Game of Love: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance

by Lulu Pratt

  I took a cold shower after the dinner, as I hadn’t had time after my ride. I’d basically washed my pits and bits and ran out the door to get to the function with Mick and Effie.

  As I stood in the cold water, I thought back to how Effie looked at the reception. The dress clung to her body, and a few strands of her red-gold hair had escaped. It took every ounce of control not to wrap the copper tendril around my finger and pull her close for a lingering kiss. My cock stirred at the memory of our kiss in the club, how responsive she was, and the feel of her breasts as she wrapped her arms around me.

  My cock was now hard, and I knew that I would have to release my tension or sleep would evade me. I took its hard length in my hand and gently squeezed it. I stroked with one hand as I visualized the curvy body and beautiful face of my assistant. Effie. Freya. I’d caught her blushing after I complimented her on her name, and the thoughts of her body reacting to my words made me harder.

  I imagined Effie walking into my office in her business outfit, all prim and proper, then kicking the door closed and pushing my paperwork off the desk, grabbing me by the tie and pulling me on top of her onto the desk. I imagined her eyes half closed with desire and her lips parted in pleasure as I brought her to orgasm on my cock.

  My back arched. I was already close to coming. I groaned and thrust my hips forward. Effie moaned in my ear and I came hard, so hard that I had to hold myself up in the shower so that I didn’t lose my balance.

  It was only an hour later when I was woken up by a bang on the door. After my draining orgasm, I had laid down on the bed for a while, and must have fallen asleep. I let Mick in and found him changed out of his tux already, wearing one of his familiar old checked shirts and a pair of less than clean jeans.

  “I’ve escaped!” he said. “And it’s still early, and we are overdue for a proper beer in a proper pub!”

  “Aw Mick, I dunno,” I said sleepily. “Let’s have a few here at the hotel.”

  “What are you afraid of?” he demanded. “Going to the old places isn’t the same as going back in time, you know.”

  “Fuck, Mick, that’s a bit blunt!” I said. “Okay, I’m coming. Am I allowed to put some clothes on?”

  Mick was on a high after the success of his opening, and he was determined that the after-party would be better. I had only just managed to convince him not to knock Effie’s door and invite her along as we passed her room.

  “Why not?” he asked. “She seems like she might be fun.”

  “She’s not fun,” I said, lying through my teeth. “And it’s not a good idea.”

  “Okay,” he gave in, then he added, “but that dress was fun…”

  “Stop it,” I said.

  We headed directly to our old favorite spot. Dublin wasn’t like other cities; it was a small place with a vast network of people who knew one another, and we were guaranteed to meet people we used to know. For Mick that was a daily occurrence, but for me, it gave me an anxious knot in my stomach. I was relieved when we got no more than a couple of nods of recognition and a few pats on the back from the regulars in Plunkett’s Bar. It amazed me how the same faces were still sitting at the bar, and even the same musicians playing quietly in the corner. I knew it wouldn’t be quiet for long, and as we sat at the bar and ordered a couple of pints, I was relieved that soon the bar would be too noisy for conversation. I knew Mick, and I knew he had something to say.

  “You know, Sarah was worried about you,” he said.

  “Yeah, she said.” I didn’t want to talk about Sarah.

  “What did you think of the wee lad?” he asked, smiling.

  “He’s a credit to her,” I said. “Getting big, too!”

  “And the double of his father,” Mick said, raising his glass as a toast.

  I raised my glass. “They seem to be doing alright.”

  “They are,” Mick agreed. “Life goes on, Keegan. It went on for me because your da gave me this job, and it’s going on for you in America. And for Sarah, Declan gets her through.”

  I thought back to when I had left Dublin for Boston, what a mess everything had been, and thought about how leaving had meant I never got to really see how time had moved on, and how everyone had healed a little. I was still angry, still felt guilty, still felt like I was trapped. Sure, it was easier now, but it was still there. I envied Mick his life here. The band struck up a more lively tune, and a few of the drinkers began tapping their feet and clapping their hands.

  Chapter 25

  FREYA

  I WAS GLAD TO escape the opening, mainly because I could feel my dress slip as the night went on. I had spent all night trying to think of what to say to people, and my head ached from the effort and from the pinching of the twenty – I counted – long hairpins that were holding my hair back. I looked at myself in the mirror when I got back to my room to check that my tits hadn’t been out, but the woman looking back at me just did not look like me, and I was taken aback by how uncomfortable it made me. It was a costume, and I was playacting. And I was so tired of it. I had massively underestimated the effort it would take to maintain the Effie Hancock thing all the time, and I found myself slipping more and more frequently into my own personality.

  I wriggled out of the dress and yanked the hairpins out of my hair, tipping my head upside down and shaking it out. It bounced up into thick waves. I lay down on the bed in my underwear and considered watching a movie. It wasn’t late; in fact, the taxi driver had thought we were going out, not heading back to the hotel. I was restless. I looked at the hotel brochure and read that they offered massages. I picked up the phone and called the front desk to ask if they were still open. Unfortunately, they were closed. I walked around the room a bit, opening drawers and flicking through the TV stations, then heard footsteps outside and muffled voices – it sounded like Keegan and Mick. I heard Mick suggesting they take me out, and Keegan’s gruff reply. Apparently, I wasn’t fun. In that instant, I then decided that there was absolutely no need for me to sit here all night. I was free and in one of the most wonderful cities in the world; if I didn’t go out and experience it, I would regret it.

  In a parallel universe where Clover House hadn’t stolen our creation, I would be planning my trip to Europe and looking up places to go on at night, so why not take advantage of having Clover House pay for my trip and go out and create my own memories? As it was, I seemed to recall that Keegan had found me quite fun at the club. Fun enough to kiss me.

  It took just a few minutes to pull on a pair of jeans and a top and enjoy the coolness of the flat pumps I slipped my feet into. I added a quick swish of dark eyeliner to the ‘barely there’ makeup that Beatrix had lectured me on, and then let my hair do what it liked. It sprang out all over the place, as if glad to be free. The doorman got me a taxi instantly, and I asked the driver where I should go to see Dublin at night. He nodded as though it was not a particularly original question and we set off. It was an embarrassingly short ride to Temple Bar, a quaint series of pubs and music venues, each full of voices, singing or music, and usually all three. Back at home, I would never have gone into a pub alone, but here, it seemed impossible that anyone would even notice me. I made my way to the bar and asked for water. The barman looked at me like I had asked for something illegal, but he gave me a glass of tap water and didn’t charge me.

  I sat down on the edge of a group of seats, feeling uncomfortable at imposing on the noisy but cheerful group of women who were already sitting there. A tall brunette wearing a long checked shirt as a dress with a belt slung around it, turned to me.

  “American?” she asked, and the group erupted into cheers when I nodded. “I knew it, I’m very good at spotting Americans.”

  I had to laugh, and looked down at my clothes. “Am I that obvious?”

  “No, but there were clues. First, you’re drinking water, and second, you are sitting there politely by yourself instead of joining us.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to impose…” I began.

  �
��Don’t be a dick,” she said. “Do you have a name?”

  “Freya. A pleasure to meet you.” It felt good to be Freya again.

  And so I joined the group and found that they were all art history students who had just finished their final exam and were celebrating. There were six of them, but there were as many conversations going on as people and I struggled to keep up. Someone bought me a pint of Guinness and I was surprised how much I liked it and how quickly I drank it. And then suddenly, everyone was getting up to leave. I tried to say goodnight to everyone, to thank them but Orla, the girl in the checked shirt, took my hand – my actual hand! – and explained that they weren’t ending the night, just moving on. And so we ended up in a second pub, and I found myself included in hugs from the various other groups who we met and in rigorous debates on various subjects, from art to celebrities.

  By the time we reached our third pub, there were only three of us left, Orla and a couple whose names I never got. We went up a steep flight of stone steps to reach the roughest of all the places we had been in, but Orla ordered drinks and found a seat right next to the band that we had to squeeze into, reassuring me that this was one of the best pubs in Dublin. The band was great, and I soon lost myself in the music. We were singing along with the band and having shouted conversations in which Orla would give me random information about people who entered or left the bar. She was so funny that I couldn’t stop laughing, and she only broke her running commentary to join in with the songs she particularly liked. Every other singer would declare to be her favorite, and in between each song, she would beg the band to play her request, which they did.

  I found myself making eye contact a lot with one of the singers with the band, a tall blond with startlingly blue eyes. He smiled at me while Orla was shouting something in my ear, and I smiled back, enjoying the thrill of the silent communication and the clear admiration in his eyes. He leaned over and asked me what I would sing. I told him I didn’t sing, and I didn’t really know any Irish music. He heard my accent and asked me if I know any folk songs at all, any country music even. I said that I had grown up listening to my parents’ Bob Dylan albums, and before I could protest further, the band had struck up a Dylan tune and I felt like I was a fly on the wall, observing myself singing with this beautiful guy, our two voices filling the room before other people began to join in. It was hugely liberating, and I felt a twinge of sadness that I could never be so free or uninhibited back home.

  It wasn’t long before I found myself getting carried away by the rhythmic beat and the lilting voices, and I told Orla I wanted to dance. The singer heard, and he stood and pulled me up with him and we danced, some kind of jive that I didn’t know but which felt so right with the music. He rarely broke eye contact, and his pale blue eyes were intense and beautiful. He was a great dancer and led me into it perfectly, spinning me until I was almost dizzy, then pulling me close. There was no real stop between songs; one just flowed into the next, and he held onto me and we danced to the next song, too. Every now and then I would join hands with some other dancer and then find myself back in his arms, his hands on my back, his hips against mine. I was lost in the whirling and the music and the haze of bodies. We moved away from another and then came together again time after time as I whirled away from him and then back. I closed my eyes and completely surrendered to the music, and when he pulled me back to him, I felt his mouth hard on mine. Except I recognized this mouth because I had laid awake at night thinking about it.

  It was Keegan.

  Chapter 26

  KEEGAN

  MICK HAD BEEN deep in conversation with some guy who had come into the bar, clapped him on the back and launched into a detailed discussion of some rugby match they had both seen. We had both been into rugby when we were young, before we got distracted by less wholesome pleasures, and I was surprised that Mick had returned to this old passion. I followed along for a bit, but soon felt out of my depth and sat back, letting them carry on. More and more people entered the pub and joined the throng at the bar, separating me from them, but I didn’t mind. You were never really on your own in a pub like this; it was why it was so popular. I must have had a dozen brief conversations with strangers, some of whom it turned out I had some connection with through school, Mick, or my family. A few times I considered leaving, the fatigue of the past few days catching up with me, but the warmth of the room, the laughter, and the music were soothing to me.

  The band had grown as more people had arrived with instruments. They weren’t a band as such, but rather an ever-growing group of individual musicians. Some of them had probably never met, and yet they were playing together expertly, the old songs that everyone there knew all the words to. This was what I had missed about Dublin. There were a number of good singers with them, but the most popular songs would have the whole pub singing along, and even I found myself tapping my foot and mouthing the words. I thought back to when I was a teenager and would have had a guitar with me, learning the tunes by ear and copying the older men. There was a lull in the music, and then one by one they struck up a Bob Dylan number. Not that unusual a choice; everything was fair game in here. One of the lead singers had his arm around two of the girls near him, and they were singing together. Their voices soared out across the room and a few people turned around, then voices joined in from across the bar. The girl had had her head bowed under a wavy mane of copper hair, and when she raised her head, I did a double take – she was the image of Effie. I scolded myself. Why was that woman in my head so much? I thought of her in that green dress for the opening event. It was a million miles from the girl in front of me in skinny jeans and a black T-shirt, her eyes dark and her hair a wild tangle.

  The male singer pulled her up onto the dance floor and they started to dance together. I watched them, and it hit me like icy water down my back that it was Effie. It had to be; the way she danced was unmistakable. I got up and moved to their side of the pub to have a better look. She was whirling across the floor with the singer, who only reluctantly handed her over to other dancers as they moved. She was lost in the music and seemed totally oblivious to the way he was clutching at her hips, sliding his hand up her back and dipping his head low to her neck when they were close.

  An unapologetically jealous rage coursed through me. I was angry at her for not telling me that she was planning to go out, for simply slipping out of the hotel and into the Dublin night. I knew better than most that it wasn’t safe. And now this creep was all over her, and she was too immersed in the dance to even notice. I didn’t allow myself to think that maybe she knew what he was up to and didn’t care, or worse, was actively encouraging him. I set my glass down on the nearest table and edged onto the dance floor. I knew she wouldn’t see me; she was either moving too fast or she had her eyes closed, she wasn’t seeing anything. I got close and waited until she moved away from the singer, then stepped in. My plan was for her to open her eyes and find that she was dancing with me, and then I could tell her exactly what I thought about her taking herself off into the night to the roughest of pubs with no regard for her personal safety. I had a duty of care as her employer.

  Instead, what happened was that she kept her eyes closed, and we spun around together, and then she stepped in close to me and I forgot any anger or jealousy. She was beautiful and vibrant. I kissed her. She kissed me back, and when she pulled back, she didn’t seem surprised to see me looking down at her. I had a hold of her wrist and pulled her gently away from the dense crowd of dancers towards the door. It had been warm in my spot against the bar, but among the dancers it had been hot, and with Effie in my arms it was becoming unbearable. I led her through the door to where the steep stone steps led down to the door of the building. The cool air hit us immediately, and when the heavy wooden door swung shut, the sounds of the pub became muffled. It was like we were suddenly underwater.

  “Keegan…” she began, but I couldn’t bear to talk. I couldn’t risk analyzing what was happening, or how wise it was.


  So, I kissed her again and this time she reached up and wrapped her arms around my neck. I pulled her to me, my hands reaching around her waist. Instinctively, she arched into me. My cock was already hard, and I wanted her more than I had ever wanted a woman. I broke the kiss to catch my breath, and she stood on tiptoe, trailing her lips over my jaw, leaving tiny kisses before moving down onto my neck. She was barely touching my skin, but it felt absolutely incredible. I had never felt so desperate to have any woman as I did in that moment with Effie, so when the door separating us from the pub creaked open, I actually cried out in frustration. Mick stepped through and sheepishly looked at the ground before glancing up at us.

  “Ah, I didn’t know you were here. Uh, Effie, good to see ya! So, I’m going to catch a taxi and head home, I think,” he stammered, caught off guard and clearly assuming that I was with some random girl before he realized it was Effie.

  “Sure,” I said, awkwardly.

  “Goodnight,” Effie said quietly.

  With one meaningful look at me, Mick disappeared into the darkness of the stairwell and left Effie and I standing staring at one another as though a spell had been broken.

  “We could walk back, if you’d like?” I suggested, hoping the walk in the cool night air would be a better option than sitting tightly together in the back of a taxi.

  “Sure,” she said, nodding. “I need to get my jacket and say goodbye to someone.”

  “I’ll wait outside,” I said as politely as if she’d been my grandmother.

  I waited for five minutes before she came down, and with her was the girl from the pub. Effie was wearing a soft leather jacket in purple and had pulled her hair to one side. I was struck again by how different she looked outside of work. It was like the further away from the office she got, the more personality she had. She hugged the girl, who also hugged me before getting into a waiting taxi.