The object of his thoughts studied the open magazine in her hands and murmured, “Did you know that one of the characteristics for a successful entrepreneur is to be passionate about your work?”
“Aye. And you have a passion for teaching dance,” he pointed out.
She straightened. “Once Seamus is better, I’m applying for city funding to open my own dance studio. I want to teach underprivileged preschoolers. These children have nowhere to go after school except an empty house with a disinterested sitter.”
He considered her remark. “Sounds good.” He emphasized the good, in case she didn’t believe how much he believed in her. And he did. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone’s face had lit up like Clara’s when she’d described teaching the young boys and girls.
“My options are limited because Miss Sophie, the director, won’t allow me to teach any more classes.”
“Why not?”
With a small, grim smile, Clara said, “I was in trouble a while back and she won’t let me forget it.”
Danny caught Clara’s chin and pressed her to look at him. “What kind of trouble?”
“Browse an old copy of the Farthing newspaper.” Her expression turned guarded, and she didn’t meet his gaze. “Just remember there’s more to the story than what’s printed on the page.”
He waited for her to explain further. Instead, she turned back to her reading.
He picked up his tea, now lukewarm, and gazed out the window. The sleepy Farthing streets radiated in four different directions off Main Street, the backbone of a town with ten thousand people. The six pubs were undoubtedly open and ready for business. Farthing was so different from the bustling city of Dublin, which boasted an international airport, world-famous statues and landmarks, and restaurants too numerous to list.
Once, as a child, he’d loved Dublin. Now that he was an adult, the city brought regrets and remorse, tied to a sadness that wouldn’t leave his gut despite the three-story mansion he’d built. His home was ridiculously large. Located in the coastal area, its view of the sea was jaw dropping. He rarely visited the place.
His gaze traveled to Clara, and he studied the fine contours of her features, her natural, flawless complexion devoid of makeup. If he’d met her sooner in his life, would she have been able to teach him tolerance for his parents’ shortcomings, the tolerance she’d exhibited so freely and patiently with Seamus? Could Clara have given him a purpose grander than procuring wealth, the pursuit that shaped his entire adult life? Could she have reignited his joy so that he felt free to compose and sing whenever he wished? In the throes of building his business, he’d regrettably put his music aside.
Danny took a deep breath and slowly let the air out of his lungs. Someday, after his international franchises were secured, he’d return to his music making. At present, though, wealth brought well-being and self-respect. He’d met hunger firsthand and preferred luxury.
Despite his ambitions, he didn’t know how to quell the “what if” questions racing through his mind. His gaze perused Clara’s lovely figure, the silky hair gliding across her shoulders. And her soft lips, the pouty, full outline that encouraged his kisses.
He shifted. “Whenever you’re done reading that riveting article, we can chat.”
Clara set the magazine on the coffee table. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Tell me about yourself.”
“Haven’t you learned enough about me through my chatterbox brother?”
Danny sipped his tea. “When it comes to you, my curiosity is insatiable.”
She changed positions on the sofa to face him, pulling her knees to her chest. A mischievous grin played on her features. “Well, for one thing, I could’ve broken into the boardroom for you.”
He stopped in midswallow. “What did you say?”
“The deadbolt lock. I know how to break in most anywhere. I learned to pick a lock when I shoplifted in Italy.” She wiggled her fingers. “It’s easy. You take a credit card, slide it into where the barrel connects with the doorjamb, wiggle the door handle a wee bit, and—”
He gaped, setting his tea on the table before he dropped it. “You stole?”
“Mainly food for me and the other kids in the orphanage, sometimes warm clothes for the toddlers.”
“You stole?” Danny repeated again in sheer disbelief. She was certainly a woman full of discrepancies—unafraid, impulsive … enchanting … and full of surprises.
“If I hadn’t, some of the littler ones in the orphanage wouldn’t have survived the winter. They most likely would have died from starvation.”
“How old were you when you were adopted?” He touched his throat, somewhat surprised that he hadn’t been rendered speechless by her admission.
“Almost six. The older boys and I snuck out of the orphanage a lot. We learned how to dodge the security cameras in the posh shops.”
“Risky business for a five year old, wouldn’t you say?”
She straightened. Her defensiveness filled the air. Remorse came with it. “The orphanage didn’t feed us nearly enough. I had no choice.”
Danny shook his head. He visualized Clara, the protector, spine erect, brown eyes flashing, ready to take on the world for her suicidal brother at the top of a precariously high bridge. And Clara, the thin, five-year-old street urchin, sporting short wispy bangs and a helmet of shaggy hair, ready to take on the rough Italian streets so that she could steal food for the orphanage children.
Her devotion to the people she loved was incredible. He watched her stunning smile and felt a bump in his pulse. She must’ve been born with that smile on her alluring lips.
And then he felt it again. Another bump, followed by a curious, urgent tug on his heart.
“The older boys taught me lots of criminal tricks,” she went on. “Just think of the notorious career I could’ve had if my parents hadn’t adopted me.”
Danny’s shout of laughter ricocheted off the walls. He drew her near and buried his face in her luxuriously lemony-fragrant hair. “No one except me could have come to Farthing on a business trip and met Italy’s greatest crook. Do I dare ask if you were ever caught?”
“Only once, when the matron in charge of the orphanage found out.” Clara’s demeanor changed. She clutched her arms to her stomach, her expression revealing surprising vulnerability. With a sigh, she rested her head against his shoulder.
“What happened?” he asked softly.
She chewed her bottom lip. “The matron locked me in a closet. It was so cold in there, so dark, like the walls were closing in on me. The matron said she wanted to teach me a lesson.”
“Did you learn any lessons?” Danny tempered his voice. Inwardly, he envisioned wrapping his hands around that particular matron’s neck and squeezing tightly.
“I learned not to get caught.”
Danny smiled. It was just like Clara to grow weary of an establishment that didn’t care properly for its own and take matters into her own hands.
“You’re certain that stealing was the best solution?”
She looked up at him with a wounded expression. “If I didn’t steal, I would’ve been forced to beg.”
“And you’re too proud to beg?”
“I felt embarrassed sitting on a corner, rattling a tin cup and asking for handouts. I relied on myself.”
He settled an arm around her. “You’re not desperate anymore. You’re a determined, sometimes stubborn woman who insists on assuming every burden by herself. However, if you are ever in a pinch, you have me.”
“I’ve learned to be independent because I’ve been let down before. I can assure you that it will never happen again.”
“I’ll never let you down, luv.” His profession came clear and simple. He stared into the depths of her determined, chocolate-brown eyes. She was fascinating and ingenious and resilient. And more of the pieces of how she had been formed were coming together. “Sometimes I wish you were weaker so that I could be stronger for you.”
She squared her shoulders and seemed to push out her words. “You don’t want my problems added to your all-too-full plate. You’ll be leaving soon.”
“Not yet.”
“Soon enough.” He felt her withdrawing, despite the fact that she hadn’t moved. “So now that I’ve told you about my life, can you tell me more about yours?”
“Perhaps.”
He knew that if they spent more time together, ultimately he’d tell her all of it—his parents’ suicides, his young sister’s death, his strained relationship with his siblings. And the guilt. Always the guilt. Although he didn’t know why he felt compelled to share his story with her. He’d never told anyone about his past, not even his ex-wife. Only his siblings knew, and they never spoke of it because too many other sentiments from the past would roll to the surface. They’d decided years ago to bury the past alongside the gravestones in Glasnevin Cemetery.
Perhaps he’d tell Clara because she’d already inspired him much more than she’d realized—by her wry humor, her fortitude, her willingness to carry other people’s problems without harboring a shred of resentment.
He tightened his arm around her, tilted her chin, bent his head.
Her eyes twinkled up at him. “You really want to kiss me after my confession?”
“Did you ever botch a job?”
“The older boys in the orphanage said I was so good I could’ve stolen the sugar out of their punch.”
His lips were a breath from hers. “I’m delighted to know a first-class thief in case I’m desperate for coffee beans and my finances run low.”
“I’m a reformed crook. I may have lost my touch.”
“If I were a betting man, I’d wager some skills are never truly lost.” He buried her laughing lips against his, pleased that she’d yielded so sweetly.
An hour later, they’d finished their tea, accompanied by increasingly light banter. As they were leaving the boardroom, Clara glanced at her phone. “Seamus texted me. He went to visit Anna and should return to my flat shortly.”
The hour was late, the streets murky, when Danny drove Clara to her flat.
“I could’ve walked home,” she protested for the second time.
He’d insisted. He certainly wouldn’t allow her to walk home alone in the dark.
He went around his car to open the door for her. “And deprive me of an excuse to escort you to your door and kiss you good night?”
They stood on her front steps, and as she looked into his eyes, he felt his chest grow tight. The lyrics from “Oh Danny Boy” flooded his mind, the song they’d sung together in her flat only a few short days ago. So much had happened since then. He tried to push away the thought that he’d be leaving Farthing soon. He would be forced to travel the world in order to promote his international franchises. He had no other choice, his climb to success outweighing all other options.
Oh Danny Boy.
Were the pipes truly calling him?
He pulled in a shaky breath.
Droplets of rain began to fall, mingling with the fog.
From under the awning over the front entrance, they took in the quaint stone buildings on her cobblestoned street and the craggy hills in the distance. She ran a hand through her damp hair.
“What do you love most about Farthing?” she asked.
He smiled. “The wet weather?”
“It’s a fine night for young ducks.”
He framed her face in his hands. “What I love most about Farthing … is you.”
Her gaze darkened with an affection she didn’t attempt to hide. He touched her lips in a soft, warm kiss.
And in the space of a heartbeat, he knew that leaving Farthing was going to be far more difficult than he’d imagined, more difficult than his decision to quit school, or his decision to leave the safe confines of his aunt’s home to start his own business.
He buried his face in Clara’s hair and closed his eyes.
Her fingers spread across his jaw, urging him to look at her. “When are you leaving?”
She’d read his mind, their thoughts in unity.
“I’ll be required to attend business meetings in London by the middle of next week.”
“I wish you could’ve stayed longer. I wish …” Her voice sounded broken, a shattered whisper.
He touched her lips with his fingers, quieting her. “Don’t. Don’t make it more difficult than it already is.”
She actually flinched from his firm tone.
“Your business is more important. I know that, I just thought …” She looked away and raised her chin. “No worries. I won’t mention your departure again.”
Chapter Eleven
Clara and Danny climbed the hallway stairs and stepped into her empty flat. Clara’s gaze darted around the living room. “It’s so quiet without Seamus here. I’d expected him to have arrived by now.”
“Why did he visit Anna at this hour?”
Clara glanced at her watch. “Why not? He’s a grown man. He told me to give him more space and I agreed. I can’t be hovering over him every second.”
“Do you want me to stay until he returns?”
Her fingers waved an airy dismissal. “I’ll be fine.”
“Then thank you for a delightful evening.” Danny kissed her one more time, another excuse to hold her. “And I promise I won’t share a word of your secret with anyone.”
She cocked her head. “What secret?” she asked with sham innocence while smiling like an angel.
He grinned all the way to his car. Out of the corner of his eye, he detected a man’s silhouette. Danny waited, peering into the darkness. Seeing nothing, he reached for his car keys, but then decided to retrace his steps. The foggy night brought a disorienting inky somberness to the streets. Hadn’t there been a streetlight lit on the corner the last time he’d visited her? If so, the light had gone out, leaving only a slant of moonlight sifting through the clouds.
Danny pulled out his cell phone and switched on the flashlight app, searching for footprints near the stone wall. A pickup truck’s headlights switched on and unexpectedly swerved, blinding him. He shielded his eyes. The truck rammed into his parked Mercedes, leaving the front fender scratched and damaged.
“Hey! What the—” Immediately spoiling for a knock-down fight, Danny was already pulling off his coat and rolling up his sleeves as he rushed toward the truck.
It quickly sped past. “You’re an eejit, a bloody eejit!” the driver yelled. The man in the passenger seat wore a brimmed hat drawn low over his forehead. He sank down in the seat and quickly averted his face.
Danny shook his head in mock disgust at himself and returned to his car. He should’ve reacted quicker, raced faster. He’d fought his way through the Dublin streets when he’d lived with his aunt and uncle, and was considered a pro when it came to a good, solid fistfight. He hadn’t tolerated his family being called drunken meads, not by the rough, secondary-school lads, not by anyone.
He thrust aside the memories.
The rain had stopped. The air felt heavy, the sky was tar-black. He shivered, kneading the tight muscles in his shoulders. He’d been working too hard, while preoccupied by a stunning Italian Irishwoman. He pulled on his coat and checked the damage to his car. Scratches and minor dents, he determined. He’d take the car to the garage when he returned to Dublin.
As he turned the car’s ignition switch, he decided he would employ Ian to keep an eye on Clara whenever she commuted to and from work. And he wouldn’t tell her.
He didn’t want to keep his decision from her, didn’t want to unduly frighten her. However, he had no choice, and her protests be damned. Jack Connor was, in Clara’s own words, dangerous and unpredictable, and Danny refused to leave her vulnerable and unprotected. This latest incident could’ve been a coincidence. The men in the truck were plastered, very drunk, out for a good time. They seemed to be of university age.
No, he corrected. They were older. One of the men’s hair was platinum blond, probabl
y why he had first assumed the men were younger.
Danny returned to the coffee shop and rode the lift to his small flat. He stopped in midstep before he started down the hall.
He’d never sung his new song for Clara. He’d forgotten. His thoughts had been diverted by something much deeper than his beloved music. And he recognized that his carefully controlled emotions were slowly becoming unhinged by an angelic smile and a reformed thieving orphan.
Chapter Twelve
Sunday morning had sped by. After Clara had attended church services, Danny’s Town Car had arrived at exactly ten o’clock. The chauffeur, wearing a coolly crisp uniform, had opened the back door of the sedan, and she’d bade him a cheery good morning. With a broad smile and a good day, the chauffeur had driven her the short blocks to The Ground Café.
Two jazz clubs at the end of the renovated plaza displayed “Coming Soon” signs, and an ice cream shop announced an early May opening. Danny had single-handedly breathed new growth into a tired town and rundown square.
He stood outside his shop waiting for her. His navy wool pants appeared expertly tailored, contrasting with a cadet-blue button-down shirt that outlined his muscular build. A long camel-colored coat was slung over one arm; he held a leather briefcase in the other hand.
“How are ya?” Danny nodded to the chauffeur.
Ducking into the seat beside her, Danny deposited his coat and briefcase near him. Then he greeted Clara with a broad smile and light kiss, his gaze drifting over her admiringly.
“You are gorgeous.” He nuzzled her neck. “I love when you wear your hair away from your face. Your eyes remind me of a dark, rich espresso.”
“My eyes remind you of coffee?”
“I love coffee.”
The unflinching approval in his tone did amazing things to her pulse. She felt her cheeks heat as he helped her off with her jacket and placed it beside him.
Oh Danny Boy: A Sweet Contemporary Romance Page 10
