Black Irish

by Tricia Andersen

  “Michael?” Abbey spun toward him. Her eyes grew wide as she saw the ring pinched between his forefinger and thumb. The chip diamond embedded in the silver band glimmered in the sun.

  “Baby, marry me.”

  Abbey stared at him, her heart filling with an unexplainable sense of disappointment. She slowly turned back to the JumboTron. Michael’s proposal played out before the entire stadium. Chants of “Do it!” echoed in her ears.

  Michael frowned. “So?”

  Abbey forced a smile. With thousands of eyes pinned to her, there was only one answer she could give.

  “Yes.”

  »»•««

  The next morning, Abbey slowly and silently turned the steel handle of the glass doors to the penthouse. She always felt strange walking into the suave, sexy Irishman’s house without invitation. However, Sloan insisted she do so.

  Tiptoeing across the foyer, she stopped for a moment to take in the golden morning sun as it bathed the room in brilliant light. Hearing the thud of heavy metal float from the office, she continued her journey to the door.

  Sloan sat at his massive, mahogany desk. The dark, pulsating beat of White Zombie’s “More Human Than Human” pounded from his computer speakers. As she approached, he looked up from the ledgers and emails scattered across the surface.

  He was dressed in an Armani suit, the fabric fitted to him like a second skin, subtly revealing the muscular contours of his body. A brush of stubble across his angular chin revealed that he hadn’t bothered shaving that morning. His thick, black hair waved itself into place. His brilliant eyes sparkled in greeting.

  Sloan was a Greek god with an Irish bent. Why does he have to be gay? Abbey pondered. Not that I could ever land a man like him, but…

  “Good morning,” he purred.

  His voice shook Abbey from her thoughts. “Good morning,” she replied.

  “How may I serve this morning, my lady?”

  Lord, he’s smooth. “I just wanted to check in and see if you needed me. I thought I would spend the day with Michael.”

  Sloan chuckled. “Yes, it seems he has lots of plans for you. I have business I need to attend to today. We can get back to work tomorrow.”

  “Great.” Abbey took a deep breath. “I have some news to share too.”

  “What’s that?”

  She thrust her left hand toward him. The small silver ring was now wrapped around her finger. “Michael proposed. At the Yankees game. On the JumboTron.”

  “And you said ‘yes’?” His beautiful brogue was cold. He stood and crossed the desk. Leaning on the edge of the wood, he took her hand, lifting it to his face to examine the stone closer.

  “I had to. It was right there on the big screen for everyone to see.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’ll return to Iowa then?”

  “Not for a while. We’re going to wait a bit.”

  Sloan laughed. “It was far from romantic.”

  “What do you mean?” Abbey demanded. “What would you have done?”

  He gazed at her pensively for a moment. “After an exquisite dinner, I would take you for a walk in Central Park. Once we reached the serene gardens of Strawberry Fields, which would be lit by candlelight and adorned with red, long-stemmed roses, I would fall to one knee and ask you to be my wife.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “Strawberry Fields? That seems far from romantic.”

  Sloan smiled at her warmly. “During one of our first meetings, you confided in me that your name was derived from the Beatles album Abbey Road.”

  Abbey gawked at him in disbelief. He remembered that? Michael could hardly remember her birthday. All she could respond with was “wow.”

  His smile turned into a sly smirk. “I still know very little about you. There could be far more interesting options to devise. All better than a televised proposal at a Yankees’ game. Unless you’re a Yankees’ fan?”

  She slowly shook her head. “I don’t really watch baseball.”

  “Then I rest my case.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Abbey stared into Sloan’s blue eyes, losing herself in their depths. He caressed her hand in his. After several moments of silence, she shook herself out of her trance. “I should go. Michael will be waiting for me,” she murmured.

  “You didn’t wake him when you left?” Sloan asked.

  “No. Why would I?”

  “Well, in my experience, when I get out of bed, it has a tendency to jostle my lover awake.”

  She blushed. “We’re not sharing a room. I got him his own. He wasn’t too thrilled with me staying up late to write. It’s easier this way. It’s not a big deal. We have years to sleep together. What’s a couple of days?” There she went again, offering confessions to this dark, sensual man. “I have to go.” Pressing a kiss to his cheek in farewell, she scampered from the office and out the penthouse doors.

  »»•««

  Sloan watched her departing figure flee his office. A dark satisfaction spread across his face as he listened silently for the foyer latch to close. He chuckled to himself. “Really? They’re not?”

  Sloan returned to his chair, but his thoughts were far from the emails and ledgers on his desk. His mind filled with images of Abbey sleeping in a large hotel bed. Alone. He shifted uncomfortably as a familiar heat raged through him, an arousal he hadn’t felt for a long time. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply to suppress the desire burning deep inside him.

  However, there was one thing for certain. Iowa farm boy—one. Dark Irishman—one. Sloan growled to himself. He needed to sway that score into his favor. He needed to put an end to this imbecile’s proposal, to prove to Abbey which of them was the real man. He paused then shook his head as he berated himself. Show her who the real man is? She thinks lads turn you on, fool. She has no idea the fantasizes of her that run through your head. And how exactly do you plan to reveal the truth without losing her trust? You may not have thought this through, Sloan.

  He grasped the mouse in his hand, bringing his desktop computer to life. He clicked on his email to compose a message. He stared at the screen for one long moment before closing it.

  Exhaling, he returned to his work. Even though he had the means to make Michael disappear for good, he would have to approach this situation calmly and peacefully. It would be a first for Sloan. Whatever it takes to win her, I will do it.

  Chapter Five

  The wild, vibrant colors of waiters and clientele surged through the dining room. The Russian Tea Room was unusually busy this evening. It had been nearly impossible to book a table for six. Sloan had been forced to call in a favor from an acquaintance. He’d brought his entire entourage with him. He wasn’t going to suffer the newly engaged lovebirds alone.

  Michael and Abbey cuddled together. He excitedly chirped wedding plans to her. She just nodded along with a plastered smile on her face. It seemed in their afternoon together, they had set a date two years in the future.

  Sloan watched them from across the table, swallowing his seething temper like a bitter pill. He was wedged between Bartholomew and Robert. Gordon, being the ever-patient soul he was, volunteered to sit next to the happy couple. He huffed. Why would such a stunning beauty want to spend the rest of her life with a shmuck like that?

  Michael had giggled and scoffed when introduced to Robert, seemingly remembering what Abbey had told him about Robert and Sloan’s fictional relationship. Sloan had grasped Robert’s wrist to prevent him from pummeling Michael into a bloody pulp. He could tell by the tension in Robert’s arm that it took all his self-control not to launch himself across the table and attack the immature country boy. Michael snickered at the reaction. Sloan’s eyes narrowed. The little son of a bitch must see it as an act of affection, not aggression. Maybe I should let Robert beat the shit out of him.

  Sloan suddenly snapped his head to attention as he tuned into Michael and Abbey’s conversation.

  “When
I get home, I’ll book the country club for our reception,” Michael confirmed. “But I do have one problem.”

  “What’s that?” Abbey asked.

  “The deposit. It’s going to take my entire paycheck. And it’s the only way we can hold the date.”

  “I’ll pay for it,” she volunteered. “I can write you a check.”

  “What if I lose it?” he objected. “Or you don’t have the right amount? No, I have a better idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m going to be your husband. Put me on your bank account.”

  A deep growl from Sloan swept across the table. Abbey shook her head uneasily. “I’m not sure about that.”

  “I don’t believe that’s a good idea, Abigail,” Sloan warned.

  Michael spun toward him. “This is our business. Stay out.” Michael turned back to Abbey, taking her hand in his. “Baby, it’d be easier for me to take care of wedding plans while you’re here in New York. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

  She looked at him uncertainly. “Just wedding expenses?”

  “Of course, baby. You can trust me.”

  She stared at him for a moment then nodded. “Sure. All right. I’ll call the bank on Monday and take care of it.”

  Michael’s grin widened in triumph. “Great. Now, I’m gonna take a leak. Be right back.” He stood and crossed the dining room, heading toward the restrooms.

  Abbey lowered her gaze to her plate. Sloan sensed she was preparing herself for a stern lecture from him. Glancing at each of his friends, he shook his head sadly. He took his napkin from his lap and pushed to his feet.

  “I see a business associate at the bar I need to speak to. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Sloan wove his way through the dining room toward the bar. At the last moment, he diverted his path, heading toward the bathrooms. Silently waiting beside the door, he positioned himself for attack.

  He closed his eyes, channeling his past life for a moment, until he heard the door open. Like a flash of light, he grasped the back of Michael’s collar. Sloan pinned him against the wall of the deserted corridor, utilizing the six inches that he towered over the blond to lift him off the floor.

  “What the hell?” Michael demanded. An uneasy chuckle escaped his lips. “Sorry, dude. I don’t swing that way.”

  The smile Sloan returned with was pure evil. “Neither do I. Even if I did, no amount of money in this universe would entice me to touch you. No self-respecting gay man would come within a mile of you. And all the ones I know could kick your ass. I swear to you, if you hurt Abigail, I will find you. And I will make you regret it. Do you understand me?” Sloan spat through clenched teeth.

  “Put me down, or I’ll call the cops!”

  Sloan shook him violently. “Do you understand me?”

  Sloan’s head snapped around at the sound of footsteps approaching. He glared at Michael one last time to cement his threat then silently dropped him to his feet.

  Michael rustled his shirt to straighten it then cocked his head to Sloan in an attempt to be tough. “I won’t tell Abbey you assaulted me. Or that you’re straight. She’d be furious at you.”

  He strutted away, leaving Sloan in the dark hallway. Sloan snarled as he watched him disappear. Let him dwell on the fact that he’s leaving his fiancé with a very heterosexual man.

  »»•««

  Abbey leaned her elbows against the edge of the penthouse balcony, basking in the warmth of the summer morning sunshine. The buzz of traffic thirty-six floors below soothed her.

  Two weeks had passed since the chaos of Michael’s visit, and it seemed everything was right again. Abbey was stunned—Michael had done exactly what he’d said he would do and reserved their reception hall with the check she had given him. He never approached her for more money. He seemed very content. She exhaled. Maybe her apprehension had been wrong.

  Abbey felt warm ceramic brush against her arm. She turned to find Sloan at her side, offering her a cup of coffee. He was casual today, wearing just a pair of low-slung Levis. The sun glistened off his bronze, sculpted torso. Swirls of intricate ink graced across his chest and down both arms. Sloan was the last person she thought would have tattoos, yet on him they were perfect. They made him look sexier, more dangerous. She bit her bottom lip. I’d like to trace those designs with my tongue. She fought against the burn building inside her as she took the mug. He leaned against the terrace beside her, nursing his own hot beverage in a pair of very large hands.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

  She smiled contently. “It’s so beautiful out here. I just love everything going on. I love this city.”

  “It’s too bad you’re going to leave it all behind in a year or two.”

  Her smile faded. “I’m going to enjoy it while I can.” She stared out, taking in the tall steel and stone structures around her. “I could only want one thing more than this.”

  “That is?”

  “To see the ocean. I always wanted to see the ocean. Any ocean. I’m not picky. The largest body of water I’ve seen is the Mississippi River. To see crystal blue water go on forever…that would be amazing.”

  “When Michael was here, you didn’t go to Ellis Island? Take a ferry ride?”

  Abbey couldn’t keep the tone of disappointment out of her voice. “It wasn’t his idea of fun.”

  “Was there anything that you wanted to do that he thought would be fun?”

  “Not really. His idea of fun was sports and bars and greasy food. My idea of fun is a good book or a great play or a cup of coffee in a quiet, eclectic café.”

  “And he didn’t compromise.”

  “Nope. Compromise really isn’t in Michael’s vocabulary.” Should I be talking badly like this about the man who I’m going to marry? Sloan probably thinks I’m being terrible. She paused then an inquisitive grin spread across her face. “What about you? I’ve told you my wish. What’s your greatest wish?”

  “I don’t have one,” he answered.

  Abbey laughed. “You have to have one.”

  Sloan swept his hand toward the penthouse. “Does it look like I need anything?”

  “What about a family? Don’t you want to start a family? Have kids? You have to want kids. You and Robert would be great… Okay, you would make a great dad. I’m not so sure about Robert.”

  He chuckled then took a sip of coffee. “Someday maybe. Right now, my lifestyle doesn’t afford it. And I like my lifestyle quite a bit.”

  “So, there’s nothing?”

  Sloan paused, staring into his mug. After a moment, he looked back up at Abbey, staring into her hazel eyes. His Irish brogue was deep. “Maybe there is one thing.”

  “What?”

  “It’s personal.”

  “You can tell me. I won’t tell.”

  He smiled gently. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

  Abbey nudged him playfully. “You’re impossible.” Instinctively, she snuggled against him, drinking her coffee, and once again enjoying the city life around her.

  She heard him sigh as he murmured, “Oh lass, you have no idea.”

  »»•««

  Sloan set the stick of chalk on the table next to the easel. He swiveled around and watched Abbey type furiously on the keyboard of her laptop. She sat sideways in her chair, her back leaning against one arm as she dangled her legs over the other. Her white T-shirt dipped low against her full breasts and clung tightly to her figure. Her flowered capris caressed her hips and thighs. A flip-flop hung precariously off each fuchsia-painted big toe.

  She bit her lip as she stared at the screen. He groaned. Lord, she’s beautiful.

  The doors of the foyer opened and shut. Both Sloan and Abbey turned to find Robert leaning against the wall. He flipped through a pile of mail in his hand.

  “Did I get anything?” Sloan inquired sarcastically.

  Robert laughed. “Nope, nothing. Just bills, checks…” His voice trailed off as he stared at one particula
r envelope. He looked up at Sloan, his face stone. “Sloan, we need to talk. Alone.”

  “What is it?”

  “This isn’t a good time. Your office, please.”

  Abbey looked at Sloan, concern flooding her face. He smiled at her gently then turned back to Robert. “Just give me the letter,” he demanded, trying to sound patient. “Who could it be from that’s so important?”

  Robert crossed the living room in a couple of determined strides, the muscles of his shorts-clad thighs bunching with each step. He snapped the envelope under Sloan’s nose.

  “The INS. They caught up to you.”

  Alarm filled Sloan’s eyes as he took the envelope and tore it open. He scanned the letter.

  Abbey sat up in the chair. “What is it?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Sloan is most likely being deported,” Robert answered.

  “Why?” she near-screeched.

  “Because I’m here illegally,” Sloan answered, his voice pitching dangerously. He felt the fight within him bubbling to the surface. By the alarm in Abbey’s eyes, he sensed she could hear it too.

  “I don’t understand.”

  He stood, still clenching the document in his hand. “I came to the United States on an Investment Visa. I invested a million dollars in an art gallery here in Manhattan seven years ago and came here to oversee it. It didn’t last long. When it closed, I never went back to Europe. I stayed here.”

  “But they can’t send you away. You work for Panda.”

  Sloan looked at Abbey. His face softened. “Under contract. Just like you.”

  “There has to be a way for you to get another visa,” she insisted.

  “There isn’t,” Robert thundered, shutting her down. “We’ve already thought about this.”

  Abbey cocked her chin up in defiance. “Sloan is a millionaire. Just grab your driver’s license and go visit Immigration. Money talks, doesn’t it?”

  Sloan stiffened at her suggestion. Certainly, if my license and passport were legal. We nearly got caught the first time. And yes, money does buy anything. It bought that first visa from a corrupt official.

  Robert hovered over her and snarled. “Just because you’ve been here a couple of weeks you have the solution, huh? I said we tried everything.”