by Naima Simone
Tears burned her eyes for the rejected, hurt boy who’d sought his father’s approval only to be cut down, his joy stolen by careless, thoughtless words and injured pride. Tears stung for the man who found solace in music but was also bound by it. Still afraid of sharing that hidden part of his soul with another person. Still afraid of rejection.
“Will you play for me?”
Her breath caught in her throat. She was asking for more than a song, a performance. She asked him to take a risk on her. She asked him to let go of the past.
She asked him for his trust.
When his abrupt nod came, she almost sagged back on the bed. The importance of his trust sank into her bones, her spirit…her heart. Its value exceeded the most precious jewel because this powerful, proud Irishman didn’t bestow it often or easily.
Niall strode to the case and within seconds, had the gorgeous fiddle in his hands. Reverence poured from him. Quiet delight and peace softened his mouth, lightened his gaze as he sat in the chair and quickly tuned the fiddle. Moments later, he rose, tucked the broad end of the instrument beneath his chin, and rested the body of it on his collarbone and left shoulder. His left hand tenderly grasped the neck, his fingers positioned and ready to play.
Bow in hand, he arched an eyebrow. “What do you want to hear?”
“‘The Irish Washerwoman.’” The song he’d played in his father’s office. The song that should’ve garnered praise and instead won him ridicule.
After a heartbeat of silence, he lifted the bow and strummed it across the cords. A lively jig soon filled the room, the harmony dancing in the air, inviting hand claps and foot stomps. She couldn’t help but smile. His expert hands didn’t falter. Not one melody jarred or clang. The song transported her to a smoky, Irish pub with cold rain tapping on the roof and windows while laughter, beer, and music abounded inside around a welcoming fire.
The last note vibrated in the air, and he segued into a lovely ballad that had tears spilling over onto her cheeks. The lilting, almost sad melody reached into her heart and squeezed. And Niall…he’d never been more beautiful to her with his eyes closed, lips parted, tall, lean frame slightly swaying with the harmony. This was the man he concealed from the world—the tender, sensitive man. The artist.
When he lowered his bow and his lashes lifted, she didn’t bother to hide the moist tracks on her face. He needed to see her reaction. See that she found him—his passion—remarkable.
“Those are good tears, yeah?” he teased, the Irish lilt more pronounced. As if he concealed a deeper emotion behind the gentle banter.
“You are beautiful,” she whispered. “You and your music.”
Surprise flashed across his features, followed by a fierceness that snatched the breath from her lungs.
“Thank you,” he rasped. Two simple words, but then, not simple at all.
“Thank you,” she said in return. Drawing her legs under her and crossing them, she asked, “What was the name of the second song?”
“‘There is No Night.’”
Maybe that’s why it had resonated with her. With no night, the day or time with a loved one couldn’t end. She shivered, wrapped her arms around herself. And maybe that was why the song contained a hint of sadness. Because time always passed, always came to a conclusion.
“Will you play another?” she murmured.
Niall nodded, and as his music soared into the room, once more she let it carry her away to a land of misty, emerald hills, magic, tragic battles, and doomed love.
Let it carry her far from the hotel room where foolish women fell for unavailable, guarded men with heartbreak written all over them.
Chapter Twelve
Khloe glanced at the digital clock on her desk.
4:53 P.M.
Okay, yes, she was sneaking out of the office seven minutes early, but this Monday had dragged on forever. With very little sleep over the weekend, her energy level suspended somewhere between punch drunk and comatose. She’d passed punch drunk about three o’clock and was careening headlong toward the vegging out. Of course, she smiled, sliding her purse over her shoulder, if she had to choose between sleep and spending the last three days in Niall’s bed, well…sleep was highly overrated.
Shower. Dinner. Bed. She planned on that order for the rest of her evening, but depending on which called more when she stepped through her front door—her stomach or sleep—there might be a toss-up in the arrangement.
Closing the door behind her, she headed for the elevators. By the time the notoriously slow ride finally arrived, she groused, stabbing the down button, her pilfered seven minutes would probably be a thing of the past…
“Hello, Khloe.”
She glanced up in time to catch Bennett’s quick scan down her body and the fitted pinstriped suit and stilettoes. When his gaze returned to her face, approval gleamed in his eyes. Two weeks ago—maybe even one—she would’ve offered her firstborn child to a wood imp to have Bennett regard her with such admiration. It was what she’d hoped for and dreamed about when she’d attended the bachelor’s auction. God, that seemed so long ago now. So much had changed since then.
Including her.
Before the auction, she’d craved his attention, his notice because of what it meant to her future. Security, stability, acceptance, love. In a way, she’d been depending on Bennett to bring those things into her life—when she was the only person responsible for obtaining and possessing them.
She couldn’t expect a man to make her whole. She had to love herself, accept herself first before anyone else could. And only then would the stability and security she sought come. Hell, once she loved herself for the quirky, imperfect, sometimes geeky, and curvaceous woman she was, she could live with fifty cats and be happy. Although…fifty cats. Damn. She hoped Morgan would call either an intervention or animal control before then…
Niall had helped her learn this lesson. He’d been her friend when she’d been a gawky teen. Had introduced her to passion as an insecure young woman. Had shown her acceptance as a snarky, but scared woman. He hadn’t required the make-up and glamorous clothing to really see her.
But Bennett had needed the trappings.
And the confident, learning-to-love-herself woman who stood before him today deserved better. Wanted better.
“Hi, Bennett.” She smiled, suddenly more free than she’d been in, well…ever. “How was your day?”
“Wonderful.” He paused. “Now. I had meetings all day, so unfortunately, I wasn’t able to stop by your office earlier.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I had a busy Monday as well.” The elevator doors hissed open, and she stepped inside. Bennett followed.
“I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your company Friday night at the dinner party. And thank you again for coming.”
“Thank you for inviting us. We had a wonderful time,” she said, pressing the button for the lobby and stressing the us and we. Not that she believed a we existed. Niall had never mentioned wanting more than what they’d shared the last couple of weeks—a charade and sex. But for now, he provided a believable excuse—and buffer.
“I’m glad. There was only one disappointment in the entire night.”
The steel doors slid open to reveal the lobby. “Nothing too bad, I hope,” she replied, exiting the elevator.
“Depends,” he hedged, keeping pace with her as she crossed the reception area. Once they cleared the revolving glass doors, he placed a restraining hand on her upper arm. Surprised, she drew to a halt. “My disappointment came when you left, and I realized I’d have to wait two more days to see you again.” He shifted closer. “Khloe, are you free for dinner Friday evening? I would love to get to know you better.”
Shock squeezed her throat, imprisoning her breath and words. Say yes, you fool! A tiny voice screamed. The part of her that still dreamed of walking down a flower-strewn aisle with a wedding dress and cathedral-length train shrieked that she grab onto this opportunity with both hands. Yes, she might have
had an epiphany, but the dreams of a loving husband and family? Those hadn’t disappeared with the revelation. And Niall… Between the damage his parents and ex-wife had inflicted, he didn’t trust, and marriage was as appealing as a zombie apocalypse. Actually, Niall might prefer the apocalypse, since his suffering would end quicker.
But she loved him.
Loved. Niall.
Holy shit.
As stupid as falling in love with an emotionally unavailable man who lived a continent away was, she’d still done it. Helplessly, hopelessly, and most likely, fruitlessly. Allowing Bennett to believe a relationship between them could exist was cruel. Besides, the thought of allowing another man to touch her set bile churning in her stomach. It seemed only one man could send her pulse racing, her body throbbing, and her heart pounding.
Dammit.
“Khloe?”
“I’m sorry, Bennett,” she apologized gently. “I can’t,” she said gently.
Disappointment tightened his handsome features, though his hand remained on her arm. “Niall?”
“It’s…complicated.” Edging back a step, she dislodged his grip. “I’m sorry.”
A half smile quirked the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s fine, really. But I would still love for you to come on Friday. It’s a get-together celebrating the Shriver Systems project. We’re closing the deal at the end of the week, and we decided to have drinks at Bailey’s after work. Please come. You worked on the project as well.”
Doubt tickled the back of her mind. It wouldn’t be a date, and she had plainly expressed to Bennett that nothing could happen with them. Also, she had to work with him every day, and compromising would go a long way toward “employee relations.” Besides, Niall planned to leave for New York on Wednesday to check in on the Duir Music offices there and wouldn’t return to Boston until Saturday.
Why not? Maybe she could convince Morgan to go with her to the neighborhood bar and restaurant that a good many of System Solutions Unlimited’s employees patronized.
“Sure,” she agreed, relief at his easy acceptance of her rejection adding extra wattage to her smile. “I would be happy to.”
“Great,” he said, nodding. “Friday night about six.”
“I’ll be there. See you tomorrow at work.”
Turning, she entered the maze of the parking lot that would resemble a graveyard in another thirty minutes as people escaped work for the day. She’d filched a rare spot close to the front doors that morning, and her feet blessed her. As a woman who’d religiously worn sensible pumps, these stilettoes required time to break in… That is if she didn’t break something—a toe, an ankle, a leg—first.
She didn’t spot the tall figure leaning against the rear of her car until she’d rounded the driver’s side. Niall straightened from his elegant sprawl, and her heart stuttered then bolted in her chest. She pressed a hand to the door, supporting her shaky knees. She hadn’t expected to see him this evening. Not after spending an entire weekend with him. True, he’d relayed his business plans for the rest of the week, but he hadn’t mentioned her in the itinerary. Yet, even as surprise and joy streamed through her, lightening her head, her stomach nose-dived for her pointy-toed shoes.
Would he always do this? Show up in her life out of the blue? And would she always experience this leap of heady joy only to have it trailed by the terrifying fear of inevitable hurt? Because he was like a high. Euphoric while it lasted, but once it faded, the loss and pain of withdrawal kicked in with a vengeance.
She loved him, but could she settle for so little? Especially when he believed a little was all he could give. All he wanted to give.
“Hey.” He stalked closer, his hooded, sensual perusal accomplishing what Bennett’s had so miserably failed to do—dot her palms with moisture, flush her skin, create a fire inside her only he could extinguish. Shooting a glance toward the office building, he cupped the nape of her neck and drew her forward. “Was that Bennett?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “What are you doing here?”
He shifted his gaze back to her. “Surprising you. And putting myself out of my misery,” he rumbled. Lowering his head, he crushed a hard kiss to her mouth. His tongue speared between her lips, and with a groan, she greedily opened for him. God, he could make her forget herself. They stood in a public parking lot her co-workers would be filling at any moment, and she didn’t care. Only his taste, his touch mattered.
Ending the carnal contact all too soon, he pressed his lips to her forehead. Satisfaction surged hard and bright as the rough rasp of his breath echoed in her ears. There was comfort in knowing this desire didn’t affect her alone.
“You don’t sound very happy about the end of your suffering,” she teased.
“I’m not,” he admitted, his tone dark, brusque. “Are you free for dinner?” Again, he tossed a look toward the front of the building. “Or do you have already have plans?”
Head reeling from the cryptic “I’m not” and his distant manner that contradicted the burning kiss he’d planted on her, she shook her head. The movement didn’t clear her confusion, but it did return his attention to her.
“No,” she said. “I’m free.”
He studied her, the emotion fairly vibrating off him not reflected in his shuttered gaze.
“Good. I’ll follow you back to your house, and we can leave from there.”
With another brief, hot kiss, he strode to the town car idling in the aisle directly behind her vehicle. She hadn’t noticed its presence until then. So was the power of Niall’s control over her senses.
He captivated. Enthralled.
And that didn’t bode well for her. Or her heart.
...
“You’ve been quiet this evening.”
Niall closed the front door of Khloe’s apartment behind him with a soft click and followed her into the living room. Almost against his will the magnetic sway of her hips and the perfect shape of her ass lured his attention. The business suit skimmed all her seductive curves, highlighting her beautiful shape instead of concealing it like the tents masquerading as clothes she once favored. She looked professional, powerful, yet confident in her femininity. So changed from the woman he’d encountered at the bachelor auction, and still the same. Such as the natural beauty and sensuality she wouldn’t be able to hide in a black-out. Or the quiet strength that radiated from her like a lighthouse’s beacon over a storm-whipped sea.
Or her ability to monopolize his thoughts.
Though he worked from opposite shores today, he’d been glued to the phone and his laptop. Yet even as he conducted business, Khloe had permeated his thoughts. Images of her from the weekend. Her, tangled in the hotel bed’s sheets, smiling up at him. Her, perched cross-legged on the mattress, tears dampening her cheeks as he played the fiddle for her. For her. He’d never played for his wife. Just as he’d never shared the story about his father. Michael—the one person in his life he’d been closest with—hadn’t been privy to that very private, painful memory.
Somehow Khloe had entrenched herself under his skin, his life. Even when she wasn’t with him, she still lingered like a delicate perfume that pervaded the room long after the owner left.
He hadn’t intended to see her that evening. Especially after spending the last three days with her. Space. By now, he should crave space from her. But by noon, he’d been checking the clock and his cell, wanting to call just to hear her voice, chuckle at her snarky comments. And so he’d surrendered to the need and drove to her job in time to catch her before she left for home.
And he’d arrived in time to find her talking to and smiling at Bennett Charles.
In that instant, he’d been transported to the numerous occasions he’d caught Veronica flirting with various men behind his back, though she’d professed her love for him.
But Khloe hadn’t claimed to love him, had she?
She realized he couldn’t give her the same things Bennett could—commitment, family, s
tability, love. Just the kind of man Michael would’ve chosen for her.
A man better than us.
“Niall?” She tilted her head to the side. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” he lied. “Just a long day.”
“Okay,” she murmured. Squaring her shoulders, she crossed her arms over her chest. Instead of defiant, the gesture appeared to be more vulnerable. As if protecting herself. “So when are you leaving?”
“Leaving?” he repeated, taken aback by the ice that had entered her tone. “I already told you I have to go to the New York office on Wednesday.”
A wry half-smile lifted a corner of her mouth. “Not what I meant. All evening you’ve been distant. Cold. You don’t need to spell it out for me; I’m a big girl. You don’t have to worry I’ll have an emotional breakdown that will make things awkward for you or that my tears will ruin your suit. So, just go ahead and spill. When are you going back to Dublin? Right after New York? You’re not returning to Boston as planned?”
“Khloe, if my plans had changed, I would’ve told you. What are you talking about?” Then her words struck him. When are you leaving? You don’t have to worry I’ll have an emotional breakdown… “What the hell? After this…” He slid his hands into his pockets, clenching them to keep from grabbing her and shaking her. “I promised I wouldn’t abandon you again. You don’t believe me.”
Uncertainty flickered in her gaze before she tightened her arms. “I want to believe you,” she confessed softly. “But,” she shook her head, loosed a light, sad crack of laughter. “What are we doing here? Are we fuck buddies until the time comes for you to go home to Ireland? What am I? The girl you visit when you come into town? We hook up, have sex, and then business as usual?” Another one of those self-deprecating chuckles. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for that.”
“I never asked that of you,” he ground out. “I would never treat you like a piece of ass or allow you to agree to it.” Anger flared inside him. She deserved more than that. More than him.
