The Write Escape

by Charish Reid

  Antonia barely heard him. She blinked and returned to his face. “What’s that?”

  His smile was teasing. Lord, he has a wickedly sensuous mouth. His bottom lip was especially plump and kissable. “I said that I should have asked you where you were staying when we were at SuperValu.”

  Her brow shot upward. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I regretted not asking once I stepped outside. But I already gave you a pizza, so there was no need to be creepy.”

  “Thank you for that,” she said evenly. Why did she sound so defensive? He was being nice and charming enough. She shook her head, the half beer seemed to make her a little foggy. “I’m sorry, I think I’m a little tired.”

  He leaned forward and peered at her with a concerned expression. “That’s understandable,” he said. “Are you staying at the hotel next door?”

  She sighed. “I couldn’t even swing that. I’m staying at the cottages across the street. Apparently, it’s just me and a literature professor named Byrnes.”

  Aiden nodded. “Really?”

  “I hope he’s a quiet neighbor,” Antonia continued. “I’ll bet he’s an old man who smokes pipes and reads...”

  “Oscar Wilde?” Aiden tried.

  She took another drink and nodded. “Exactly, Oscar Wilde.” She tried to focus her gaze on his beautiful face with his dark green eyes and their secretive humor, but it was becoming increasingly hard to do so.

  “He probably teaches in tweed jackets with those elbow patches.”

  Antonia grinned. “I think that’s the only way to teach literature,” she joked. “His students probably fall asleep.”

  Aiden tipped his head and seemed to think about it. “I imagine you’re right. Although, you look like you’re about to fall asleep yourself.”

  She glanced at the remainder of her beer. “I better get going,” she said, feeling self-conscious. “It’s getting late.” As she stood to her feet, the room spun slightly.

  Aiden sprang from his seat to catch her by the elbow. “Whoa, nelly,” he said in a soothing tone. His hands, long-fingered and strong, held her steady as she swayed. “Let’s not have two drunken falls tonight.”

  Antonia fought the urge to relax against his hard body, his heat battling against that of the fireplace. She blushed again. When she looked up, she saw the sharp planes of his face, shadows rising and falling with the flicker of the flames below. With those dark brows and glittery green eyes, he looked positively wicked. Aiden is a potential mistake. “I’m fine,” she whispered, trying her best not to smell him. Is that a mixture of bergamot and cedar?

  “Of course you are,” he said, his voice husky and thick. “Let me help you across the street.”

  Antonia straightened up and away from him. “I can manage,” she said with a confident smile. She did not want him coming back to her cottage. She didn’t want to make a mistake. “Really, I’m fine.”

  He released her and stepped back. “Fair enough,” he said with a smile.

  “Thank you for my first...or second Guinness,” she said, trying to be friendly. She worried that her brush-off sounded harsh.

  “But not your last.”

  “Nope,” Antonia said as she walked away. She left him standing by the fireplace. Good, that’s where he needs to stay. She drew her jacket close to her neck as she exited the pub. In the chilly night, her breath was visible in the cold damp air. It helped her shake off the warm fog of the pub and kept her vigilant enough to check both ways before she scampered across the road. Antonia walked past the unit where the professor stayed. There wasn’t a light on in his cottage and she presumed that he was already asleep. Which was exactly what she needed to be.

  Aiden. His name lingered around the edges of her fatigued mind as she set her key on the nearby window sill. Antonia was concerned about her behavior around him and tried ignoring that she may have sounded short with him. It was different when she thought he was just a passing stranger. In the grocery store, his flirtation earlier seemed fleeting and harmless. It was a chance for her to “stretch her legs” away from Derek. There was a small part of her that wondered if she was being irrational. There was a chance that Aiden wasn’t flirting with her. Maybe he was just a nice guy and this was what people meant when they spoke of the Irish “gift of gab.”

  Antonia kicked off her shoes and made her way back to the solitary bedroom, skipping the bathroom altogether. She shrugged out of her clothes and whipping the covers back, the ache between her shoulders eased slightly as she climbed into bed. “He’s just a nice guy,” she murmured in the dark. Sleep was ready to claim her any moment, but the image of his face burned its way into her memory. His eyes, green as the rolling hills of Connemara. Aiden...

  Chapter Eleven

  Aiden woke up drenched in sweat and hard.

  The dream he’d experienced had been so vivid and sexual, he regretted opening his eyes to the morning light filtering through his bedroom window. He looked at the raised tent in his sheets and groaned. “Jaysus.”

  Aiden reached down and enclosed the aching stiffness, rubbing his length gingerly. Closing his eyes, he tried to return to the hot memories of his sleep. Antonia’s soft body stretched beneath him, her full breasts undulating with each stroke he took. Her face was an expression of delirious desire as she gripped the multitude of pillows surrounding her head. Aiden stopped midstroke. Where did all the pillows come from? He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling above him. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Who cares about the feckin’ pillows?”

  He sat up, cock in hand, and cursed the dream. He still had a hot club between his thighs as he scooted out of bed. He cursed the chance meeting they had in SuperValu and the second chance meeting at Paddy Coynes. He tried pushing aside the idea of her reappearance acting as a sign. There was no reason to suspect that; it was all chance. Coincidence. Aiden turned the shower box on, switching the water to cold, and proceeded to flagellate himself in the jolting spray. One thing he would not do is pleasure himself with the thought of the woman next door. His journey to Tully Cross was for rest and writing, not to chase after American women.

  He hung his head under the freezing water, wetting his hair and waiting for the ache to fade. When he was satisfied that his sexual urge had receded, he rewarded himself with warm water and washed briskly. The shock on her face when she had seen him though... Her mouth had fallen open, luscious lips gaping in genuine surprise. When she’d finally found her voice, it had been halting and breathy. Aiden was surprised she’d lost her wit since their grocery store meeting. He’d began to feel more confident the more she stumbled over her words. Perhaps it was because he was steadier on his home turf. And perhaps the incident with Drunk Michael helped. Rescuing a beautiful damsel from a tumbling fat man never hurts the cause. His heart had sunk when she decided to leave the pub so abruptly. He hoped that he hadn’t scared her off. Aiden rinsed the shampoo from his hair while recounting their short conversation. Had he said something untoward?

  “She was drinking pretty fast,” he murmured. Perhaps she was tired and tipsy. He remembered holding her steady; standing so close that he smelled her hair. He caught the scent of coconut and maybe...vanilla? The flash of the memory forced him to turn his shower dial back to cold. He had to write something today. Anything really. Just start writing.

  As he stepped out to towel off, Aiden reviewed his original paper proposal. Homecoming narratives. He would return to the DuBois biography and reread the passages on his life in Ghana. Aiden padded into his bedroom and searched his suitcase for jeans. Still running hot, he skipped the shirt and started his day. A couple of eggs and toast should do the trick. First, he would need a little motivation to accompany his breakfast. He found his phone and scrolled through his music playlist, settling on some Hozier. A nice bluesy Irish boy could set the breakfast tone. Aiden connected his phone to the portable speaker he brought wi
th him and flooded the entire cottage with the mournful death march of “Take Me to Church.” He sang loudly to the tune of lost love and regret while searching the kitchen cabinets for a frying pan.

  As he fired up the stove, he set his pan on the burner and buttered it liberally. After an entire semester of rushing out the door without eating, he basked in the pleasure of a decadent breakfast. As he cracked two eggs, he lamented forgetting a pack of rashers at SuperValu. He missed cured breakfast pork.

  As the next Hozier track began, his own voice rang out, off key and piercing the loneliness of the cottage. He was grateful that Mr. Creely hadn’t inquired about Lisa when he checked in. Her previous visit had caused quite a stir. Any new female visitor to Tully Cross usually got people talking. The young women were largely outnumbered in the village because many of them fled to university, leaving the young men to stick around working their fathers’ farms. Lisa’s appearance, coupled with her aloof attitude, had garnered plenty of attention. She hardly spoke to the locals and barely left the cottage.

  From the stove, Aiden caught a flash of black curls hurry past his kitchen window. He frowned as he shut off the burner and slid his eggs on a plate. Is that her?

  Seconds later, a sharp rap came from his front door. He wiped his hands on a dishtowel and approached the door. When he pulled it open, he found a fuming Antonia dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants. Though her hair was disheveled and last night’s makeup smudged her eyes black, she still looked sultry. He imagined that he could make her look like that after a good romp in bed. When she saw that it was him behind the door, her lips parted to form a dismayed “O.” Aiden was quickly becoming accustomed to this kind of greeting. “Antonia! Good morning on ya.”

  * * *

  This was the second time he had her at a disadvantage.

  Antonia stepped back to look at his cottage number as if that would tell her who lived there. Her gaze flashed back to the shirtless man standing in the doorway. She blinked away the sight of his jeans dipping slightly off his hips. Black hair sprinkled over his broad and powerful chest with a long line tracing a path down the middle of his well-defined abs. The path disappeared at the waist of his jeans. Lord, please stop tempting me.

  “You’re...you’re him?” she asked, reclaiming her voice.

  He smoothed his damp hair out of his eyes and peered at her with feigned confusion. “I’m the man you keep meeting,” he said over the music that came from his home.

  “You’re Professor Byrnes?”

  “At your service,” he said with a grin. That perfect smile with his perfectly straight teeth and that perfect bottom lip. She could not trace the origins of her anger. Was it because she was dead tired and needed more sleep or that he continued to confuse her? He caught her off guard with that perfectly disarming grin.

  “Why didn’t you tell me he was you? You were him?” She shook her head. “That you were Dr. Stuffy-elbow-patches?”

  “Honest mistake,” he said. “What can I help you with?”

  Her mouth snapped shut. Honest mistake, my ass. “Could you please keep your music down?”

  Aiden frowned. “You don’t like Hozier?”

  “I don’t know who that is, I’m just trying to—”

  “—Oh, he’s grand,” Aiden interrupted. “You’ve probably heard something by him. Surely some of Ireland’s singers make it to your shores. It’s not all Irish Rovers and pipes, you know.”

  “I don’t—”

  “We gave you Sinéad, didn’t we?” The mirth in his eyes annoyed the hell out of her. “She’s a bit gone in the head lately, but she had that one song. What was it?”

  “‘Nothing Compares 2 U,’” Antonia answered, amazed that she was following his train of thought.

  He snapped his fingers. “That’s right! Admittedly, Prince wrote it, but the girl still came from Ireland.”

  “Sure, I get it—”

  “And you guys love Van Morrison, right? ‘Brown-Eyed Girl’?”

  “Aiden!”

  He paused. “You don’t like ‘Brown-Eyed Girl’?” he asked, peering down at her.

  She stewed under his piercing gaze. Yes, she was at a clear disadvantage. There was no way that she could out-talk this man. Antonia also felt foolish standing out there in the cold fog wearing the sleep clothes she’d managed to change into in the middle of the night. She hadn’t even washed her face before marching over to Dr. Aiden Byrnes’s cottage. She probably looked a frightful mess, with hair sticking out in every direction and tired raccoon eyes.

  “I love a brown-eyed girl,” he said punctuating each word. His eyes traveled over her body before returning to her face.

  His roundabout chatter confused her. “Yes, it’s a great song,” she said, brushing off his comment. “But I came by to tell the doddering old professor to turn his music down. I’m trying to sleep.”

  Aiden nodded. “Why didn’t you just say so?” He disappeared from the doorway. Soon, the quiet enveloped them. With the music off, she could hear herself think. A low moo from the pastures behind them wafted through the fog. “Have you had breakfast?” he called from inside.

  Antonia edged closer to his doorway. Was he inviting her into his home? Offering her more of his food? “No...”

  He appeared at the front door with a furrow in his dark brow. “Oh, that won’t do. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that breakfast was the most important meal of the day?”

  Antonia rolled her eyes as she took a step back. “I didn’t exactly have time to think about that when I was awoken at the crack of dawn.”

  “It’s ten o’clock.”

  “I’m jet-lagged.”

  “Then it’s best to stay on a schedule.”

  “I was told to enjoy Ireland on my schedule,” she said. “That’s the whole point of traveling solo, isn’t it?”

  One black brow arched. “You got me there. So no breakfast for you? I’ve got eggs.”

  Antonia didn’t have eggs. The scent of cooked butter from his kitchen made her stomach growl in protest. “I can eat later.”

  “Why eat later if you can eat now?” His voice was low and conspiratorial, as if they shared this secret. “Life’s too short to delay pleasure.”

  His tone was seemingly innocent. However, the way he rested languidly against his doorframe, muscles taut and ready to spring, she didn’t know if she should chance it. Although, it was only breakfast. She’d eat quickly and return to her cottage to clean herself up. “Fine.”

  “Good,” Aiden said, stepping aside so she could enter. “Go ahead and take a seat at the table.”

  She did as she was told and found a seat facing the kitchen. He’s just being a nice guy. Antonia kept thinking this regardless of how beautiful his body was. He emerged from the kitchen with a plate of eggs and two pieces of toast. He set it on the table and took his own chair opposite of her. “You’re not going to have any?”

  “I will,” he said. “Later. For now, I’d like to talk.”

  Antonia picked up a fork and cut into the eggs, the runny yolk a deep orange that looked more appealing than the anemic eggs back home. “You seem to do a lot of that,” she said.

  “That’s what my mother told me just yesterday,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t believe I talk any more than she does.”

  Antonia let the rich creaminess settle on her tongue a moment before she took a bite of toast. An involuntary moan escaped her throat as she closed her eyes. “Why are the eggs better here?” Using the toast to sop up egg, she quickly devoured her meal. When she looked up, she found Aiden sitting forward in his chair, staring at her. Antonia blushed. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he said, his eyes wandering over her. “You were hungrier than you thought.”

  Her eyes returned to her nearly empty plate. “I guess so.”

  “And are you always this
stubborn?”

  Antonia scrunched her nose as she dragged her fork across the plate, scooping up the remainder of her egg. “I’m not stubborn,” she said, giving her fork an undignified lick.

  “Let me make you some more,” he offered, taking her plate.

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” she said, shaking her head.

  “That’s what women have to say,” he said, heading off into the kitchen. She heard the pop of the stove as he switched on a burner. A skillet was set back on the gas and two more eggs were cracked. “You lot act as if having a second helping is unseemly.”

  Antonia wiped her mouth on the napkin he gave her. “It’s not unseemly,” she called out. “It’s just not...cute.”

  He gave a hearty laugh over the pop and crackle of the eggs. “One man’s unseemly is another man’s cute.” His voice dipped into a mocking English accent.

  “You don’t get it,” she said, remembering how she’d hid the fact that she was always hungry around Derek. She’d barely eaten in front of him when they went out to restaurants. He always ordered fancy dishes that required tweezers to assemble. When she returned home from their nights out, she’d usually tore into a bag of chips she hid away in a cupboard. She frowned at the memory of hiding her junk food when he came around to her place. “It’s different for us.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But I find it unusual when someone doesn’t enjoy the most basic things in life. Humans deserve to enjoy food and drink.”

  “I guess.”

  “It’s one of the few things that separate us from beasts.”

  She smiled at his refreshing honesty. She didn’t get to listen to many people speak plainly at her job. Aside from Eddie, everyone constantly looked over their shoulders for the stealthy knife in the back. Derek’s work colleagues had been even worse. All pleasant smiles to your face, but vicious barbs in your absence.

  When he returned with her plate, he brought another fork with him. “What are your plans for today?”

  Antonia picked up her fork and cut off a piece of egg. “I might take a walk before I start writing.”