by Magan Vernon
I coughed, hitting my fist on my chest. “Or a very short one. That stuff is strong.”
“You can’t just down a fine glass of whiskey like a shot at some fraternity mixer,” he said with a smirk, swirling his glass.
“Should have figured you were in a men’s organization at uni,” I said, picking up another glass and swirling it as he did.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to judge me for that, too?” he asked, putting his face closer to the glass.
I shook my head, pressing my lips together. “No. Just stating a fact.”
He nodded, taking a sip. I thought I saw a hint of a frown cross his face, but it disappeared in the amber liquid.
I smirked, reaching for my almost empty wineglass by a plate of fish and chips. When did I drink so much wine? No wonder my head was getting fuzzy. I probably needed to eat. “So, were you in a men’s organization? Or am I assuming?”
I popped a chip in my mouth. I couldn’t remember the last time I had the fried potatoes. Mum always made little quips about how we “both needed to watch our figure” and guilt would riddle me. Now that I was away from her, I could finally relax. I didn’t have to worry about her judgey comments that made it even harder to see her on holidays when I was younger. She would wrinkle her nose at my curvy hips or new choice of fashion, like my punk phase, or that week I decided I was goth.
Not that Dad was any better. Always distracted. It wasn’t until the divorce I realized it wasn’t work distracting him. And Mum’s quips weren’t just for me. She thought if she could have that perfect figure, maybe he wouldn’t have had the wandering eye.
But figuring that out came years too late.
After so many years, I was happy with the way I looked. How my life was going with a great job at a publisher and my own flat in London. Then it all came crashing down with the divorce, losing my job, and now the move to Dublin.
Now Mum and I were back on square one. I was back to the awkward little girl from the UK, hiding in her best friend’s shadow.
The awkward little girl who was sharing chips and drinks with a very gorgeous man who just happened to be said best friend’s brother.
“You know what they say about assuming?” He said, leaning forward, resting his hands on the arms of his chair.
I rolled my eyes, knowing that his answer meant he definitely was one of those fraternity types. “Fine. Then if we aren’t going to talk about your days at uni, then let’s talk about the business. Why don’t you teach me how to drink whiskey?”
The words were out of my mouth before I could take them back.
He let out a single laugh and picked up a new glass.
“Very well, mo gra. I guess we can make this a work dinner.”
“You don’t need to use your flirty words with me,” I said with a huff, but there was something about the way he said it to me that felt different than before. Like he wasn’t just using it as a natural term of endearment, but there was a new fire behind it.
He must have felt it, too, because he cleared his throat, his eyes darting away from mine as he focused on the glass instead.
“Unlike wine, you shouldn’t jam your nose into a whiskey snifter. It is a higher alcohol content than wine, and you might get tipsy just from the fumes. Instead, swirl your drink around a little and carefully whiff the scent at the top of your glass,” he said, twirling his glass with extra oomph and tipping his head back slightly.
“What am I supposed to smell? Hints of chocolate? Bitterness? Bad life choices?” I asked, picking up a glass and swirling and sniffing. I didn’t get much other than an alcohol smell that burned my nostrils. At least it gave me something else to focus on besides the sexy man next to me with his incredible lips emphasized by that damn dimple.
Bloody hell, I was drunker than I thought if I couldn’t stop staring at his mouth.
He shook his head. “Whiskey isn’t about figuring out a certain smell or color. It’s about the feeling of that smell. Like snow on Christmas. It gets you nostalgic for something more.”
I took in a deep breath and inhaled the scent before downing the drink.
Whiskey may bring back memories for some, but I also knew enough of it could make me forget for a while.
“Another?” he asked, holding out a full glass.
I sighed, the warmth of the liquor traveling through me.
His dark blue stare made me lose track all of the reasons I was resisting my cocky boss and every other shitty thing in my life. “Why not?”
After a few more glasses of whiskey, I was relaxed. Really laid-back for what felt like the first time in forever.
“You know, I should be thanking you for tonight,” Jack said, setting his empty glass on the bar.
“I did save you from that awful date. Though, if not much has changed since I last saw you, you probably would have taken her up on a shag.” I laughed, picking at my fish and chips that had now gone cold. I couldn’t count the number of drinks I’d had and should have probably censored myself in front of my new boss. Even if he was my best friend’s brother.
My best friend who had sent me a few texts asking what I was doing for dinner and I told him I was sharing a meal with Fallon.
Not a complete lie. I was supposed to be having dinner with her.
Now I just happened to be sitting next to his brother instead.
Jack frowned, looking at his whiskey glass instead of me. “Most girls just want a shag or what money can buy.”
“Not all women want that. Of course, if they have Jack Murphy in front of them, they’re probably thinking something along those lines,” I said, trailing my arm in the air. As if my long arms could encompass everything from his shined loafers to his perfectly styled hair.
All of that should have stayed in my head instead. The man was every bit as gorgeous as the men I saw on romance covers and looked like he’d spent some time in the gym with the pull of his muscles against his dress shirt. I, on the other hand, hadn’t seen the inside of a gym or yoga studio since we has moved to Dublin. The extra weight I had put on went mostly to my arse and hips which I was becoming more acutely aware of the longer I sat next to this man.
His lips quirked, bringing out those blasted dimples. “Most women just want to go on a date with me because they know I’m set to inherit my father’s company. What they don’t know is that the only way I can actually take my rightful place as head of the company is that I have to be married.”
This time I did almost choke and probably spit whatever saliva was in my mouth as I leaned forward, trying to feign ignorance. “What? You’re kidding? Right?”
He shook his head, taking another glass of whiskey the bartender had set out for him. “I wish I was. After Da died in April, we had a reading of the will, and there was an inheritance clause. We all have to be married within a year and stay married, or the company goes to the highest bidder on the board. Could be your granddad, which would be great for you.”
“Damn. Guess I’d better see if Sean’s gonna propose to me,” I said, trying to lighten the conversation and not think on how my mum said the same thing. The brief thought alone twisted my gut.
“Finding a woman to shag is easy, finding someone to marry is something completely different,” he said, his eyes locked on mine.
I shook my head and opened my mouth to question him, but then closed it again. Was that what he wanted from me? For the shagging or the other part?
My mind was already whirling from the alcohol, but this conversation was making my head spin.
This was the point where I needed to tell him I knew about the clause already. I didn’t know if he was just talking or if he was trying to insinuate something with us. But whatever it was, it wasn’t going to happen. He needed a wife and that wasn’t me.
But instead of voicing anything, I just stared at the beautiful man in front of me, who pulled a large note from his wallet and set it on the counter. “Want to get out of here?”
“What?” I asked, not su
re I heard him right. Did he really think I was going to shag him?
“There’s no way I’m letting you walk home alone like this,” he said, standing up and putting his hand out to me.
I may have been pretty knackered, but I could still hold my ground. “Do you seriously think I’m just going to take you back to my flat and shag you after a few glasses of wine and whiskey?”
He leaned in low so his mouth vibrated on my ear. I had to bite my bottom lip to keep the moan from escaping my mouth just from the warmth of him.
“If shagging was what you wanted, I would oblige. But I’m a gentleman, Miss Evans. I’ll only make you come if you ask nicely and if I know you’re not completely shitefaced.”
I closed my legs tightly together, feeling the soft ache just from his words. This man could turn me into a puddle of goo and prick goose bumps all over my body just from speaking. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
He smirked. “So?”
“Let me ask Mum if Janey can stay there. I don’t think I can go get her like this. And pretty sure you don’t want to have a conversation with my mum,” I said quickly, pulling out my phone and sending a text. He replied with something, but my brain was fuzzy and I was already texting Mum.
Me: Mum, it looks like I’m going to have to work later than I thought. Is it all right if I pick Janey up tomorrow? Or you can have one of the maids drop her by the flat, feed her, and I’ll be there later.
I didn’t mean to lie, or type that long a message. But the screen was fuzzy and I couldn’t admit I just got knackered with my boss.
Mum: No problem at all. We’ll drop her off in the morning. Say hi to Jack for me.
I dropped my phone into my pocket book, sucked in a deep breath, and let it out as I took his waiting hand. I was pretty smashed and wasn’t sure I could make it home myself in the dark. Nor could I probably take care of my dog in this state, or hungover in the morning.
What could it hurt to have someone help me out?
Chapter Eight
Jack
“Dublin’s really pretty. I always thought it felt like I was taking a step back in time with these cobblestone streets. I remember coming here to visit my grandfather as a little girl and pretending I was in Shakespeare. Though London is more Shakespeare, isn’t it?” Grace asked, stopping and digging her heels into the street.
“Are you that shitefaced?” I asked, turning toward her. I didn’t expect her to look up at that exact moment, those brown eyes shining in the dim light of the street lamp. How had I never noticed the golden brown of them before she walked into my office?
She used to wear so much black eyeliner you couldn’t see her eyes.
Feck, she wasn’t that same girl anymore.
I pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Then I trailed the pad of my thumb down her jawline. I told myself I was going to keep things professional between us, no matter how much she maddened me. But when her smart mouth saved me from another bad date, I saw what a real gas she actually was. The more we drank, the more we talked, and I wondered how the hell I didn’t notice her sooner. Probably because I’ve always been an arsehole.
Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t be worrying so much about this inheritance clause. I mentally shook that out of my head. The woman barely tolerated me, and there was no way in hell I could even think like that about Sean’s friend and a board member’s daughter.
“Just because you got me drunk, doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you tonight,” she blurted.
I grinned. While that should have poured some cold water on the situation, it just made me want to push her even further. “First off, I think you and Fallon had a bit before I got there. Second, I would never take advantage of a drunk girl.”
She scoffed. “I only had one drink, thank you very much.”
I shook my head. “Well, must have been pretty strong then.”
She nodded, standing a little straighter. “It was just one. It was you and that whiskey. But I’m glad you’re walking me home after that and at least pretending to be a gentleman.”
I laughed. “One of us has to have manners. Wouldn’t want to get champagne all over our work clothes, now would we? Or maybe get into a fight with some girl at SFX because she called you a poser?”
“Oh stop,” she huffed, swatting my arm gently, but her fingers stayed on my bicep, curling around the hard muscle.
“If I remember correctly, Sean had to pull you off the girl and there was a lot of hair pulling. But you told your parents it was all Sean and he took the blame.”
She laughed, her grip tightening on my arm, which all the more made my whole body come alive. “Something like that.”
We stayed in a comfortable silence on the short walk to her flat.
I didn’t ask for permission but followed her up to the second floor. Opening the door, I turned on the light overhead. She followed, and I closed the door behind us.
I looked around the small living room that hadn’t changed much since Fallon moved out. Well, aside from the small metal crate near the curtained off bedroom area.
“Grace plopped down on the couch and kicked off her heels. “It feels weirdly empty without Janey here. Maybe I should call my mum to bring her back.”
“Drunk texting your mam isn’t a grand idea,” I said, plucking her phone from her hands and setting it on the table next to her.
Grace giggled, the first time I’d ever heard the pleasant sound come out of her. “You’re probably right. She would give me a lecture about drinking and fraternizing and whatever other big words I’d say if I weren’t too knackered to think of them.”
I nodded, trying not to laugh at how cute she was, grinning and half-laying, half-sitting on the couch. “Just head to bed and then see Jane in the morning.”
I should have turned and let her to go and left it at that. That was probably what a reasonable boss and somewhat friend would do. But instead, my curiosity and loss of my own inhibitions, had me looking around the room. My gaze stopped when I saw the silver doorway pull up bar still attached over the bathroom door.
I shook my head, thinking I would have to have a talk with Sean about leaving his stuff in the flat when he only stayed here for a few days.
Walking toward the doorway, I pulled the long pole from its attachment, wiggling the other bars to make sure they were fastened in place and not going to fall down as soon as someone walked through the door.
“You been working out?” I asked, turning to see Grace standing wide-eyed in front of me. How did she move so fast when she was just sinking into the couch?
She shook her head, her loose curls flowing against her shoulders. “I didn’t even know what that was. I figured it was something structural.”
Grinning, I took slow steps until we were toe to toe, the heat of her body wafting off of her and onto me. She sucked in a breath, her chest rising and falling against the top of her dress. “It’s a pull-up bar with a salmon ladder attachment.”
Dammit, why was I playing this game? Maybe it’s because she was easier to talk to when she was shitefaced and not trying to be anyone other than herself.
“A what?” she asked.
I didn’t think we’d end up back at her place. I never planned for any of this. But with her wide eyes and parted red lips, I thought I’d do at least a little explaining. And it would keep my hands busy instead of thinking about running them through her hair and wherever else I was desperate to let them roam.
Taking a few steps back to the doorway, I pulled off my dress shirt, leaving me in just a white undershirt. Her eyes roamed over the dips and curves of the shirt molding against my chest.
Feck. Why did she have to look at me like that?
I stood between the two bars then lifted my arms to position the pole in place. With a quick thrust of my hips, I jumped up, gripping the metal pole tightly as I went to the next rung.
“So you know a chin up?” I asked, dangling my legs in the air and rockin
g back and forth.
Her stare went from the curved V of my hips up to my eyes, blinking slowly. “Um. I haven’t done one of those since gym class in school, and even then, I don’t think I actually did one.”
I smirked and pulled up on the bar, my muscles constricting as I pushed the bar upward, letting out a grunt. “It’s a chin up with a little extra oomph.”
Her mouth hung open as I effortlessly jumped back to the floor and grinned in her direction.
“Yeah, I don’t think I can do that,” she muttered.
I motioned with one finger, keeping my face neutral so she wouldn’t know how badly I wanted to touch her. I was trying to be a gentleman, and if working out would get her sobered up and not have a massive headache in the morning, then I’d do it.
That’s what I told myself and ignored the panging deep in my chest with each little look she gave me.
“Come here.”
“You’re not going to try and hang me from there and do some weird BDSM thing, are you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
I laughed, shaking my head and motioning again. “No. Just come here and let me show you how this works.”
She swallowed hard, then took a few steps forward. I put one hand on her hip, letting my fingers linger on the silky material of her dress. Feck, she smelled amazing. The sweet scent of vanilla, coffee, and the lingering whiskey on her breath was intoxicating.
I was going to be a gentleman. Being around her, just talking like we did at the pub, did something for my soul.
I just didn’t want that to end yet.
I turned her around so she was facing the bar. Then I stepped to the other side so I faced her.
“I’m going to lift you so you can hang and pull up,” I whispered, my lips to her ear, letting my mouth vibrate on the soft skin. She shivered slightly, a small gasp escaping her lips when I put both hands on her hips then lifted her with ease. She gripped onto the bar, breathing in shallow huffs.
“Now pull up, using your arms.” I kept my hands on her waist. Her dress slightly rose, giving me a view and feel of the creamy white skin of her thighs. All I could think about was how they’d feel wrapped around me. How I shouldn’t be here when she was in this state. So I kept my eyes on hers, not pushing.
