman crying. Not like this. He climbed into her bed and pulled her firmly against him. ‘Shush, shush, it’s all right now,’ he said, much the way he had to his sister Alison when she was a kid.

  Sinead struggled feebly against him for a few minutes, then settled with a sigh, and relaxed into deep sleep.

  He would stay here for a few minutes, Niall assured himself. He wasn’t enjoying holding her like this. He didn’t miss a woman in his bed. This wasn’t even his bed. But it was more comfortable than the lumpy child-sized mattress in the spare room. He stretched out his long legs. A few more minutes of comfort, to make sure she was sleeping soundly, and then he’d return to his own room.

  Just a few more minutes …

  3

  Her head was pounding and her mouth tasted like something had died in there. Sinead tried to groan, but her throat was parched and it came out as a cough. She pressed a hand against her thumping forehead. How much whiskey had she had to drink last night? A heavy arm snaked across her waist and she was dragged against a large warm body. Niall palmed her breast with a possessive grip. He snuffled against the back of her neck before his steady breathing told her that he was still sleeping.

  Oh god, I didn’t. Please don’t let me have fallen into bed with him.

  Sinead risked a peek beneath the duvet. In the early morning light, she could see she was still wearing her panties, so they hadn’t had sex, but the strap of her camisole had fallen from her shoulder and Niall was taking full advantage of her exposed flesh. The desire to wriggle free wrestled with the unfamiliar pleasure of sharing her bed with a man. Hedonism won. Niall was still asleep and it wouldn’t do any harm to enjoy this for a few minutes more. She closed her eyes, savouring the pleasure.

  The chest that pressed against her back was almost completely smooth. The muscular thighs that spooned hers were strong. On the small table beside the bed was a clasp for his hair. The sight of it made her want to turn in his arms. Before Niall, she had dismissed long hair on men as an aberration, something for rebellious teenagers or ageing rock stars. He had definitely changed her mind.

  Niall reminded her of a pirate from an erotic romance novel. She would love to see him standing on the deck of a frigate, wearing a pair of indecently tight pants, a white linen shirt and his hair loose about his shoulders. He could carry her off to his cabin, tie her to his bed and …

  Something hard stirring against her thighs startled her. The hand on her breast was no longer still. Niall rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he slowly plumped her breast. God, that felt good. Sinead wriggled her hips experimentally against him and was rewarded with a lazy thrust.

  Her aching nipple protested when it was abandoned and Niall’s fingers trailed slowly down her abdomen, learning each curve of her ribs and the soft rounding of her belly until he reached the lacy edge of her panties. She held her breath as he paused there as if waiting for permission to continue. A small whimper of excitement escaped her throat and her hips moved in invitation.

  His hand slid beneath the scrap of silk and he hissed when he realized that she was completely smooth. In Lottie’s line of work she couldn’t be bothered with the endless maintenance. She was as bare as an egg, thanks to a series of laser treatments. His searching fingers slid between her folds and brushed her clit.

  ‘Oh god,’ Sinead moaned.

  He nuzzled the tender part of her neck where it met her shoulder and bit down gently. ‘Say my name.’

  The rough command in his voice sent an unfamiliar tingle through her. She didn’t want him to stop. ‘Niall.’ His name came out in a breathless plea.

  His fingers pumped her aching wetness slowly, drawing moisture from her before he brushed her clit again, sending a pulse of pleasure zinging through her. ‘Oh yes. Like that.’

  She clenched her inner muscles, trying to draw him inside her again. He stilled and she huffed an impatient breath. ‘Please. Please, Niall.’

  He traced over her tender nub, building sensation with every touch. She was so close and it had been far too long. His other hand caressed her breasts, pinching the sensitive peaks between his fingers until she was breathless and achy.

  Her pulse raced, every nerve ending tingled. Tiny fireworks exploded behind her eyes. She was there. Her words an incoherent jumble interspersed with his name, always his name.

  He bit down lightly on her shoulder again and it was enough to send her over the edge. She was a floating, boneless, trembling creature on a stormy sea of pleasure and he was her anchor; holding her close as the waves of ecstasy crashed over her and ebbed away.

  Finally she was able to open her eyes again. The bedside clock still ticked out its steady rhythm, but her world had shifted on its axis. She wanted to say something, to thank him, but her voice didn’t seem to work.

  Niall dropped a kiss on her shoulder. ‘You go shower while I make us some breakfast.’

  He climbed out of bed and paused beside the door. ‘Sinead, can I ask you something?’

  She rolled over and caught her breath. Holy hell. Had she just spent the night with him? Niall in a pair of boxer shorts was too much man for someone who hadn’t had a lover for a while. For anyone female. She realized that she was staring and he was still waiting. ‘Yes,’ she said, hoping it was the right answer.

  ‘You were having a pretty bad dream last night. Want to talk about it?’

  She forced herself to smile. ‘Thanks, but I’m fine. It’s just an old nightmare.’

  He nodded and shut the door behind him.

  Sinead ran her hand along the warm part of the bed where he had lain. Her first sexual encounter in more than a year but he hadn’t kissed her or permitted her to touch him in return. Everything had been about her. Niall had been in total control and while she wasn’t sure if she liked that, her languid body certainly had.

  How long had that taken? Minutes? Sinead cringed as she realized how wanton and needy she must have seemed. She flushed, wishing she had behaved with more dignity.

  She must have had the nightmare again. Usually she woke in a sweat, battling with the sheets, trying to remember what had left her throat raw and her face wet with tears. This time, instead of spending the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, she had spent it in his arms. She inhaled his scent from the pillow and smiled.

  Only then did she catch a glimpse of the bedside clock. 7.30. She had a moment of panic that she was late, before she remembered. Instead of being due at her desk that Monday morning, to work on plans for the exhibition, she was on bail. She was jobless and the highlight for the next week would be meeting her lawyer and wondering how quickly the Swiss authorities would try her for stealing the Fire of Autumn.

  They were convinced they had arrested the right person. She knew they were wrong and she had an incentive to find who really did it. She couldn’t lie in bed all day. She had a thief to catch, but at least she was no longer alone.

  After a quick shower she went to the kitchen to find that he was using every saucepan she had. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Eggs,’ he announced. ‘Boiled, scrambled or fried. Take your pick. You don’t have any other real food here.’

  ‘I don’t eat in the mornings.’ It was true. Most days she ate a piece of fruit on the way to work and was on her second cup of herbal tea by eleven.

  He raised one blond eyebrow in disapproval.

  ‘Except at weekends,’ she said, trying to placate him. She did need his help if she wanted to get out of this mess.

  ‘Pretend it’s the weekend,’ Niall said as he dished up four eggs onto his plate and poured himself a mug of coffee.

  Sinead opened the container of organic muesli and poured fat free yoghurt over it before sprinkling some myrtle berries on top. She hunted for the grater and finely shredded half an apple on top, squeezed lemon on the other half and p
ut it into the fridge for later. Finally she sliced a finger of fresh ginger into a glass and poured on boiling water before topping it up with cold.

  Niall watched in fascination. ‘Are you for real?’

  ‘What?’ she snapped.

  ‘You’re not actually going to eat that … that stuff? I wouldn’t give it to a hamster.’

  Sinead dug a spoon into her bowl and raised it to her mouth. The yoghurt had softened the grain mixture. It might not look like the most appetizing thing in the world but it was full of nutrients. She took a mouthful and chewed.

  And chewed. The oats weren’t quite softened yet. Maybe she should leave it for a while longer.

  ‘I dare you to swallow it.’ His grin was openly challenging.

  With a last vigorous chew, Sinead swallowed and smiled at him. ‘Says the man who has just eaten three eggs for breakfast. Maybe you should add some roughage to your diet.’

  ‘Four eggs, and my diet is fine, thank you. What’s up with you that you don’t have any real food in the house?’

  ‘I have real food.’ Well, she had until yesterday. The police had taken away the oddest things for examination and the rest she had dumped because she didn’t know how long it had been out of the fridge.

  ‘You need a bit of meat on you. You’re too thin.’

  She snorted. She had gained ten pounds in the last few months. Since she had given up being Lottie, her weight had crept up. She had been a plump teenager and dancing kept her weight under control.

  She had always loved dancing. The ballet classes she had been dragged to with her cousin had started a life-long addiction, but it was the dance classes taken during college that had transformed her. Latin, Tango and Zumba kept her fit, but her first burlesque class was a revelation. She discovered that putting on a mask or a costume enabled her to leave shy Sinead behind and become someone who was flirtatious, sexy and confident.

  Her early dance training had given her the poise and flexibility to become a professional and when she had arrived in London, she had braved her first audition. The hours were better than waitressing, but harder on her feet. Even though she performed only part time, to fit in with her MA studies at Sotheby’s, Lottie quickly became a star on the burlesque circuit.