Mentally congratulating herself, she took a sip of the drink she’d just purchased. That small victory for womankind had called for another shot of bourbon. Her eyes flicked around the room until she spotted another familiar figure. Her stomach somersaulted when the vision turned around—David Seagar. There he was, larger than life, standing on the fringe of the dance floor. He hadn’t seen her yet, so she allowed herself a moment to stare at him with unadulterated lust plastered all over her face. He was wearing a white shirt over dark denim jeans, and she just knew that he’d smell good. Taking a swig of Dutch courage, she threaded her way across the room.
“Hi, David,” she simpered, popping up by his side a moment later. He turned towards her in surprise.
“Oh Rebecca, hi. Fancy meeting you here.” At least he didn’t say, “Do you come here often?” His slow once-over indicated that he must have liked what he saw, because as his eyes meandered back up to her face, he smiled at her approvingly. “You look lovely.”
“Thanks.” She was glad the lighting was so dim so he couldn’t see her blush at the compliment.
“So who gave you a leave pass then?”
“Betty and Jennifer are having a girl’s night in. Betty reckoned it was a criminal offence for two single girls to sit at home on a Saturday night.” She half expected him to snort at the way she’d loosely bandied the word girl about. It was, after all, a bit of a stretch where she and Melissa were concerned, but he didn’t.
“She’d be right too. I use a local lass, Katrina. It’s a bit of pocket money for her, but she came recommended—by Jennifer, now that I think about it. How’s she doing?”
“Um, good,” Rebecca lied and slurped on her straw.
“Who are you here with?” David asked, and she pointed to the dance floor where Posh was breaking out the Spice moves. “She looks like she’s enjoying herself.”
Melissa caught his grin and winked at Rebecca, receiving a scowl in return.
“So, what have you got planned tomorrow?” David asked.
Oblivious of his question, Rebecca sniffed again; he smelt delicious. Sort of fresh with those undertones of pine she had smelt the other day, yet musky too. Then, she caught sight of his expectant expression and flushed again as she realised he’d asked her a question.
“Oh sorry!” she blustered. “I didn’t catch what you said over the music.”
Looking bemused because the band had just announced they were going on a break, he asked her again what she was doing tomorrow. Recapping the plans she and Melissa had made with Betty to score a free lunch courtesy of the Thai buffet being put on by the Nifty Knitters earlier that evening, something sprang to mind. Hang on just a sec; through her bourbon-addled brain, she could feel a bright idea forming.
“Why don’t you come to the buffet too?” Oh yes, that was a good idea; she warmed to her theme. “Jack would love to see Ben and if the food I have been getting whiffs of from the cooking school is anything to go by, it should be a real treat.” She decided not to mention that she was sick to the back teeth of the smell of coconut and lemon grass but hey, a free lunch was a free lunch.
“Sounds great if you’re sure there’s enough to go round...” His voice trailed off.
“There’ll be far too much food and the more, the merrier; Betty won’t mind nor will Jennifer.”
“Jennifer will be there?”
“Um.” She hesitated. “I think so, unless something else crops up.”
“Right, well, I’m sold.”
Melissa had drunk herself more or less sober by the time the band called it quits. She was ready to go home and spying Rebecca and David deep in conversation, she decided it was time to break their cosy little conversation up. She made a big show of tapping her watch as she approached. “Rebecca, it’s quarter to twelve—you know you turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”
“I told my babysitter I’d be back before midnight too. How are you ladies planning on getting home?” David interjected.
“Walking.” Melissa’s reply was curt and intended for Rebecca. “It will do her some good to get a spot of exercise.”
Ouch! Melissa had whipped out the boxing gloves, but a good match involved two competitors, Rebecca thought, aiming her punch. “I thought you said you didn’t do walking.”
Melissa was saved from having to think of a comeback by David.
“I’d offer to drive you home, but I’ll be walking myself.” He pointed at his glass with a shrug.
Rebecca, whose sense of responsibility was sitting at the bottom of her empty glass, could have just as happily stopped out all night. Especially when she was pretty sure that around about now Ciaran would just be waking up. No doubt, with a monumental hangover and Pariah standing at the ready with a glass of water and two paracetamol. I bet her bloody dressing gown’s made of Lycra too, she fumed. But knowing better than to put up too much of a fight when Melissa was in a mood, she reluctantly said goodnight to David, firming up their lunch arrangements for the next day as she did so. Humph, she thought a moment later, fishing around in her handbag for the ticket that would retrieve their coats. Now she knew exactly how Cinderella had felt when she had to leave the ball just as it was hotting up. Shooting a nasty look in Melissa’s direction, she decided her so-called best friend fitted the bill of one of the ugly stepsisters to perfection.
Chapter Eighteen
“I SPEND HALF MY LIFE looking for things in this bloody bag,” Rebecca muttered, her hand fumbling around inside it as she tried to find the front door key. She was sure she’d zipped it into the inside pocket so as to avoid this little debacle. Standing under the sensor light, she held her bag open. Peering inside it, Melissa’s jiggling from foot to foot grew more frantic.
“Just hurry up or I’m going to wet myself,” she hissed, but her voice was muted by the sound of a car whining up the hill they had not long staggered up themselves.
Sound always carries at night, Rebecca thought, paying it no heed as she at last located the errant key that somehow had jumped inside her makeup bag. The drone of the engine grew louder, and both women turned around. They found themselves pinned by its headlights. Looking like a stunned possum, Melissa momentarily forgot she needed the loo. “Who the bloody hell would that be at this time of night?”
The word Taxi was illuminated upon its roof, and the engine idled for a moment while whoever was inside paid their fare. “It’s probably Mark,” Rebecca deduced, peering into the dark. “He must have decided to come home early.” But as the passenger door opened and a figure unfolded itself, she saw that it was too tall to be Mark. She could only make out a shadowy outline in the misty, thick night air, but she already knew instinctively that it belonged to the last person in the world she expected to see.
“Ciaran?” she eventually whispered, gaining confidence as the apparition in front of her didn’t vanish in a wisp of smoke as expected. “What the hell are you doing here?”
His bravado slipped as the taxi drove away. The reality of having just sat on a plane for thirty-odd hours to show up uninvited at his secretary’s sister’s house on the other side of the world suddenly hit him.
“I, uh, I wanted to experience long-haul flight flatulence for myself. You know, Becs, give the blog authenticity.”
“You’re weird, Ciaran, and despite my misgivings about leaving my best friend alone in the dark with a mad Irish man, I’m off. I need to wee.”
“Thanks for sharing. Good to see you too,” Ciaran replied as Melissa glowered at him before snatching the key off Rebecca. Opening the door, she wiggled inside with knock-knees. “Shout if you need me, Becs.” Then, eyeballing Ciaran one last time, she shut the door and left them to it.
Ciaran took a step towards Rebecca and when he spoke, his voice was low and husky on the night air.
“The blog’s not the only reason I’m here, of course. I, uh, I needed to ask you something in person.”
Rebecca looked back at him blankly, still in shock.
“It’s the l
ast one, you see. Question 80, and it’s been driving me mad.” His face crinkled with the endearing expression lines she knew so well as he emphasised his point. “I can’t eat or sleep and I knew you were the only one who could give me the right answer.”
The music quiz—he was on about the music quiz? Maybe Melissa was right, and Ciaran was mad.
He took a deep breath and went on. “It’s a song by Foreigner, all about love.” His dark eyes glittered as she registered his choice of song.
Her heart somersaulted, and her stomach contracted as she whispered the answer: “‘I Want To Know What Love Is’ by Foreigner. A true blue classic.”
Ciaran reached out then and wrapped her small cold hand in his big warm one as he began crooning the lyrics softly.
A tide of emotions dumped themselves on her as suddenly the spectre of Mariah Carey popped up between them, screeching “We belong together” as she simultaneously flicked Rebecca off and looked beseechingly at Ciaran. Rebecca shook the image away and wrenched her hand free. Her steps faltered backwards as her eyes flashed. “Why the blazes did you sleep with Pariah then?” she demanded.
For a moment, Ciaran was speechless, but as he looked at Rebecca’s face, pale and angry in the dim light, he rubbed ferociously at his stubble. Things weren’t panning out how he’d planned. Realising he had a bit of explaining to do, he decided he’d rather do that indoors. “Can we head inside to talk?” He rubbed his hands together. “Jaysus! I thought New Zealand was a Pacific nation, not part of the feckin Antarctic.”
“I guess so.” He was right, she thought, shivering; it was cold. And against her better judgement, she opened the front door. “Come on then.” As he followed her into the living room, whistling through his teeth as he took in his surrounds, she tossed over her shoulder, “I can tell you straight off, though, you’ve had a wasted trip. There’s nothing you can say that’s going to make the fact you slept with that tart alright, but I suppose I can’t send you packing without a hot drink. You are my boss, after all.”
She heard him mutter, “Ouch.” At that last remark and as she flicked on the kitchen light, her eyes began to prickle with hot unshed tears.
He came up behind her and, resting his hands on her shoulders, soothed, “Ah, come on now; I’ve come a long way. Promise me you’ll at least listen?”
Rebecca turned and shrugged his hands off, staring up at him for a moment. He was standing far too close to her for her own good, and she began backing away before conceding, “Alright, I’ll listen.” Unable to tear her eyes away from the dark stubble decorating his jawline, she felt an erotic thrill as she imagined what that stubble would feel like rubbing against her. As she collided with the table, Pariah popped her head over Ciaran’s shoulder once more. Damn it! Why was he making her feel like this? To be tearful one minute, and then spitting tacks the next. And in between those two mood swings, having hot flushes and sexual fantasies. Was this what menopause was like? Scowling, Rebecca lowered her gaze and stomped over to the bench. Flicking the kettle on and opening the cupboard to retrieve two mugs, she took advantage of those few seconds to compose herself before asking, “So where are you staying?”
“At a B&B near the water called Sea Breezes. Not a very original name, I know, and it’s run by a mad old biddy, Mrs Doody, but it’s cheap enough.”
She poured the boiling water over the milk, wishing there was some of that Mekhong filth still lying around. Damn it, she could do with a shot of something serious, but she settled for making them both hot chocolate instead. Ciaran had pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. His hands were clasped and rested lightly in his lap while his legs were splayed out in front of him. “I now know what a sardine feels like.”
Rebecca threw a glance over her shoulder. “I take it you didn’t fly first class then?”
“Nope. Couldn’t put this trip down as a business expense and I wasn’t very popular upping and going the way I did either.” He looked like a little lad who had had his hand smacked as he thought back to Fitzpatrick, the senior partner’s, reaction to his sudden departure. “I’ll have you know I endured hours of having my legs wrapped around my ears to see you.”
Rebecca avoided his eye because she knew if she caught it, she’d smile, and he’d win. At that moment, the door swung open to reveal Jennifer, and Ciaran immediately straightened up and sat to attention.
She stood in the entrance, blinking reactively to the light. A blonde Egyptian mummy-like vision wrapped in her chin to toe terry-cloth bathrobe, she was trying to shake off the fog of sleep and work out why there was a strange man sitting at her kitchen table in the wee hours of the morning.
“I heard voices.” She spoke up at last.
“Sorry, Jen. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Rebecca placed the two mugs down on the table.
She ignored her sister and stared at Ciaran. “Who are you?” She thought, massaging her temples, Rebecca should know better than to drag strays home from the pub. Especially when it wasn’t her home and the children were asleep upstairs. If Jack were to wander in and find him after what had happened—well, it didn’t bear thinking about.
Ciaran got up with a noisy scrape of his chair and held his hand out. “I’m Ciaran, Ciaran Cahill. You must be Rebecca’s sister Jennifer?”
Jennifer blinked again. “You’re Rebecca’s boss Ciaran, from Ireland? Good grief—did you fly the Concorde to get here?”
“Uh, yeah, that would be me and no, it wasn’t the Concorde. I wish it had been. I managed to get a seat via a last-minute cancellation with Air New Zealand. I’d like to apologise for showing up at this time of night, too, but my bog standard plane didn’t get in until late this evening, and I needed to talk to your sister here.”
“What about?” Jennifer was wide awake now, and she didn’t like this scenario—not at all and especially not with her sister’s soft touch tendencies. She glared at him for a moment. He was attractive. She could see why Rebecca carried a torch for him, but he was also, from what she could gather, a womaniser and someone her baby sister did not need in her life.
“Um, Jennifer, we were just about to get to that, so if you wouldn’t mind...” Rebecca shifted her gaze to the door, hoping her sister would take the hint and leave them alone.
She shuffled from slipper to slipper for a minute, deciding what she should do. Rebecca was a grown woman, so she couldn’t very well tell her she was not to let this lothario lounging at her kitchen table sweet-talk her. She could, however, tell him in a roundabout way to bugger off. “Right, well, I hope you have somewhere to stay, Mr Cahill, because it is very late, and I have young children who will be up and about very early.”
“Of course. I was just telling Rebecca I’m booked into—”
“Good.” Jennifer cut him off. “Rebecca, make sure you lock up behind him. I’m going back to bed.” Turning on her slipper-clad heels, she marched out of the kitchen.
“Well, I won her over. Was she a Rottweiler in a second life perchance?”
Rebecca wasn’t going to make this easy for him and so she sat staring down into the contents of her mug silently until she sensed him shift in his seat. Good, she thought; her silence was making him uncomfortable. He might be the boss back in Ireland, but he wasn’t in charge here.
Running a hand through his short, dark hair, Ciaran sighed; he might as well get straight to the point because he certainly wasn’t going to win her round on good looks and charm alone.
“Rebecca, I haven’t got any excuse for sleeping with Tania, apart from the fact that I was blind drunk.” Still not a flicker. “I was practically comatose, for Christ’s sake!” he added dramatically, to which Rebecca raised an eyebrow.
“Well, something was obviously working.”
“It was on automatic pilot; I had no control over my bodily functions, and that is the absolute truth.”
She tossed him a disparaging look. All of a sudden, the long flight coupled with the spur-of-the-moment decision to jump on the first plane he coul
d and throw caution to the wind caught up with him. “I wish I hadn’t listened to your bloody pal now.”
“What do you mean—what pal?”
“Derbhilla. Who else do you think convinced me that I wouldn’t be wasting my time by flying out here? I should never have listened to her. It was only a few weeks back that you were putting it about with that little git James, for chrissake.”
Rebecca choked into her hot chocolate. “I was not putting it about, thank you very much. I snogged him when I was blind...”
“Let me finish that sentence for you, shall I? Drunk. Touché. And it is not as though we have been in a committed relationship to date, is it?”
Rebecca couldn’t think of a comeback. He was right, and he wasn’t finished yet either. “Why did you cold shoulder me after we slept together and then proceed to spend a year teasing me? Or does a spot of flirtation warrant a relationship in your book?”
“I left that morning because I freaked out. And you were the one who acted like it was business as usual afterwards and if it doesn’t, what are you doing here then?”
“Oh, don’t be so bloody childish!”
Rebecca banged her fist down hard on the table. How dare he say she was childish! He was the one with the mentality of a randy sixteen-year-old, and that was another thing. “Besides, you’ve always been far too busy shagging for Ireland to notice me. What did you expect me to do? Put my hand up and say ‘oh pick me, pick me—I’m a keeper’?”
As she sat panting from her outburst, Ciaran snorted, and she half expected steam to come out his nostrils. She’d backed him into a corner, and he was frantically trying to find a way to win this argument. For goodness’ sake, man, you’re the lawyer, he told himself angrily; you argue for a living. But for once in his life, Ciaran Cahill couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
They sat in stony silence until at last Rebecca sighed and rubbed her eyes, leaning back in her chair. What a day; it was all too much, she thought as a great weariness settled over her like an enveloping eiderdown. “Why are you here, Ciaran?” She raised her wide hazel eyes to his. “I mean, what did you expect to happen when you got here?”
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