Back then, since Oster Halsted was too young to get his license, his family's chauffeur drove them to see a movie and get a hamburger after. For the life of her, she couldn't remember what film they saw or where they ate. But the night out with Oster set the tone for the next twelve years.
Well-dressed date, expensive car, and forgettable conversation. The only difference was the degree of groping she had to deal with as she tried to say good night. Oster, his palms sweaty, grabbed for her breasts while the chauffer pretended not to notice. Destry swatted him away like an annoying mosquito. She didn't date again until her freshman year of college.
As the years passed, the men were still snappy dressers. However, they came in their own cars—usually elegant, always expensive. Unfortunately, with few exceptions, they were all carbon copies of Oster Halsted—simply older with more experience and smoother moves. Money topped the list of their priorities, followed by a good tailor, good cigars, expensive brandy, and the right woman on their arm.
Not to be sexist, Destry knew that women with power and money might not be as plentiful, but they could be just as bad as their male counterparts.
"I've become a cynical bitch."
"We're all a little cynical." Andi shook her head when Destry reached for a flowered white and pink silk jumpsuit. "Bitch is a little harsh."
"More than a little," Calder chimed in as she lifted a pot of body cream from Destry's dresser, sniffed, and then smoothed a dab onto the back of her hands. "The word bitch should be eliminated from all languages, even for female dogs."
"What about our mother?" Bryce lay across the bed. "Billie is the exception to so many rules, what's one more?"
Andi handed Destry a knee-length dress in shimmery blue, shook her head, and snatched the garment back. "Second thoughts about your date with Liam Stanton?"
"No. I actually have hope for tonight. Liam made me laugh."
"Always a good sign. Here." Andi's final choice was a deceptively simple A-line dress in brushed apricot cotton. The hem, embroidered with a slightly darker thread, hit Destry mid-thigh. "Not too casual, not too dressy. And with a pair of sky-high sandals, he won't be able to take his eyes off your amazing legs."
"Do you think men agonize over their wardrobe before a date the way we do?"
"Men, on average, have fewer choices," Andi explained. "Except for Adam."
"My guy is a clothes horse," Calder said with affection. "But he's picky, not fussy."
"Explain the difference," Bryce teased.
Sensing an impending battle of words, Andi used her big sister card and stopped them with a warning look.
"We're here to help Destry get ready. Remember?"
"I dress myself every day of the year and have since I was four. Why, when I have a date, do you act as though I suddenly forgot how?"
"Because you go out so seldom, like the return of Halley's Comet, we want to be part of the event." Bryce took a pair of earrings fashioned out of bronze topaz from a lacquered jewel box. "The last time, you snuck out before we could catch you."
"The lawyer," Destry rolled her eyes. The only reason she went out with him was that her eyesight and judgment were a little blurred by an overindulgence of tequila. The very reason she tried to watch her alcohol consumption. "He was nice enough, in a buttoned-up kind of way."
"Not your type."
Destry wasn't sure her type existed. She didn't blame the men, she blamed herself. After many attempts—more than her sisters gave her credit for—and many failures, she'd concluded she wasn't wired to socialize in the time-honored tradition most people followed quite happily.
Men were great—really. Her sisters managed to find three of the best. However, Destry preferred the opposite sex in small doses. When she felt an itch, she found someone to help her scratch. After, she rolled out of bed, dressed, and went home. She was satisfied, as was her partner. No expectations, no disappointments.
"Liam Stanton is every woman's type." Calder picked out a pair of shoes, five-inch heels with a few thin straps of leather to hold them in place.
"True." Andi stood back and made a slow circle around Destry. Finally, she gave a satisfied nod. "You'll knock his socks off. Or any other item of clothing your heart desires."
"My only desire is the hope Liam is as smooth on the dance floor as he was when he maneuvered me into our date. In these shoes, my toes are sitting ducks."
"No sex?" Bryce asked.
"Not tonight."
"Here we go." Bryce knelt, taking something from her pocket. She fastened a gold chain studded with pearls around Destry's ankle. "Even if sex is off the table, no reason you shouldn't drive Liam a little crazy."
"With an anklet?" After a bit of scrutiny, Destry decided she liked the way the delicate links of gold looked on her. "I didn't even know I owned one."
"My contribution to the evening."
"Thanks. To all of you."
"What are sisters for?" Andi chuckled.
"My sisters?" Destry pulled them close for a group hug. "Everything."
~~~~
LIAM TOOK HER hand as he helped her from the car.
"Thank you." Destry smiled. His thoughtful gesture appealed to her. A modern woman to her core, she could still appreciate a bit of old-fashioned gallantry.
"No, thank you." Liam's blue eyes traveled the length of her body. "The moment you opened the door, I was reminded why I'm so damn glad to be a man. Though for a moment, I wondered if your sisters planned to come with us. Four Benedict women might be a bit much—even for me."
Andi, Calder, and Bryce had followed Destry to the door to see her off, more out of curiosity than for support.
"We're freakishly close," she laughed. "But we have our boundaries. One man per sister—no exceptions."
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and began a leisurely stroll down the mostly deserted sidewalk. "Your sisters are lovely. But, I'm only interested in you."
"Since the others are taken, you weren't left with a choice."
"Make no mistake. I never let anyone stand in the way of what, or who I want." Liam's smile remained friendly while his eyes turned to blue steel. "Speaking of which. The man you were with the other night? Was he someone special?"
Was? Past tense? As in, drop him for me—now? Destry frowned. She was all for a few old-world gestures. But if Liam wanted to play caveman, he had the wrong woman.
"Patrick is special. Not that he or our relationship is any of your business."
"The night we met, you asked about my private life."
"I asked because I don't sleep with married men. Otherwise, I didn't care." Obvious to her, Destry didn't think she should have to explain the distinction.
"You have your rules, I have mine. When I date a woman, I expect exclusivity."
"Then take me home." Destry stopped. "I don't do exclusive, Liam."
"Never?"
She shook her head.
"Okay."
Liam gave her hand a tug. Suspicious at how quickly he capitulated, Destry continued along beside him.
"You aren't going to argue?"
"No need."
"Because…?"
"I plan to change your mind," he said with absolute certainty.
"Liam—"
"Cards on the table?"
"Please."
"I want you, Destry." He met her gaze and smiled. Very pleasant, but the steel was still there. "I insist on exclusive, but I don't do forever. All I ask is two weeks, just you and me—exclusive."
"Sounds reasonable." Still a little caveman-like, but not as objectionable. "Except for one thing."
"Yes?"
"As great as the first time was, I don't plan to have sex with you again."
Liam stopped in front of a large plate-glass window with the words Gorman's Pub written in bold letters. He opened the door, letting the sound of raised voices and laughter spill onto the sidewalk.
As he stood as
ide to let her enter, he leaned close to her ear.
"Plans change, Destry," he told her, his voice husky. "Plans change."
Before she could argue, Destry was swept into the boisterous crowd. Liam kept hold of her hand as he took the lead, shielding her body and making a path for her to follow. She could have told him not to bother—she was born with sharp elbows and excellent aim—but she was distracted by the welcome Liam received.
Like the other night in his high-priced hotel, everyone seemed to know him. The same was true here in the down-to-earth pub. However, the difference was striking. Instead of elegant evening attire, restrained greetings, and perfunctory handshakes, the clientele of Gorman's Pub was more the jeans and t-shirts type.
Destry shouldn't have been surprised but kept forgetting. Liam wasn't one man, he was many. The mountain man ready to jump into her fight. The sophisticated businessman who rocked a suit better than anyone she knew. And now, a man of the people who returned pats on the back and enthusiastic handshakes as if these were his people.
Maybe they were. Maybe all the incarnations she'd met were the real man. After all, who knew better than Destry that a person could comfortably live in more than one world and transition between the two without missing a beat? Maybe they were more alike than she realized.
With a whoop, a bear of a man with bright red hair and a beard to match suddenly enveloped Liam in his beefy arms.
"About time, boyo. Started to wonder if you weren't going to show." His dark eyes fell on Destry and sparked with interest. "Well, now I understand. A beautiful woman is always worth waiting for."
Dwarfed by the bigger man, Liam laughed as he returned the hug.
"Destry Benedict, meet Gorman. Watch yourself, he's a terrible flirt."
"And why not?" Gorman winked. "As long as my darling wife has no objections, why should anyone else?"
"Nice to meet you, Gorman." Destry liked him already. "I didn't keep him waiting, by the way."
"Traffic was a bitch."
"Here now," Gorman admonished Liam, his bushy brows forming a frown. "Your mother taught you better than to use foul language in front of a lady."
"Nothing I haven't heard before." Destry chuckled. "And believe me, I'm no lady."
"Let me be the judge." Gorman's hands were surprisingly gentle as he took hers. He studied her for a moment and nodded. "Been on this earth a long time. Seen my share of good, and more bad than I care to think about. Believe me, I know a lady when I see one."
Charmed, Destry watched as Gorman pushed aside two darts players, bringing a small table into view.
"When Liam called, I reserved our best." He held Destry's chair. When she was seated, he took a cloth from his apron, wiping away a trail of spilled beer. "Special tonight is corned beef and cabbage."
"The special is always corned beef and cabbage," Liam pointed out, taking the seat opposite Destry.
"Never heard a complaint. Would you prefer something else?"
Destry had the feeling Gorman's casual question was a test. No sweat. In school, she received straight As.
"I'm pure carnivore."
Gorman threw his head back, his laughter full-bodied and infectious.
"I'll have Poppy bring over a couple of stouts." Gorman leveled a warning look at Liam. "Be on your best behavior, boyo. And don't you dare leave without letting me say goodbye to your lady."
"Yes, sir."
When they were alone, or as alone as two people could be in a crowded pub, Destry met Liam's questioning gaze.
"Well?" he asked.
"I think I'm in love."
When Liam let out a breath of what sounded like relief, Destry's eyebrows rose.
"You were worried I wouldn't like him?"
"For some, Gorman is an acquired taste."
"You're full of surprises, Mr. Stanton. I expected an evening of elegant dining. I should have known better when you showed up without a tie and a little scruff on your face. I like the sweater and slacks look, by the way. Blue is your color." She touched his arm. "Cashmere?"
"Mmm." Absently, Liam rubbed the edge of his jaw. "By elegant, you mean boring?"
"Probably. I jumped to the wrong conclusion. My mistake," Destry shrugged.
The waitress delivered their drinks. The liquid, dark as night, was served in a tall glass stamped with the Guinness logo.
"Careful," Liam warned when she took a hefty sip. "Good Irish stout is an acquired taste."
Deliberately, Destry drank again. The strong, roasted malt flavor hit the back of her tongue with a familiar blast.
"I had my first stout before my thirteenth birthday."
"Did you now?" Liam appeared skeptical. "A nice New York girl like you?"
"Nice flew out the window when my father was in charge. He treated me more like a buddy than his daughter. If he remembered me at all."
"How often did you see him after your parents divorced?"
"Every court-mandated summer." The memories weren't all bad, but they far outweighed the good. "I dreaded when school ended."
"Did he…?" Liam took a deep breath. "Was he abusive?"
Destry imagined some people might categorize Miller's casual parenting style as abuse. She certainly wouldn't let a child of hers go off with him unsupervised. At the time, she didn't think anything was amiss.
"Careless is a better term. And no, my father doesn't get a pass. He was, and is, self-centered and self-serving. But, the months I spent with him toughened me up. After what I witnessed, very little fazes me anymore."
"Sounds like you had to grow up too fast."
"Mine is not a tale of woe, Liam. Thanks to my sisters, each year was filled with nine months of love, laughter, and happiness."
"And your mother? What kind of relationship do you have with her?"
"Minimal. We live in the same house, but rarely interact—by mutual agreement." Any tug of regret Destry once felt faded long ago. "I wish Billie and I were closer. However, the things she's done, in the past and recently, are impossible to forget. Believe me, for my sanity, I've tried."
"I'm sorry."
Destry refused to let her parents' mistakes color her life. She was an adult who made her own decisions. Yes, her childhood was less than ideal. But compared to others, hers was a walk in the park.
"My life turned out fine. Better than fine. I like where I am and who I am." Destry wasn't lucky, she was blessed. "The past can't be changed, and I wouldn't alter a thing if I could.
"Really? Why not?"
"I'd be a different person." She sent Liam a flirty smile. "Don’t you like me the way I am?"
"Yes. Very much."
The heated passion in Liam's blue eyes made Destry's breath catch in her chest. So sexy. Too sexy for her own good. She never had trouble saying no to anything. Would Liam Stanton turn out to be the exception? And why didn't the idea bother her as much as it should?
"Enough about me." Destry's least favorite subject. "Tell me how you know the fascinating Gorman. He mentioned your mother? Is he a friend of your family?"
"Gorman and my father grew up in the same small farming village. When still a young man, footloose and fancy-free, he decided to leave Ireland and make his way in the United States."
Destry took a bite of the most succulent, tender corned beef she'd ever eaten. Yum. If Gorman agreed, she would get the recipe for Mrs. Finch.
"Your father and Gorman stayed in touch?"
Liam nodded.
"Best friends to the grave and beyond. When I hit puberty, hormones raging, I started to raise some hell—more than a little, if I want to be honest. My mother—the disciplinarian in the Stanton family—decided the best medicine was to get me away from the bad element I ran with."
"You were a hell raiser?" The idea wasn't hard to imagine.
"At the time, my answer was no. Problem was, in my estimation, my brothers were bleeding saints. By comparison, anyone looked bad." Liam chuckled. "In tr
uth, I was out of control. Boarding school in America—with a guiding hand from Gorman—put me on the right track."
"How old were you?"
"I just turned fifteen the day I first set foot off Irish soil." Liam shook his head. "Lord, I was an angry little piss. Took me the first school year to find my way. By the time my parents visited the next June, I greeted them with nothing but gratitude. Ma cried. Still does whenever the story is told."
The love in Liam's voice was clear—and more.
"You like them." Destry felt a touch of envy. "Do you get along with your saintly brothers?"
"Once I realized they weren't as goody-goody as I wanted to believe." Chuckling, Liam finished off his glass of stout. "Helped when they decided I wasn't the devil's spawn put on earth to terrorize them in the guise of their youngest brother."
"Tell me about Ireland." Destry had visited several times, but not for any length of time. "About your Ireland."
The rest of the evening passed quickly—too quickly. Liam, true to his word, took her dancing, not at The Rainbow Room, but on the tiny dance floor located in the corner of Gorman's Pub.
They didn't have enough room to do more than sway to the tune of a sad Gaelic ballad, but Destry didn't mind. Her arms around Liam's neck, his around her waist, she rested her head on his shoulder while he rubbed his cheek against her hair.
Even as a girl, she wasn't the type to give herself over to fanciful thoughts about starry-eyed romance. But, for once, she decided to give her tough-as-nails, cynical side the night off. Wasn't everyone—even a badass—allowed a flight of fancy now and then?
They were the last to leave. The corned beef and cabbage recipe she wheedled from the cook tucked in her purse, Destry hugged Gorman goodbye with the solemn oath not to be a stranger.
"Did you have a good time?" Liam asked as he helped her into his low-slung sports car.
"You didn't step on my toes."
"Not the answer I hoped for." He slipped into the driver's seat and started the engine. "To be fair, I didn't have much of an opportunity to show off my dancing prowess. You'll have to trust me for now. I do know a tango from a rumba."
Four Simple Words: A Badass and the Billionaires Contemporary Romance (The Sisters Quartet Book 4) Page 12
