Black Irish

by Tricia Andersen

  “Good night, luv,” he murmured.

  “Good night,” she squeaked as she felt the scratchy material of his coat slip from her fingers.

  Sloan stared at her for a moment more before he closed the door behind him. Abbey slid the locks into place as her head swam and her heart raced. She pulled back the sheets of her twin bed and snuggled against her pillow. The sweet sensation of Sloan’s kiss still fluttered across her lips as she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was finished. Abbey ginned at her computer in triumph as she plunked her finger on the period key. She had managed to reconstruct her second book. In a sudden moment of sheer panic, she ran her fingertips across the mouse pad, saving it to the flash drive embedded in the side of the laptop. Pulling the stick free, she dropped it into her purse, which was lying on the floor beside the couch.

  Abbey looked up from the screen. She watched Sloan for several minutes as he lost himself in his chalk and paper. She noticed his blue eyes twinkle as his hand, clutching the mauve pastel, swam across the canvas. What he created, even in its infant state, was truly amazing.

  She sighed. Her lips still tingled from the kiss they had shared in her apartment. It was four days later, and there hadn’t been another one. Was he just toying with me?

  After a couple more keystrokes, Abbey gently set the computer on the sofa. She listened for the soft hum of Sloan’s printer coming to life. Ah, the wonders of wireless printers!

  Abbey picked up the few sheets waiting for her in the dark office. She swept across the penthouse to Sloan and his easel. Beaming, she held the papers out to him. “I’m finished.”

  He gazed into her eyes for several tender moments. Then, he brushed his chalk-covered fingers on his tight, faded jeans and took the stack from her.

  “Let’s see.” He quietly read the new story. Abbey shifted from one foot to the other nervously. A knot of anticipation twisted in her stomach. Sloan’s opinion mattered the world to her. She hoped he wouldn’t hate it. Finally, she settled on the couch. The wait is killing me.

  Sloan looked up to her with a smile. “Abigail, it’s fantastic. I think it’s better than your first book.”

  “Really?” she asked, very pleased. “You really think so?”

  “I do. I hope my illustrations can do this justice.”

  “Oh, you.” Abbey flung her arms around Sloan’s neck and gave him a tight hug. She pressed her lips to his cheek. “Thank you.”

  Her eyes grew fuzzy as she focused on his mouth…just an inch or so away from hers. She could tell by his sudden, deep breath that he had noticed this also. She bit down on her lip uneasily as the ache to kiss him filled her again.

  “I should probably get back to work,” he groaned.

  “Of course.” Abbey let go of him. Sloan stared at her for a moment more. Abbey crossed back to the couch, pausing once to turn back. She found his gaze still hard and heavy on her. She sat down and powered off her computer, ending work for another night.

  »»•««

  Abbey daydreamed of Sloan’s kiss as she watched the buildings and people of New York City soar past the tinted window of the Hummer. She wished Gordon good night as he offered her his hand to help her from the vehicle. As soon as she reached her apartment, she took a quick shower, pulled on her pajamas, and crawled into bed. It’ll be another early morning at the diner.

  After a long day of being on her feet, being sworn at, and—she grimaced—being groped, she was excited for her night at the coffee shop. She showered the second she got home and crawled into a pair of cotton pajama pants with comic frogs printed all over and a matching baby doll T-shirt. She was ready for her own kind of night on the town.

  As she stowed her cell phone and the book she had borrowed from the café into her purse, she couldn’t deny how thrilled she had been with Sloan suddenly appearing last week. And she couldn’t explain what caused him to seek her out.

  A sigh escaped Abbey’s lips as she picked up her purse and opened the door of her apartment. Her hopes were soaring that he would stop by again, but the pit in her stomach warned her to prepare for disappointment. She slammed the door behind her then slipped the key into the lock to secure it.

  It seemed, by the deserted hallways, that all of her neighbors were outside enjoying the unseasonably warm March day. It was almost too warm for Abbey to wear her ski jacket. She sat on the bench in the bus stop shelter and watched the neighborhood kids play in the melting snow on the sidewalk.

  As she stood to board the bus, she heard a chirp from her purse. Retrieving her cell phone, she looked at the screen. A text popped across the face of the device, a thumbnail picture of Sloan accompanying the message.

  Are you going to the coffee shop tonight?

  Abbey typed furiously on the virtual keyboard as she bumbled her way to her seat on the bus and sat down.

  On my way there now.

  Abbey waited for a response. Her heart sank in disappointment when it arrived.

  K.

  She put the phone away with a sad sigh.

  It took some time to get to the coffee shop. She was used to the trip now—actually enjoyed interacting with the others traveling with her. It made her appreciate the diverse community she had become a part of. A far cry from life in Iowa, for sure.

  Pulling open the door of the café, she stepped inside. She stopped at the counter.

  “Hey, Abs,” Martin greeted as he wiped his hands on a dishcloth, his shaggy blond hair waving in greeting also. “What can I get you?”

  “An iced tea. It’s sort of warm out there.”

  “I know, isn’t it?” He typed her order into the register and took the dollar bills she offered him. “I got bad news, Abs. Somebody is in your spot.”

  Abbey wrinkled her nose as she looked behind her at the wooden table flanked by two small chairs. It was perfect for using a laptop. It will suck to read at though.

  “Thanks, Martin.” Abbey took the plastic cup of iced tea he handed to her and shuffled off toward the sofa. She would figure out something else.

  It truly didn’t shock her when she found who was sitting in her spot. What he was wearing, though, blew her mind.

  Sloan sat there with his legs stretched out and resting on the coffee table. However, instead of his customary Armani suit or his less common tight designer jeans, he was dressed in a pair of gray sweat pants cuffed at the ankle. In place of a linen dress shirt, he wore a black Guinness T-shirt.

  His feet were housed in a pair of Nike running shoes. A frothy latte sat in a ceramic mug beside him on the end table. A copy of the Wall Street Journal and an iPad were perched on the arm of the sofa. He was deeply engrossed in the New York Times sports page rolled in his hand, his eyes focused on an article about the New York Jets.

  Abbey gently touched his arm. “Hey.”

  Sloan looked up at her, startled. He smiled, setting the paper on his lap. “Hey.”

  “It’s Saturday night. What are you doing here?”

  He lifted the paper again. “Reading.”

  “I thought you liked going out to the clubs?” she insisted. Who wouldn’t when the night would probably end in sex?

  Sloan laughed. “Even I need some downtime, Abigail. Besides,” he grabbed her hand, leading her around to the front of the couch and tugging her down beside him. “I enjoy the company here better. And don’t we have a Scrabble rematch?”

  Giggling, she pulled the book from her purse. “Do you mind if I read first before we play?”

  He patted the newspaper and tablet beside him. “Go ahead. I have some reading of my own. Plus, I have a couple of emails to answer.”

  “Good.”

  Abbey settled into the cushion and opened her novel. But she found it difficult to lose herself in the story with Sloan sitting so close. His proximity made her heart race and her head foggy. She shifted uncomfortably and forced herself into the words. Not realizing how often she fidgeted as she read.

  She looked up as he
touched her shoulder. “Are you all right? You don’t seem comfortable.”

  “I’m fine,” Abbey assured.

  “Do you wish me to move to the armchair?”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  Sloan smiled at her as he stretched his arm out. His broad chest was open and inviting. “Come here,” he crooned.

  Abbey stared at him dumbfounded. He frowned. “Unless you don’t want to.”

  “I do.” She scrambled the few inches across the sofa to him and rested her head against him. His warmth was intoxicating. Abbey was severely tempted to wrap her arm around him to hold him close, but she wasn’t sure how he would feel about that. She shivered in delight as he chuckled and squeezed her side with his bicep.

  They both went back to reading quietly. After a while, Abbey reached to the coffee table and set her book down. She looked up to Sloan, watching him as he read from his tablet.

  “Sloan,” she addressed.

  “Hmm?” he answered, his eyes still focused on the screen.

  “You kissed me last week.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And you haven’t kissed me since.”

  He paused a moment. “That’s true.”

  “Why haven’t you?”

  Sloan set the tablet on the end table then looked at her. “I’m not sure about a relationship with you.”

  She sat up, pulling away from him. Hurt had to be radiating from her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  “Abigail, my life is…complicated. Dangerous. I don’t know if I want to drag you into it. I don’t want to put you in harm’s way. Our marriage was only supposed to be a temporary fix. It should have been done by now. But…” His voice trailed off for a moment as he touched her cheek. “Believe me, I want you in my life. I need you in my life. If anything happened to you, it would destroy me. And there are people in this world, in this city, who could make that happen.”

  Abbey took the gamble. She laid her head on his shoulder, grazing the heel of her hand across his ribcage until her arm was wrapped around him. “What if I don’t care about how complicated your life is? What if I don’t care about the danger? What if all I care about is you?”

  Sloan’s ice blue eyes locked with hers. She felt herself sink into their cool depths. “There are some things I haven’t told you. It might change your mind about me.”

  “Then tell me. Talk to me.”

  He chuckled uneasily. “It’ll take more than a night.”

  “Then start.”

  “You are relentless, luv.”

  “One of my finer traits. Start talking.”

  Abbey raised herself up in Sloan’s arms until she was nearly nose-to-nose with him. “Non-negotiable.”

  Their eyes locked for only a moment more. She gasped as he drove his lips against hers. She held tight to him, losing herself in the kiss, trembling at the sensation of his mouth soft against hers, his tongue gently caressing. This kiss was followed with another then another, intermixed with soft pecks and nibbles. It was heaven in his arms.

  Besides, she wondered wildly, how dangerous can the life of an artist be?

  »»•««

  Abbey sat quietly on the couch. Sloan was on fire. His eyes flickered to the page of type tacked to his easel. Then his hand, grasping one pastel stick after another, brought the words she had written to life. Every illustration was more incredible than the last—beautiful flowers, vibrant insects, and magnificent scenes. He drew as if he were on mission. She knew he was ready to get this book to Aubrey.

  All Abbey wanted was to wrap her arms around his shoulders. She wanted to bury her face in the curve of his neck and inhale, breathing in the scent of the man and his musky aftershave.

  However, she was still unsure where they stood. They had seemed to reach common ground on a relationship together. The night before in the coffee shop had been pure bliss. But she didn’t know if they were to the point where he was comfortable with sudden bursts of affection from her. This was territory she wasn’t used to. This was a relationship with an adult. Besides, their kissing ended their conversation. She still didn’t know what he wanted to tell her.

  After another hour watching Sloan in silence, Abbey rose and walked over to him. She laid her hands on his sculpted shoulders. “I think I’m going to go,” she announced.

  He spun in his chair to face her. “I’m sorry, Abigail. I haven’t been much of a host.”

  “It’s okay. I know how hard you’re working to finish this.”

  “You’re too kind.” He took her hands in his. “I meant to tell you. We’re going to the pub tonight. It’s Gordon’s birthday, and Robert, Bartholomew, Gordon, and I are going to celebrate.”

  “Oh. That sounds like fun.”

  “Would you like to join us?”

  She blushed. “I can’t. I don’t want to intrude.”

  “You wouldn’t be intruding. I want to you to come. And Gordon asked for you. He likes you quite a bit.”

  Abbey smiled then leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. “Okay. I’d love to join you guys tonight. But I still have to go.” Crossing the living area of the penthouse, she picked up her purse.

  Sloan pushed to his feet and followed. “Why must you leave?”

  She stopped and shot a teasing, coy glance over her shoulder. “I have to go get ready.” She blew him a farewell kiss before walking out the door.

  After the short drive, Abbey wished Gordon a happy birthday with a peck on the cheek and told him she would see him later.

  She stayed home for twenty minutes, long enough to style her hair in soft, brown curls. Then, she dug into the hole in her mattress, her “savings account,” and headed into town.

  The first stop on her agenda was the cute little boutique down the street from the coffee shop. It didn’t take long for her to find what she was looking for—a white cotton dress with pearl buttons lined down the center of the bodice. A pattern of maroon and cornflower roses dotted the fabric. Not far from it hung a rose colored sweater that would protect her from chill. She found a pair of white pumps near them.

  Once she paid for them, she scampered to the dressing room to change. She would still be cold by the end of the night, but she didn’t care.

  Then she stopped at the bakery a few storefronts down from the boutique. She had been mesmerized by the pastries in the window several times on her way to the cafe, salivating at the luscious scents that floated from inside. The treats looked simply divine.

  She ducked inside and bought the only cake left—a three-layer, black forest cake, thick with fudge frosting and topped with cherries. Slipping the pink box into the cloth grocery sack she had brought, she hurried out the door toward the subway. Glancing at her cell, she picked up the pace. I can’t be late.

  The pub was nothing like what Abbey expected. It was crowded, but not packed. A dance floor, complete with people moving to the music of a DJ, was right inside the door. A long wooden bar lined the far wall. Its backdrop was layered with shelves and lined with every alcohol imaginable. Mugs and glasses hung like crystal bats from a rack above the counter. Neon signs hummed quietly, scattered among black and white pictures of rugby teams and old pictures of the streets of Ireland.

  Abbey scanned the crowd. She couldn’t be in the right place. It certainly didn’t have the opulence associated with Sloan O’Riley. She pulled her cell phone out of her ski jacket to double check the address he had texted to her. By his curt reply to her request for directions, she could tell that he wasn’t pleased she had found her own way there.

  She searched the room again. This time her eyes stopped at a round table near the bar. Of course I missed them. She had never seen the four of them together this way.

  Robert sat hunched over his beer in a black hoodie and blue jeans. Gordon was wearing a green Nike polo and a pair of khakis, looking more suited for a day at the golf course than a night out. Bartholomew looked classy in a blue plaid, button-down shirt and a pair of jeans. Sloan was in a grey sculpted T-shirt
and his tight, faded designer jeans that complimented his leather boots.

  They were deep in conversation, talking, laughing, and taking sips of beer. One seat at the table was vacant.

  Abbey weaved through the crowd toward them. She placed the fabric grocery sack on the stool.

  “Hi, guys,” she greeted as she slipped off her ski jacket and hung it on the back of her chair. She turned and met their wide-eyed expressions.

  “Abigail, you are beautiful,” Sloan breathed.

  Abbey blushed. “Thank you.” She reached into the bag and pulled the pink box out. “Gordon, I got you a present.” Setting the box in the middle, she opened the lid. She looked up excitedly for the men’s reactions. Her heart fell as she watched their stone still faces.

  “Everyone deserves a cake on their birthday,” she protested weakly.

  Gordon stared at the confection. A smile slowly crept across his face. “You’re right, Abigail. This is the best gift I’ve received in almost twenty years. And black forest is my favorite. Thank you.”

  Bartholomew disappeared into the crowd in the direction of the bar. Abbey giggled as she watched Gordon slap Robert’s hand as he attempted to dive his finger into the rich, fudge frosting. Abbey put the grocery sack on the floor then tried to squiggle onto the barstool. She stopped as Sloan offered his hand to help her. Staring into his eyes, her breath caught in her throat.

  He gazed down at her. The look of immense pride was unmistakable in his ice blue eyes. Her heart fluttered rapidly. Sloan is pleased with what I did. With his help, she slid onto her seat. She watched the men amused. It’s like they’ve never seen a birthday cake before. Haven’t they ever celebrated with their families?

  Bartholomew returned with a pile of plates, forks, napkins, and a large serrated knife with which to cut the cake. Gordon carefully took the knife from the top of the pile and, reaching across the table, handed it to Abbey.

  “Abbey, dear, would you do the honors?” Gordon requested.

  She nodded and took the knife. Standing carefully on the rung of her bar stool, she sliced the cake into large pieces, lifting each carefully with the blade and setting it on the offered plate. After all five members of their little group had a piece, she settled back into her seat. She didn’t notice Sloan leave the table until he appeared at her side, a glass of Moscato cradled in his hand. He set it in front of her.