by Claire Adams
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Good. That was Lily Parker, the lady from Friends of the Library. They’re—”
“It’s okay—you don’t need to tell me all the details with that. Jonathan’s handling their account. I was actually wondering if you might be up for a little adventure.”
“Adventure?” I said. I could see his idea of an adventure being something like skydiving or caving or going to the race car track. “Um . . . I guess that depends. What were you thinking?”
“Well, it’s a beautiful day out, and I haven’t been out on my boat in a while. I’d like to take you out.”
“Now? It’s Tuesday. It’s the middle of the day.”
“I know.” He gave me a wolfish grin. “But you know? I’m the boss, so I get to make the rules. Jonathan’s on his way back to the office right now, so I’ll just text him and let him know that we’ve got . . . a couple errands to run.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started tapping away at the screen before I could say anything. Was this sort of thing normal? Did he always do this? I’d certainly never had a job like this before, and part of me thought that I should do the responsible thing and stay here, because what if someone called? What if someone came in? Then I remembered that he said Jonathan would be back soon, but still . . . I pushed those thoughts away, though. He was the boss, after all. And when was the last time that I’d been on an adventure?
I’d only been boating a few times in my life, so long ago that I barely remembered it. But I could recall lying on my side near the front of the small sailboat, letting my arm dangle, my fingertips just skimming the surface of the blue water. Then, my cousin came up and said I better watch out or a shark was going to appear from the depths and snatch me.
Ian’s boat was too big for me to be able to lie on my side and let my arm hang and my fingers touch the water, but I was able to sit up near the bow and watch the water stretched out before us, looking like liquid crystal with the sunshine glinting off of it.
His boat was called Man Cave, and he said he didn’t get to take it out too often. “So when there’s a gorgeous day like this and things at work are slow, it kind of makes sense to do this, doesn’t it?”
“It’s really beautiful,” I said, walking back to him.
“Yeah,” he said. He was stretched out on the cream-colored leather couch on deck. “Sure as hell beats being stuck in the city right now. Come, sit down.”
I went over to the couch and he swung his legs around, so he was in a sitting position. I sat next to him.
“One of the perks of the job, I guess,” he said. He gave me a stern look. “But don’t get used to this. Unfortunately, it can’t be a regular occurrence.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. I could tell he was looking at me, but I suddenly felt shy, so I looked toward the horizon, where the sky met the water. Time almost seemed to slow down, or maybe it sped up; I suddenly felt as though I were in some sort of capsule, it was just Ian and me on this boat, and even though I could look to my left and see the city, it felt like we were the last people on the face of the earth.
He leaned forward, his face just inches from my own. I could feel my pulse racing, though it was hard to take a breath. I wanted him to kiss me, yet at the same time, I was terrified.
“Daisy,” he said in a low voice.
I looked over and met his eyes, but looked away quickly. It just felt like too much; this whole thing was making me feel like I was going to spontaneously combust. But his lips were right there, and all I had to do was lean in a little . . .
But I couldn’t move. I felt completely paralyzed, other than the racing heart, though Ian didn’t seem at all bothered by this. Other guys might have taken it to mean I wasn’t interested, but Ian just continued to look at me. He brought his hand up to my chin and gently tilted my head back. He leaned down and closed the short distance between us, just brushing his lips to mine.
A warm shiver reverberated through my whole body, and I felt goosebumps on my arms, even though I wasn’t cold at all and the sun was bathing us in a warm glow. He pressed his mouth more firmly against my own, now, cupping my chin in his hand, holding me there, the tip of his tongue tracing the contours of my lips.
I kissed him back. Slowly, at first, because it had been so long since I’d last kissed someone—really kissed someone—that I was afraid I’d have forgotten, but no, it was like my body knew exactly what it was doing and it didn’t need my brain to offer any instruction. My lips moved with his in perfect synchronicity; there were no miscues, no banging of teeth, no awkwardness whatsoever.
“You’re a hot little thing,” he said when we finally broke apart, “no doubt about that. But we’re going to stop for now.”
My eyes flew open. “We . . . are?” I was about to ask why, but caught myself.
“We don’t need to rush things,” he said. “I’m exercising restraint. Which may sound surprising, but is something I like to do from time to time. But don’t worry—they’ll be plenty of time to do things like this again. I wasn’t expecting any of that to happen. That wasn’t my plan; I want you to know that.”
I nodded, feeling my heart rate finally beginning to slow down. There was an aching longing between my legs, and I wanted to just jump on him, but there was no way I was going to do something like that. “I know,” I said. “And trust me—I wasn’t expecting any of that to happen, either.”
“But it did.”
“It did.”
“And it was very good. More than that, actually. So don’t go getting all insecure or feeling weird about why we didn’t happen to go all the way today, all right? Because that has nothing to do with it.”
“Okay,” I said, though it was a little hard to believe. If he was really that interested, wouldn’t he have wanted to have sex right now? “That’s fine. I . . . I’m actually a virgin.”
I didn’t know why I said it; was it supposed to be like, I’ve waited this long already, I can continue to wait? Because that seemed kind of silly. And the way I was feeling right now, I didn’t know if I could wait, but obviously, I was going to have to.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a virgin?”
“Yes,” I said. The way he said it, it was as if he thought I was lying. “Is that really so hard to believe?”
“I’ve heard—” He stopped and shook his head. “No,” he said. “Well, yes, in a way. How old are you? Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Wow. That’s pretty impressive. Most girls your age have gotten laid at least a few times. In my experience, anyway.”
“Do you have much experience with women in their early twenties?” Did I really just say that?
“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I do. And, believe it or not, at one point I, too, was in my early twenties.”
“I bet you were.”
Had he put something in that drink I’d had when we first set out? Some sort of confidence boosting concoction? It had just been a bottle of water, but maybe there was something that was odorless, tasteless. Because I could not ever remember flirting with a guy like this before, and feeling totally comfortable and excited about doing it—if I hadn’t had a little alcohol first. Maybe it was just the warm sun and the salt air and the fact that I was having more fun that I could ever remember having in a long time.
“It’s not that I haven’t had any sexual encounters . . . I’ve had a few of those. I just haven’t had sex.”
“Have you ever given a blowjob?”
I felt my face flush. “No.”
“Ever had a guy go down on you?”
I turned even redder. “Um, no.”
“No?”
“Well, one guy tried but . . . it was too weird. Also, it tickled.”
Ian smiled. “Is that so.”
“Yeah.” That had been Emmett, the guy I’d been with in high school. I barely even remembered it now, though I could recall laughing because it really did tickle, which of course he took persona
lly and refused to talk to me for the next two days. “It was a boyfriend way back when.”
“So you have had a boyfriend. And he didn’t try to sleep with you? I find that really hard to believe.”
“He was a nice guy.”
Ian raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying that I’m not?”
“No, but you two are very different. He was a writer, and more important to him than a girlfriend or even sex was his writing. Our physical relationship always took a backseat to that.”
“You were like his muse. I can see that.”
“I’m a writer, too, you know.”
“I think you mentioned that before. Lapsed writer, though, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Well, I need to get back at it. That’s what I went to school for.”
“Interesting. And now you’re working for me.”
“And now I’m working for you.”
“Listen,” he said. He traced his fingers lightly up and down my arms. I wanted nothing more than to fall into him, to press my face against his torso, feel his arms wrap around me, his hands doing things to my body that just made me blush to think about . . . But he was looking at me with intensity, so I tried to focus on what he was saying.
“I’m listening,” I said.
“Let’s . . . Let’s just keep this between us,” he said. “I certainly wasn’t expecting things to go in this direction, so I think, for now, it would be best if we didn’t talk about this with anyone else. Especially not at work. I’m the boss and everything, but there’s probably some sort of ethical violation in hooking up with an employee.”
“I’d think you’d get to call the shots on that,” I said, even though he was probably right. “But that makes sense.”
“It might even be like a fun little game. You’re sitting out there at your desk, knowing that I can see you from my office, and we’ve just got to pretend that there’s nothing there between us. Think you can hang with that?”
“Of course I can.” Though the aching between my legs was suggesting otherwise.
“Good.”
He cupped my chin again and ran his thumb over my lower lip. “Because I find it entirely arousing that you’re a virgin. I’d like to remedy that, but not right now.”
I opened my mouth to say that right now would be perfectly fine with me, but then I stopped. I could tell he knew how badly I wanted him, how if he asked me to, I’d rip all my clothes off right then and there and lie back, legs spread for him. There was a part of myself that couldn’t believe I was actually thinking these thoughts, but there was just something about him that seemed to bring this out in me.
“You’re like no one I have ever met before,” I said.
He grinned. “I am very happy to hear that.”
By the time I got back to my car, the sun was starting to go down. The skin on my face felt tight and warm to the touch; I’d probably gotten a pretty good sunburn. I was thinking I’d just go home, take a cool shower, and take it easy for the rest of the night, but then Caroline texted and asked if I wanted to stop by and help her eat the Mediterranean takeout she’d gotten.
“Look at all this food,” she said when I got there. “All this, for one person. Allegedly. It’s crazy!”
Her small kitchen table was covered in food—dolmas, lamb shawarma, tabouli, falafel. “I hope you’re hungry. So . . . you said you went with Ian on a boat? When?”
“Today.”
“Today? What—did you get up at the ass-crack of dawn or something?”
I grabbed an olive and started to suck on it. “No, it was during work. He just came up to me and asked if I wanted to, like it was the most normal thing on the face of the planet to do. And . . . and we kissed.”
Her eyes widened and a grin broke out on her face. “You did?! I knew it! How was it?”
I bit into the olive, working the pit out. “It was really good. But . . . I really don’t know if I can do this.”
“What are you talking about?” Caroline asked. “Of course you can. I can tell that you like him, too. And this is the perfect way to get Noah to leave you alone. Once he sees that you’re involved with someone else, I bet he’ll back off. He’ll realize that there’s no point.”
“That’d be nice, but I don’t know if it’s going to be so simple,” I said. “And I just don’t know if I can be involved with someone like Ian.”
“But why? What are you so afraid of?”
What was I so afraid of? I wasn’t sure. I’d spent all weekend trying to figure it out, yet here it was, Sunday night, and I was no closer to getting to any sort of answer. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t want to screw it up.”
Caroline did not look impressed. “So better to just not do anything? Better to just act like you’re completely not interested, even though a blind person could see that you are?”
“I know it sounds foolish. And stupid. But you should see him, Caroline. He gorgeous, but it’s more than that . . . he exudes this confidence like no one I’ve ever met before. It’s like it’s magnetic.”
“Yeah, would you like to know why it’s like that?”
“Yeah, I would, actually. I am totally not used to feeling this way toward anyone.”
“Because that’s basically your opposite.”
I sniffed. “Gee, thanks.”
“I’m not saying you don’t have any self-esteem, but you constantly doubt yourself. Even over things that you know you can do.”
“I don’t mean to. I just kind of feel like he’s out of my league.”
I spit the olive pit out. “He’s absolutely not out of your league. You just need a little more confidence, is all.” She pushed the tub of tabouli toward me. “Have some of this,” she said.
“Maybe you’re right,” I said.
Chapter Eleven
Ian
Seamus McAllister was HTS’s biggest individual client, though I rarely had to deal with him directly; most often it was his son, Billy, that handled the fine print, such as booking us for things like the sister’s birthday party, or alerting me when a high profile guest could be expected at the poker club. Billy was also far more social than his father was, and didn’t have any qualms about stopping by the office if he was in the neighborhood, which was often enough since we weren’t too far from his favorite bar—I mean, pub—Failte. He was big into the day drinking.
We’d also been pretty good friends in middle school and high school—Billy and I—but then we just sort of drifted apart, though we had never completely lost contact, and once his father got in touch with me about providing security services, Billy picked things back up like we were teenagers again.
So I wasn’t too surprised to see him strolling into the office at eleven o’clock that Tuesday morning. I’d been on a call with the manager at one of the boatyards on the harbor we had a contract with, so my door had been partially closed, but I could hear Billy before he’d even come into the main office.
When I finally got off the phone a few minutes later and opened my door, I was greeted by the sight of Billy leaning with one leg propped up on Daisy’s desk, bent at the knee, his lower leg swinging.
“No, I know I’ve seen you before,” he was saying. “Look at me again.”
She turned her face toward him, and they held each other’s gazes, him squinting slightly, her with a slightly chagrinned look on her face.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” she said.
He brought his hand up and rubbed his chin, his brow furrowing. Then he snapped his fingers. “Got it,” he said. “I’ve seen you at Failte.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Yeah, probably! My best friend and I go there all the time.”
“You’re keeping all the good-looking women here, Roubideaux,” Billy said. “First Petra, then Annie, now this one . . .” He gave Daisy the eyes. “You seeing anyone, sweetheart?” I felt a flare of anger swirl through my chest, but I gritted my teeth and grinned.
Daisy looked at me, and th
en said—rather empathically—“No.”
That was all Billy needed to hear. Even if she had been seeing someone, that had never deterred him before. He could be a downright scoundrel when he wanted to be—he’d probably slept with more women than I had—but no fucking way was he going to move in on Daisy, I didn’t give a shit what dirty thoughts were going through his mind right now.
“Well.” He rubbed his palms together and stood up. “Thrilled to hear it. Anyway, I’ve got to run, but I sure do hope to see you around.”
“He was nice,” Daisy said after he left. “It’s so funny, I’ve seen him around the bar before, but we never talked.
“So,” I said, “you’re not seeing anyone?”
“That’s what we said we were going to do, wasn’t it?” she asked. “We weren’t going to tell anyone?”
Maybe, but that was really more in regards to Jonathan; I hadn’t factored Billy fuckin McAllister coming into the picture.
Chapter Twelve
Daisy
After work, I met up with Caroline for a drink.
“You won’t believe it,” I said, “but that red-haired guy that we see here sometimes is a client of Ian’s. He came into the office today.”
“He’s hot,” Caroline said. She leaned toward me. “You know whose son he is though, don’t you?”
“Son? No, I don’t.”
“Seamus McAllister. He’s basically the head of the Irish mafia. Well, it’s not really the mafia, but it’s kind of like that.”
I gave her a skeptical look. “How do you know?”
“I don’t know; it’s one of those things that I thought everyone just kind of knew.”
“I certainly didn’t know that. And why would someone from the mafia need security services?”
“It’s not really the mafia. But it’s like it.” Caroline’s eyes shifted past me toward the door. “And speak of the devil,” she said.
I turned and looked over my shoulder. Billy had just breezed in, and it was like he had a homing device or something, the way he looked right over at me, even though we were toward the back.
