by Emelia Blair
This one is done with bold strokes of rose, gold, and red. Not a bad combination, I muse as I settle Sarah on the bed, where she makes a small sound.
The room has sparse furnishings, but everything looks well loved. The armchair has a throw on top of it, made from multicolored pieces of cloth.
A few drawings made by children are stuck on the wardrobe, and I can’t help but smile at how dedicated she is to her young students. There is also a picture of her and a young man. She is grinning with her arm around his neck, and he looked pleased.
This must be the brother, I muse, stepping closer for a better view.
A niggling feeling of familiarity overwhelms me, and I wonder where I saw him before. I can’t place him, but a frown settles on my lips as my mind tells me I have met him.
Maybe at the bar? Or at one of the restaurants?
I glance at the unconscious woman on the bed and feel my blood stir, hot with anger.
This should never have happened.
Taking out my phone, I send a message to Felix, who is the official bartender of Ritters, my bar. His reply comes within seconds, and I feel some of my anger turn into satisfaction. With Sarah’s unwashed glass available, it will be easier to track down whatever she was drugged with.
I would have taken her to the hospital, but she didn’t seem in any immediate danger, and I did not want to get the police involved just yet.
However, I can’t just leave her here, either.
Sighing, I drag the armchair next to her bed and settle in for a long night.
Crossing my feet at my ankles, I study her and wonder where this protective streak came from, for her.
I wouldn’t be sitting in any other customer’s house, keeping an eye on them.
But Sarah isn’t any other customer.
I don’t know what she is.
She mumbles in her sleep, and I reach over and pull her blanket over her, making her sigh in contentment.
My heart skips a beat.
She’s not your type, I tell myself, sternly. And she’s not for you.
The streak of violence that is a part of me will scare her. And I never want the look of stark fear in her eyes. She is too innocent.
But even as I say that to myself, I muse at how easy it would be to whisk her off her feet.
She fascinates me.
She makes me laugh.
Her kindness shakes me.
For the past few days, I centered myself around the bar, always looking out for her.
Asking her out on one date couldn’t hurt, I try to convince myself.
But as I gaze at her sleeping face, something tells me that once I get a taste of Sarah, one date will never be enough.
4
Sarah
My head hurts.
That is my first thought as I wake up.
There is a dirty, sticky haziness in my mind that I can’t understand.
I shift my head, and the pain makes me moan.
“Easy, there,” I hear a familiar voice murmur to me, and my eyes open, blearily.
The room is dark. Thank God for that.
“Where am I?” I ask.
“Home,” the male voice affirms.
I can make out a long figure sitting on the armchair, which is next to my bed.
Why is this voice so familiar?
And why does thinking hurt my brain?
“How do you feel?”
I struggle to identify the owner of that thick-accented voice. I know him.
I know that I know him.
My head is so fuzzy, and I feel like someone has taken a jackhammer to it.
My gut churns.
“I want to throw up,” I say weakly, bile in my throat.
Immediately, the light is turned on, I am gently propelled into a sitting position, and a basket is shoved in front of me.
Fergus looks strained, lines etched into his forehead.
“What’s happening?” I try to shake out the cotton in my brain, which is stopping me from thinking straight. “Why are you here?”
My voice sounds strange to my ears, and suddenly the urge to hurl overcomes me, and I duck forward into the basket.
A firm hand runs circles on my back while the other holds my hair back.
My body trembles once I am done.
“Feel better?” Fergus asks, not sounding the least bit bothered that I just puked in front of him.
I nod, trying not to cry at how helpless I feel right now.
When he doesn’t move the basket, I push it away, my voice a little stronger. “I’m done.”
He puts the basket down beside the chair and studies me. “You look better.”
I rub my eyes, feeling the cobwebs clear a little bit. “What happened? Why are you in my house?”
And why aren’t I more terrified to have him here?
He must have read the conflict on my face because he sits back in the chair, his expression harsh with fury. “Your drink was spiked. My bet’s on Dominic, although I can’t prove anything.”
“I was drugged?” I reel from the news.
Fergus just watches me, and the cold anger in his eyes terrifies me, maybe because I am so vulnerable right now.
“Dominic left right after you did so I just came to make sure you were safe. When I found you, I decided to take you to your house. There was no need to take you to the hospital because you didn’t finish your drink. You just need to sleep it off.”
I swallow and nod.
When he doesn’t move from his seat, I hesitate. “Are you going to stay here?”
His light blue eyes don’t waver from mine. “I can leave if you want me to.”
But I don’t.
Maybe it is the haziness talking, but his presence makes me feel safe.
It doesn’t make sense.
This man is essentially a stranger to me. But I don’t want him to go.
“Is it weird that I want you to stay?”
I am slurring now as my brain decides it is time to shut down.
Fergus gets up and pushes me easily back into a lying position, pulling the covers to my chin, a gentle expression on his face. “Just as weird as me wanting to stay here and watch over you. Now, sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”
He turns off the light and switches on the night light. The room is instantly bathed in a soft yellow glow, a dim light that is easy on the eyes.
I find myself drifting off, and my words are a soft whisper, “Thank you for staying.”
If he says something in response, I don’t hear it because I’ve already succumbed to the inviting darkness of sleep.
The next time I open my eyes, I am more aware of my surroundings.
Dragging myself into a sitting position, I run my hands over my face and then look around.
The armchair is in its usual place.
There is no sign of anyone having been there.
Did I imagine the whole thing?
Through the blinds, I see that the sun is up.
What time is it?
A quick glance at my digital clock tells me that I am beyond late for work. There is no use going there now, at noon.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I scrunch my nose up at my clothes. I am still wearing my clothes from last night.
I glance at the chair.
Was Fergus really here?
Despite my desperation to take a bath, I pad over to the half-ajar door, and as I open it, the smell of eggs and bacon assaults my nose, making my mouth water.
Unable to identify this feeling that courses through my body, I make my way to the kitchen and stare at the tall, broad-shouldered man who stands in my kitchen with such ease.
“You can cook?”
My voice is hoarse, and he simply turns around and hands me a glass of water. “Have this first.”
I obey, simply because I am thirsty.
Setting down the glass after gulping its contents, I stare at him as he plates the food. “Where did you get all that?”
<
br /> Why am I asking all the wrong questions?
“I went out. Your fridge was empty.”
He offers nothing more, and I stare at his back as he moves to the stove.
The silence that ensues is not uncomfortable, but it makes me fidget.
I slip out to take a rushed shower and change into clean clothes.
When I return after fifteen minutes, he is pouring coffee, and he glances up at me.
I don’t miss the appreciation in his eyes at the pale blue blouse I put on. My leggings are black and comfortable.
I blush slightly at that look.
This is such a domestic scene that I don’t know how to react to it.
I sit at the table, and he puts a plate heaped with food in front of me. It has eggs, bacon, toast, some fruit, and it is all arranged so artfully that it makes me reluctant to destroy it.
Fergus takes a seat opposite me.
His black shirt has the two buttons from the top open, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbow, revealing long black tattoos with intricate designs. None of which are the snake tattoo. His dark brown hair is ruffled as if he’d been running his fingers through it, but he looks wide awake.
He raises a brow when he sees me staring at him. “You’re going to have to say something at some point.”
My hands curl around the fork on my plate. “Do you, uh, do this for all your customers? You know, look after them if they get drunk?”
He leans back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, giving me a magnificent view. “You weren’t drunk, Sarah. Your drink was spiked. And no, I don’t. You’re special.”
My fingers tighten on the fork until my knuckles are white.
I already knew what I was getting into when I went looking for some of the men that Bryan used to run around with, but I didn’t anticipate that they would try to come after me.
Fergus is studying me, and I blink as his words register on me.
“What? What do you mean I’m…?”
I can’t get the word out. I also can’t manage to suppress the thrill at hearing it even though I know I should.
When I see the small smile on his face, I curse myself for having such fair skin.
“Exactly what I said. I can’t seem to leave you alone. The minute I take my eyes off you, either you’re trying to flirt with a local gangbanger, or you’re getting your drink spiked.”
I make a face at that. “You’re making me sound like a ditzy idiot. That’s not very nice.”
Fergus reaches over and nudges my plate towards me, grinning. “Eat.”
I purse my lips and dig my fork into a piece of scrambled egg, a little viciously. “I’m not an idiot.”
Fergus sips his coffee, raising a brow. “I never said you were.”
I feel a little hurt at his words and my shoulders droop. I am not an idiot. I had always been this way, a little talkative, friendly, and maybe a little reckless. Although, my recklessness these days is stemming from my desperation to find my baby brother.
I must have been silent a little too long because Fergus speaks up. “You’re upset.”
I shake my head, not wanting to show my feelings. Not facing him, I stare down at my food. “I’m just hungry.”
I don’t know when he moved, but suddenly his hand is gripping my chin, and he is lifting my face, staring down at me.
Whatever he sees in my eyes has him cursing. “I’m sorry. You’ve had a rough night, and I’m being an asshole.”
I try to shrug my shoulders without revealing anything. “No, I mean you’ve been looking after me the whole night–”
“That doesn’t give me the right to hurt your feelings.” His words are sharp and filled with regret, his Irish accent thick. “I’m sorry, A ghrá. You’re not an idiot. You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”
I fidget in my seat, transfixed by that beautiful blue gaze, and taken aback by the compliment. “Uh, thank you.”
He tears his eyes away from me, and I feel my heartbeat return to normal.
“What does A ghrá mean?” I ask, feeling better.
This time it is his turn to have a faint dusting of red on his cheekbones, and he shakes his head. “Nothing. Just a slip of the tongue.”
I managed to ruffle his composed and charming feathers somehow, and all my upset evaporates as I find myself delighted and curious as to what would make him so nervous. “Come on. What does it mean?”
“Nothing,” he insists.
The more he tries to hide it, the more I want to know.
“Just tell me, please,” I push. “I won’t laugh, I promise!”
He narrows his eyes at me, but I hear him sigh. “Fine. You use it to refer to a friend.”
I frown. “Why would you be embarrassed over that?”
He growls at me and spoons up some eggs, shoving them into my mouth to shut me up. “I never said I was. Now, eat.”
I chew, slowly, and decide to accept his answer, although I don’t think he is telling me the complete truth.
However, the taste of the food throws me off, and I blink, swallowing. “What is this?”
“Scrambled eggs,” Fergus tells me as he bites into some crispy bacon.
I stare down at my plate, and then at him. “I’ve never had anything that tasted this good. Are you a part-time cook as well?”
He laughs, a loud, delighted sound that makes my toes curl.
I didn’t know you could like somebody’s laugh that much. The dimple in his cheek stands out, and I feel my heart flutter in my chest like a bird, helpless against these emotions.
I never felt this way about a man before, and I don’t know what to do with all these feelings.
“Of sorts,” he replies, still chuckling.
Then something strikes me. “Was it you who made that burger for me yesterday?”
“What do you think?” he asks with a quick grin that steals my breath.
“I think you’re not a simple bartender,” I say, slowly. “You should become a full-time chef.”
His smile flickers, and then he shakes his head at me with a rueful grin. “One day. That’s the dream.”
We finish the rest of the meal in silence, and I savor each bite. Once I am done, I sigh with contentment. “This is the best meal I’ve ever had in my life.”
When he gets up, I jump to my feet. “I’ll do the dishes.”
My head spins for a moment, and I blink quickly.
Fergus puts a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to sit down. “It takes seventy-two hours for the drugs to flush out of your system completely.”
I feel steadier once I am sitting down.
I watch him wash the dishes and find myself asking, “Should I go to the hospital?”
He stills. “The only reason I didn’t take you there is that it would have gotten the police involved and ultimately, the gang would have been breathing down your neck. I don’t think you can afford that sort of attention.”
I sigh. “That’s what I thought.”
“You need to stay away from Dominic, Sarah. He’s not someone you can date.”
I blink, confused. “Date? I don’t want to date him.”
Fergus wipes his hands on a cloth and stares at me. “Then what the fuck are you doing giving him those coy looks for?”
I don’t flinch at the anger in his tone. “I’m not giving him any coy looks. I was looking at his tattoo.”
“I’ll give you a picture. It’ll last longer,” Fergus tells me through gritted teeth. “He’s a dangerous man, Sarah.”
“I know he is.” I start to feel irritated at being treated like a child. “And I told you I’m not flirting with him!”
“It sure looks like that to me,” Fergus snaps at me, sounding annoyed.
“Well, maybe if you get your head out of your ass, it wouldn’t!”
Fergus growls loudly and rubs his hands over his face. “Why are you so stubborn?”
“Why can’t you mind your own business?” I shoot back.
“Because I don’t want you getting hurt, or worse! Because for some stupid goddamn reason that I don’t understand, I like you! God knows why!”
My face clears of its anger. “You like me?”
Fergus frowns, still trying to hold on to his temper. “Of course, I do.”
I can’t help egging him on. “How much do you like me?”
He stares at me. “What are you, five?”
I shrug, enjoying the way his cheeks are coloring. “Humor me.”
“You’re tolerable.” He picks lint off of his shirt.
“You don’t cook breakfast for someone if they’re just tolerable.”
He is reaching down to pick up my cup, and the look he gives me makes something inside me shiver.
His voice is soft, and his thick accent makes his words all the more dangerous as he says with a low voice, “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
Before I can respond, he swoops down, and I hear the clutter of the cup on the table as his mouth descends on mine with a fierceness that steals my breath away. His tongue probes my lips, demanding entrance, and I give in, parting them.
His hands fist in my damp hair and he devours my mouth with urgency and dominance that I hold no hope against. As his tongue strokes mine, I hear myself making a small whimpering sound full of need. My hands reach up and dig into his shirt, holding on for dear life as he uses his tongue to explore my mouth.
His slick appendage is hot, and I can do no more than hold on for dear life as he has his way with me, his tongue destroying me.
The kiss moves from hot to gentle as his mouth moves with a finesse that makes my abdomen clench. I moan as he sips from my mouth, his lips lightly moving against mine, then using soft tugging motions that have me clenching my fingers in his shirt.
When he pulls away for air, I feel dazed and try to get my thoughts in order, to say something.
He isn’t smiling, his eyes dark as they linger on my mouth.
“That was… Ah.” I cannot say anything, a clear brain-to-mouth disconnect.
“You’re a dangerous woman,” Fergus breathed.
I gape at him. “Wha… I didn’t – You kissed me!”
He picks up my coffee mug and then quickly claims another kiss from me before I can blink. “I didn’t hear you protesting.”