by T L Swan
My heart freefalls as she holds her ring out to me.
What?
“I keep going over our conversation in the shop that day and you said that you had wanted the ring for your mother for a long time,” she tells me softly.
I stare at the precious ring in her outstretched hand.
She shakes her head. “And I can’t have that on my conscience, knowing how badly you wanted it.”
“You don’t like it?” I breathe as a cluster-fuck of emotions start to run rampant through my mind.
“I love it. It’s the most precious thing I think I have ever owned.”
“Why, then?” I breathe.
I should be excited, instead I feel let down.
Shut up and take it!
She steps toward me, picks up my hand, and places the ring in my palm as she gently kisses my cheek. My arms immediately curl around her waist and I hold her close to me, inhaling her scent one last time.
She looks up at me with that kiss me look she does so well.
I want this woman.
One night.
What harm could one night do?
No.
Stop it.
“My name is Alastar,” I breathe into her hair. She smiles at me dreamily. I lift her hand and place the ring back on her finger. “And this is your ring,” I whisper. “It belongs with you.”
“But what if it belongs with you?” she asks, squeezing my hand in hers.
“I have no doubt it does,” I whisper with regret.
End this now. I step back from her and her face falls as her eyes search mine again.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I murmur.
“Like what?”
“Like you are disappointed with me.”
“I was just hoping…” She stops midsentence.
“Hoping what?”
“That you were going to kiss me again.”
“You are here with your boyfriend.” I snap.
Her face falls. “He’s… not my boyfriend.”
“You told me he was.”
“I lied. I’d only just met him that day.”
My gaze holds hers for an extended moment.
One night, I just want one night.
No.
“That’s good to know.” I step back from her, too tempted to stick around. “I have to go. Goodbye.” I nod.
She stands and watches me but remains silent while I turn and begrudgingly walk away.
* * *
It’s 11pm and I am in bed on my laptop, stalking the divine Miss Mathew’s Facebook page.
It’s nothing new. I have done the same thing every night since our impromptu kiss last week.
I’m not allowing myself to involve her in this, and I can’t believe I rejected the ring.
That was the plan. The whole plan was to get the ring, and yet when she offered it to me, I couldn’t take it from her.
I smile. What a sweetheart to offer it to me when I know how much she loves it. The rain pours down outside. I close my computer and turn off my lamp to lay on my back and stare up at the ceiling.
I feel flat.
I need to pick up my game.
This isn’t how it was supposed to go.
My phone beeps, alerting me to a text, and I frown. Who would be texting me at this time of night? I sit up and retrieve my phone from my side table. Emerson.
* * *
I’m thinking about you, Alastar
Goodnight.
x
* * *
Shit.
Chapter 6
I sit on the bench seat under my window and stare down at the twinkling city lights below. It’s early on Saturday evening and Brielle is due here soon. The two of us are taking Hank on a woman-finding mission tonight. Operation Hump Hank is well underway. We went shopping today and made him buy new clothes. We got his haircut and his beard trimmed. Damn, I even bought the guy hair gel. I am preoccupied as my mind keeps replaying my conversation with Alastar last night. I hold out my hand and look down at my beautiful ring.
“Maybe the ring belongs with you,” I said.
“I have no doubt that it does,” he replied.
For some reason that sentence is on repeat in my brain. What did he mean by that? He has no doubt that ring belonged with him, yet he rejected it when I offered it to him. My mind goes to the old lady back in Heirloom. “Trust yourself,” she told me.
I gaze down to the people walking below on the street.
“Listen to your voice,” she said.
I frown as an uneasy déjà vu feeling sweeps over me. I’ve had it all day.
If I trust my instincts, then I know for certain that he wanted to kiss me last night. I could feel it in the way he wrapped his arms around me and I could see it in his face. I haven’t had this feeling from another man before, this undercurrent of affection masked as strong physical attraction.
Maybe it is just a physical attraction? Maybe I just never had one before? Last night, when I got home, I paced back and forth in my bedroom for an hour as the old lady’s voice invaded my head again. I trusted my instincts and I text him goodnight.
I pick up my phone now and swipe it on to go through to my messages. Yep, it’s still there, even though I have read and re-read his reply at least one hundred times today.
Goodnight, Em.
X
I stare back out the window, lost in thought. Who are you? Where do you live and why can’t I stop thinking about you?
Why do two words in a text from you mean so much to me?
I hear a wolf whistle come from the lounge room and I smile broadly.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Vanessa yells. “Emerson. Get out here.”
I laugh and jump up.
Sure enough Hank is standing in the lounge room looking down at himself. He is wearing tight jeans and a V-neck black t-shirt. His blonde hair is cut and his beard has been trimmed to look like a three-day growth. “I look like a fucking knob,” he sighs.
“Woo hoo. Oh, Hank, you are looking the business tonight.” I laugh.
Vanessa stands with her mouth open as she inspects mine and Brielle’s handiwork. She circles him and her eyes flicker over to me. “He’s actually frigging hot under all that hair.”
I laugh and nod in agreement. “I know.”
She grabs Hank into a headlock and swings him around. “You are getting your dick sucked tonight, big boy.”
Hanks face falls in fear. “T-tonight,” he stammers.
I cover my mouth with my hand to hide my laugh. Poor thing is petrified.
“Not tonight, Hank,” I reassure him. “We are just going cocktail tasting and maybe run through some pick up lines.” I look at Vanessa. “Are you sure you can’t come? It’s going to be fun.”
“I wish.” She throws her head back in disgust. “I have the stupid twenty-first birthday for my twat of a cousin. I have to stay the weekend with my parents. Ugh, I’m going to have the worst weekend ever.” She stands back with her hands on her hips and smiles proudly at Hank. “But we have the music festival next weekend, don’t forget.”
“Yes, we do,” Hank replies as he looks down at himself.
I raise my brows. “Where are you two off to?” I ask.
“A music festival. We bought tickets before we knew that we liked you.”
Vanessa’s honesty is endearing. “That’s okay. I have my first auction with work next Friday night. I couldn’t go, anyway.”
* * *
The music pumps through the nightclub and I don’t think I have ever laughed so hard in one evening. Brielle is giving Hank the lowdown on pick up lines. We have been out to dinner and are now drinking cocktails at our new favorite hangout, Club Alto.
Brielle holds her hands up. “What about this one?” She points to a girl who is walking by on her way to the bathroom.
Hanks face falls. “What do I say again?” he asks in a panic.
“Hello!” we both yell.
He nods and sinks his
cocktail. “Right.” He nods again as he psyches himself up. The girl approaches us and Hank stands tall, flashing her a lopsided smile with a nod.
She smiles and keeps walking past, and the fool doesn’t say a single word.
I burst out laughing and Brielle slaps him on the arm. “What are you doing?”
He takes her drink from her and downs it. “This is hard. Why don’t they talk to me? Why do I have to do every fucking thing?” he asks in a fluster.
I look at my watch. It’s 11pm. Should I text him and say goodnight again? No, that makes me seem desperate.
Trust yourself.
The old lady’s words run through my brain. Yeah, fuck it, she’s right. I’m just going to text him. What’s the worst that can happen? Before I can think, I hit send:
I’m thinking about you.
Goodnight, Alastar
X
I hit send and wait as I stare at the screen. Come on, come on.
Shit.
No reply. My stomach drops. Damn, why did I do that? Ahh, why did I do that?
“Hello,” an Irish voice purrs over my shoulder.
I turn with a start and my face falls. It’s not him.
The man smiles a knowing smile. “Did you think I was someone else?”
Guilt fills me. Not every Irish man is him, you fool. “For a moment.” I smile.
He holds out his hand to shake mine. “My name is Thomas.” I smile. “Hello, Thomas.” We shake and I introduce him. “Thomas, these are my friends Brielle and Hank.”
“Hello.” He smiles as he shakes their hands.
My phone beeps.
Goodnight, Em.
X
I instantly read the message and a broad smile crosses my face.
“Are you having a good night?” Thomas asks.
“I am now.” I smile happily. He replied, he replied.
“I think you may know my brother.”
My eyes shoot up from my phone and I frown in question.
“Star?” he answers my unspoken question.
My face drops. “You’re his brother?”
He nods. “Aye.”
How does Thomas know who I am?
“Is he here?” I ask hopefully.
He shakes his head. “No. I was here with him the other night when you were.”
Thomas smiles broadly at Brielle, and as she does a jig on the spot, his eyes drop to her toes and back up again.
“Oh.” I smile, hoping he has been talking about me. There is only one way this guy would know who I am. Alastar was talking about me to him. I bite my bottom lip to hide my over the top smile.
Oh, this is fabulous news.
“This one?” Brielle yells. “This one!”
A dark haired girl walks past and Hank steps forward. “Hello,” Hank says nervously.
Brielle and I hold our breath as we wait for her reaction.
Thomas frowns in question at our shenanigans.
“Hello.” The girl smiles at Hank and they begin to talk.
Brielle leans over and in an I have had way too much to drink voice she slurs at Thomas. “We are trying to get our friend laid, you see.”
Thomas’s eyes light up. “Please.” He holds his hand out. “Feel free to work on me, too. I could handle two hot girls approaching other hot girls on my behalf.”
We all laugh.
“I bet you could.” Brielle smirks, pointing her cocktail glass at him. “Although, I don’t think you would need any help.”
Thomas gives Brielle a sexy smile and I drop my head to hide my smirk. He’s more classically good looking than his brother, but not half as gorgeous.
He has that same deep permeating voice of Alastar’s and that damn accent is an audible orgasm.
“Where is Alastar?” I ask.
He frowns. “How do you know his name?”
“He told me.”
He purses his lips as if thinking.
I frown. “Why?”
He shrugs and swigs his beer. “He doesn’t usually tell people his real name.”
I smile broadly and my eyes hold his. “He just text me, actually,” I reply.
He frowns. “What?’
I smile proudly and hold up the phone in my hot little hand. “Yep.”
He narrows his eyes. “What did he say?”
I smile bashfully. “Nothing. Not really.” Why did I just tell him that? I sounded like a gloating five-year-old.
“Tell me.” He smiles into his glass.
Oh God. “I just text him and he replied. Nothing exciting.”
“You text each other?” He raises an eyebrow in question.
Hank comes back over and interrupts us. “Okay, we are going to dance in a minute.” He stammers.”
“Great news.” Brielle smiles.
Hank shakes his head. “No, it’s not great. Have you seen me dance?”
Our faces drop. Oh shit, we didn’t think of that.
Thomas sees something over my shoulder and waves. “I will catch you guys later.”
“See you.” I smile and he disappears through the crowd.
Night made. Alastar showed his brother who I am.
* * *
It’s Thursday and I sit at my desk as I stare into space and get my things ready for lunch. Every night, for a week, I have text Alastar goodnight and every night, for a week, he has replied. I do wonder if I didn’t text him first would he have ever text me? I doubt it, to be honest. The longer I sit on this, the longer I feel that maybe this attraction is all in my head. I mean, if he was really keen, wouldn’t he be ringing me and asking to see me? I have decided I am not texting him tonight. I want to see if he is going to text me without prompting.
Why am I obsessing over this stupid guy? Ugh, I hate this. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I try to steer my thoughts away from the Irish god.
Get out of my head.
I pack my notepad and pencil into my bag and head to the park, my favorite new lunch spot. This story that has come to me is giving me hours of entertainment and I am actually starting to believe that maybe I could give this author gig a go. I have named my characters Henry and Elizabeth. I had to give them names, and although these are not the most romantic, I kind of like them. You never know what could happen down the track and it is keeping my mind occupied while Brielle and the others all study and work. I seem to have gotten creative since I moved here and have even bought a drawing pad and pencils so I can sketch random things. I don’t know why. I’ve never done anything like this before, but I figure that maybe now I am not under the restrictions of what is expected from me, I can experiment as much as I want.
I spread out my blanket and packed lunch before I sit down and let my imagination run wild.
* * *
She carries the tray carefully to the stable. She’s smiling proudly as she approaches the young man brushing the horses. Her families stable hand, Henry, his name is Henry, and he is the most beautiful man she has ever laid eyes on.
She continues nervously with her tray, and as she approaches him, he turns toward her, his face dropping as he nods, unable to make eye contact.
“I…” She hesitates, unsure of what his reaction will be. She has never done anything like this before. “I brought you some morning tea.”
He frowns and looks down at the scones with jam, cream, and tea on the tray, and then he glances back up at her face. “That’s...” He frowns in question and his eyes dart around the stable to check nobody is around. “That’s very kind of you… but I cannot accept.”
She puts her hands on her hips in outrage. “Why not?” she demands.
He looks around nervously. ‘Keep your voice down. I will get into trouble,” he whispers.
Henry knows that her widowed father has a reputation for being a violent drunk.
His eyes hold hers but he does not speak.
“You don’t even know who I am, do you?” she asks, portraying her hurt.
He nods. ‘I know exactly who you are.”
“What is my name?” she asks with a sarcastic raised brow.
He smirks at her pushy demeanour. “Elizabeth.”
She smiles shyly, relieved that he does, in fact, know who she is.
She puts the tray down onto the hale bay and begins to place jam and cream onto a scone for him.
He looks around nervously again. What is she doing? He will be whipped if he gets caught talking to his employer’s daughter. Truth be known, Henry only stays working here to keep an eye on Elizabeth. She is basically held hostage in her own home as her father awaits a large dowry when he marries her off. His only child, her mother passed when she was young and she has mostly been raised by the governess and the house staff. Henry knows a lot more about her than she could ever realise.
“Do you mean to tell me that I have been baking for you all morning for nothing? She puts her hands on her hips in an outrage. You ungrateful man.”
He cannot hide his smile. “You baked these… for me?”
“Yes, I did.” She smirks and pretends to dust something from her dress. “The very least you can do is eat them.”
His gaze holds hers and he looks around again.
Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “Oh, for heavens sake. Nobody is going to see you. He’s not even home.”
He shakes his head. He has been dreaming of Elizabeth for far too long. This could be dangerous to his sanity.
He sits on the hay bale and she passes him his scone. Their eyes lock on each other and she smiles shyly. Henry passes half of his scone back to Elizabeth. “Are you going to sit with me?” he asks.
She smiles broadly and happily sits beside him. This morning is turning out just as she planned.
* * *
It’s Friday night and I walk into the art gallery. This is all new to me and I am feeling totally out of my depth. My workmates are in a fluster and rushing around like maniacs, so I head over to Dulcie. “What do you want me to do?” I ask.
She looks around. “Can you just go and check that the canapés and champagne are getting round to the clients?”
“Sure.” My eyes wander nervously round the space. I know that Alastar may be here. He has three paintings on auction tonight. They’re gorgeous paintings, too—apparently earlier works of his. Who knows why he doesn’t paint anymore?
