Black Irish

by Tricia Andersen

  Sloan chuckled again as he opened the cover of the book and began to read. Taking a long sip of his own cup of coffee, he focused on the words of the first page. Yes, it’ll be a long afternoon. But in the end, it would be more than worth it. Bring it on.

  Chapter Ten

  Life was a roller coaster. It peaked. It sank. It was making Abbey feel sick.

  She spent her days working at the diner. She spent her nights with Sloan, working on their book. She was finally able to sort out all her scraps of paper and piece the story together like a puzzle. As she confidently completed a page, Sloan took to his easel, sketching her words into a visual form with pencils and chalk. Such a simple picture book shouldn’t have taken so long. Abbey had to admit it. But taking her time mean more time with her illustrator, her husband. She didn’t know what would happen to them when they were done. She planned to drag it out as long as possible. And never once did she ask him about a divorce. She didn’t have the courage.

  Abbey was still cold to Sloan on Monday. By Tuesday, the ice began to break. By Wednesday, he made her smile. By Thursday, she was too excited to relate something that had happened at the diner to give him the silent treatment. By Friday, they were laughing, talking, and even chasing each other around the penthouse like children.

  Then Saturday came. Sloan dressed to impress for his nightclub hopping, while Abbey curled up on the couch at the coffee house, too infuriated to concentrate on reading. On Sunday, they were back to square one, with Abbey hardly able to be in the same room with Sloan, and Sloan eventually retreating into his office.

  And it was once again Saturday night.

  They had played this game for three weeks. Abbey was emotionally drained. Her better sense told her to run. This game of the heart was too much to bear. It was time to cut her losses. Yet, she just couldn’t walk away from Sloan. No matter how much it hurt.

  She shuffled to the counter and ordered herself the largest mug of decaf coffee the shop offered. She idly chatted with the baristas as they prepared her drink. Deep down inside, she didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Her heart just wasn’t in it.

  She looked up at Martin. She could tell by the concerned look in his green eyes that he knew something was bothering her. She forced a smile on her face as she took the mug from him. After adding some cream to the thick, dark liquid, she returned to the sofa where she left her things and set her cup on the coffee table beside it.

  She wandered to the nearest bookshelf. Poking through the selection, she pulled one book after the other off the shelf to read the summaries on the back cover. Finally, she found a romance, a bodice-ripper with an illustration of a half-naked man and woman lusting over each other on the cover. The plot of the story sounded intriguing. A romance. Just what I need right now with the shape my heart is in.

  She slumped back onto the couch and tugged her drooping, green pajama pants printed with happy jumping frogs back up her hips. Yes, she was in her pajamas in public. It was her thing to do—it made this place, which was already so cozy, like snuggling with her favorite blanket. And with the clientele that frequented the café, she almost fit in.

  Abbey was thankful for the drawstring on her pants. They barely fit—they were too big. Before Miami, they had fit like a glove. She didn’t realize just how little she had been eating in the past few months. These pajamas were just one of many outfits that no longer fit her.

  She had taken things like cute clothes, Internet, and cell phones for granted—they were simply things she deserved. To her, they weren’t luxuries. That was until the bottom fell out from beneath her world. She didn’t take much for granted anymore.

  She sighed deeply. Maybe I should be truthful with Sloan about how I feel. There was no use in denying it anymore. She was completely, undoubtedly head over heels in love with Sloan O’Riley. She had been since that first day in the conference room of Panda Publications. He made her heart race. His sexy smile made her knees go weak. Her deepest wish was to be his wife in more than title only.

  However, Sloan was rich and powerful. He was incredibly sexy. He was charismatic and very persuasive. Abbey knew that personally. Those beautiful women she saw on Google were the type for him—socialites with long beautiful hair and flawless skin, women who knew how to be pampered by a man of power. He had no use for a naïve, poor, plain girl like her.

  Abbey felt tears burn her eyes. She pushed the buds of her MP3 player into her ears and turned on the music. She forced herself to dive into the novel.

  »»•««

  Sloan stretched his arms across the back of the booth as he observed the scene before him—business rivals sharing secrets, acquaintances laughing, couples dancing with a bump and grind that preluded what would finish in the bedroom. He watched the club life like a panther lazing in the rainforest stealthily watching his prey. But his prey wasn’t found in this chaos.

  Sloan took a sip of his whiskey. At least Abbey isn’t at the diner tonight. He made every effort to let her know how much he disapproved of her job. He could envision her waiting on dangerous men in her faded turquoise uniform, her skirt too high for his taste in front of such clientele.

  He respected Abbey’s reasoning for staying. She needed to learn to trust again. Not one, but two men had betrayed her at the same time. But that didn’t mean he had to like her being there.

  Sloan set the glass tumbler on the table. He glanced up as he felt the burgundy patent leather seat shift.

  “What can I do for you, Amber?” he greeted her coldly.

  Amber’s blue eyes twinkled as she tossed her long blonde hair from her shoulder, revealing a low cut, ice blue dress. “Oh, where can I begin? No matter where I start, it ends with you naked in my bed.”

  Sloan flashed her his sexy smile. “No.”

  “Sloan…”

  “How many times do we have to do this, Amber?”

  “When was the last time you had sex?” Amber chided.

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  “So it really has been a year, huh?”

  He glared at her. She scraped her fingers sensually across his chest then wrapped his tie in her fist. She continued, “Don’t you remember us together? It was incredible. You can’t tell me part of you doesn’t want that again, especially after a year of being celibate. At least that’s the rumor. Every one I’ve talked to says you’ve been living alone.”

  Sloan pulled his tie free from her. “I can honestly tell you I don’t want to sleep with you again.”

  “Why not?” she demanded, fury etching in her perfect porcelain face.

  Lifting his left hand to his face, he turned the back of it to her, flexing the finger bearing the simple gold band. “I’m a married man, Amber.”

  She laughed incredulously. “For a green card, not for love. You barely know this girl. How could you love her? Does she love you? I love you, Sloan.”

  He shook his head. “You lust for me, not love me. And I’m not with my wife for a green card.”

  “Then why are you here if you care for your…wife?”

  “For my visa. To meet with business investors. To make money. It’s the only reason I come to these night clubs.”

  “And me?” Amber screeched. “And our nights together? What was I?”

  Sloan stared deep in her eyes. “A diversion. Just like the other women I spent the night with. Amber, I made no promises of love to you when we were together. I was honest with you. No relationship. No love. Just sex.”

  Her face twisted in anger. “Well, I never…”

  Slipping his phone from his pocket, he typed briefly. Then, he tucked it away and removed a few dollar bills, dropping them on the table. Sloan took a final swig of his whiskey then stood.

  “Where are you going?” Amber growled, following him.

  “Leaving.” Sloan gave her one final glare. Then, he strode through the packed club to the door. The black Hummer sat patiently waiting. He climbed inside and took his seat.

  Gordon watched him f
rom the rear view mirror. “That was quick, young one.”

  “So was your response to my text,” Sloan replied. “I finished what I needed to do.”

  “Yes, but months ago you would have stayed out until the wee hours of the morning.”

  Sloan stared out the dark, tinted window. “Doesn’t appeal to me anymore.”

  Gordon chuckled as he pulled out into New York City’s busy Saturday night traffic. “Home then?”

  “I suppose. Where else would I go?”

  “I know of a great little coffee shop in Greenwich Village. How about a cup of coffee, young one?”

  Sloan smiled as he returned Gordon’s gaze in the mirror. “Still, the penthouse.”

  The amusement in Gordon’s eyes faded. Sloan’s smile grew as he continued, “To take you home. I’ll take the Hummer to Greenwich Village.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Sloan? Going out in Manhattan alone?” Gordon’s voice gravely warned.

  “Yes, Gordon. I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  »»•««

  The novel was incredible. Abbey couldn’t put it down, and she was very grateful. Even on paper, the hero of the book was very desirable. He was smooth, charismatic, and sexy. She paused. The hero is a fictional form of Sloan. She sighed deeply.

  She dove back into the book. Her eyes locked on every printed word as she sat forward on the couch. She groped aimlessly for her mug while she kept reading, bracing for the hot shock of the ceramic cup.

  Instead, Abbey’s fingers wrapped around something smooth, soft, and supple. The tip where her thumb rested was cold and metallic. Whatever she had in her hand, it wasn’t her decaf coffee.

  She looked up. Sloan was sitting in the chair beside the sofa, his legs stretched out, with his boot-covered feet resting crossed on the coffee table inches away from her mug. He smiled lazily at her as she let go of the boot in her hand.

  “Sloan, what are you doing here?”

  “Watching you read.”

  “How long have you been sitting there?”

  Sloan looked at his watch. “About an hour now.”

  Abbey stared at him quizzically. Have I really been reading for over an hour? So much for my hot coffee.

  “I thought you went to the night club tonight.” She picked up her cup and took a sip. It was still good cold.

  “I did. But I’d rather watch you read.”

  “Really?” She shifted uncomfortably.

  He nodded. “Go back to reading.”

  “Sloan, I can’t read while you’re watching me.”

  His ice blue eyes twinkled in amusement. “Very well, then.” He stood and crossed to the basket beside the nearest bookshelf. He returned with a box in his hand.

  “What is that?”

  “Well, my beautiful author, you’re a master wordsmith. I’m curious to see if I, a simple illustrator, am any match to your skill with words.” Sloan set the Scrabble game on the coffee table between them.

  Setting the book down beside her on the sofa, Abbey slowly sat up as Sloan lifted the lid. He laid the playing board out then distributed the tiles. With a sweep of his hand, he offered her the first turn.

  Abbey watched as he settled back in the armchair. She was mesmerized as he scraped his lower lip with his teeth. I want to bite that lower lip. Tearing her gaze away, she forced herself to concentrate on making a word with her pieces.

  After a moment, she carefully laid out five tiles to spell “house.” She sat back proudly. “It isn’t much, but it’s what I’ve got. Your turn.”

  Sloan laughed as he sat forward and sorted his tiles quickly. “What you have will always be what I want, Abigail.”

  The hours passed without Abbey or Sloan noticing. They were completely engrossed in their game and each other. Abbey would pull several points ahead of Sloan. Then, just as soon as she thought her Scrabble victory was at hand, Sloan would lay down a barrage of words that gave him the lead. Still, just when he was grinning in conquest, Lady Luck again sided with her. They were tied more often than not.

  Her attention was distracted from the game by the sound of clanging pans in dishwater. Searching behind the coffee bar, her gaze found the baristas dutifully cleaning up from the day’s business. She glanced at her phone.

  “Sloan, it’s almost one o’clock in the morning! They’re about to close,” she exclaimed in disbelief.

  He looked down at the board. “There’s no clear winner.”

  “We have to stop. We can’t keep them here.”

  Sloan smirked at her slyly. “Until next time then.”

  Abbey stared at him. I could get really sick of his constant, devious smile—if it weren’t so dang sexy. It made her heart flutter and her knees go weak. That seemed like a daily affliction anymore.

  He quickly dumped the tiles and board into the box and put it back into the basket where he had found it. Abbey gathered her things into her purse then picked up her jacket. She looked up into Sloan’s ice blue eyes as he wrapped his hand around hers.

  “Let me.”

  Sloan took the coat from her. He sharply shook it to straighten it then held it for her to put on. She slipped one arm at a time into the sleeves before zipping it closed then pulling her wallet from her purse. She riffled through the meager cash inside.

  “What are you doing?” Sloan asked.

  “Looking to see how much money I have. It’s too late to take the subway. I’ll have to find a cab to take me home.”

  He took the wallet from her hand. “Nonsense. I’ll take you home.”

  Abbey shook her head vehemently. “It’s too late. It’s not fair to keep Gordon out this late.”

  “Gordon isn’t waiting for us. I brought the Hummer.”

  “You can drive?”

  “Yes, I can drive.”

  “Why do you have Gordon as your chauffer then?”

  “It’s complicated.” Sloan gestured to the exit. “If you keep me much later, I will go home. And I will take you with me.”

  His threat sent a surge of electricity coursing through her. For a moment, she was tempted to start a pointless, heated debate on his driving skills just so he would make good on his warning. Picking up her purse from the sofa, she silently headed to the door with Sloan on her heels. He held it open as she passed through.

  Wrapping his long, powerful fingers around her bicep, he led her down the sidewalk to a secured parking lot at the corner. Unlocking the car with his remote from a considerable distance, he helped her into the passenger seat.

  She folded her hands in her lap nervously as she watched him climb in behind the wheel. Sloan twisted the key in the ignition. He tapped the power button to the radio with his knuckle then slid the gearshift into reverse. The haunting melody of the Cranberries’ “Zombie” filled the cab.

  Abbey watched the busy streets of New York City through the windshield. It seemed strange that so many people were still out. Then she remembered—the clubs and bars were open and going strong. She watched Sloan intently as he maneuvered through the traffic. What made him leave the clubs? And why doesn’t he drive more? He was better than Gordon. She didn’t ask him for answers to either question.

  The entire ride from the coffee shop to her apartment was quiet. Abbey sensed a strange tension from her brooding driver. It was something she had never felt from him before, like he was waging an internal war with himself. She gathered her purse onto her lap as he stopped alongside the curb in front of her building.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she offered as she reached for the handle.

  Abbey turned back amazed as she heard Sloan turn off the ignition and step out. She blinked, surprised, as her husband crossed around the nose of the Hummer and opened her door.

  “I’ll walk you to your apartment,” he concluded.

  “That’s not necessary,” Abbey objected. She was admittedly thankful for the escort. At this hour, she was a little frightened of those who roamed the halls of the building. But compared to his lavish penthouse, h
er apartment was a crumbling, sewer-smelling embarrassment.

  He stared deep into her awe-struck, hazel eyes. “Non-negotiable.”

  Smiling weakly, she turned toward the entrance. She gasped softly as she felt Sloan’s leather-gloved hand take hers captive. She glanced up at her intimidating husband as he escorted her into the litter-strewn stairwell.

  They silently ascended the five flights of stairs to her floor. Then, they weaved through piles of trash and groups of thugs as they made their way down the hall. Abbey watched Sloan’s face. His cold, hard stare parted those in the hall like Moses and the Red Sea.

  Abbey pulled her key from her jacket as they stopped in front of her door. She took a breath to dismiss Sloan. The trip to this point was humiliating enough. But before she could speak, he nodded his head with a gentle smile, encouraging her to open it. With a heavy exhale, she unlocked and opened the door, leading him inside.

  Sloan glanced around the meager, nearly unfurnished, efficiency apartment.

  Abbey choked out a laugh. “I’ve never seen it, but I’m guessing your master bath is bigger than my whole apartment.”

  His amused chuckle confirmed her suspicions. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he replied.

  “See you in the morning,” she confirmed.

  He gazed into her eyes as his smile faded. Abbey’s breath caught in her throat as Sloan caressed her cheek with his fingertips. Her lower lip quivered as he dragged the pad of his thumb across the tender flesh. It had taken months for Abbey to forget the embrace they shared on their wedding day. Now every part of her was aching for him to kiss her again.

  As if by command, he lowered his head, prying her mouth apart with his own. She clung to the lapels of his wool trench coat as she sank into him, gasping as she felt him pull her closer, felt him dive deeper.

  Abbey whimpered as Sloan broke away from her. He nuzzled his nose against hers before pulling away.