SmallTownDuke

by Forbes, Sara

  Small Town Chief

  Billionaires of Ballytirrel #2

  SARA FORBES

  ©Sara Forbes 2019

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be considered as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  www.saraforbes.com

  cover design: DepartingUFO 2019

  editor: Phrase Pharoah

  Loyalty or love? He has to choose.

  Clan chief, Seamus, rules over the family business with determination, discipline, and honor.

  Everybody loves him.

  I know because I watch from the sidelines.

  I'm the one woman he can't have.

  He's the uncle of my child. The brother of the man whose death I caused.

  And yet...when we meet, we can't hide our feelings.

  I go out of my way to avoid him, but in a small town, that's almost impossible.

  And every time we meet, the attraction gets stronger, hotter, more urgent.

  It needs to stop. I can't deny my son a chance to know his uncle, so I'll deny my heart instead.

  But is Seamus also prepared to sacrifice love for loyalty?

  1

  CLIONA

  There comes a point at every wedding when the shoes are just too uncomfortable and you need to sit down and take the damn things off. Well, I reached that point an hour ago.

  From where I’m standing, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, it’s a beautiful scene. Danny the groom looks dashing in his coat and tails, looking very ducal. I’m trying my best not to feel like Julia Freaking Roberts in My Best Friend’s Wedding.

  I’m not jealous, just…wistful.

  Also, I never made a pact with Danny that if I reached a certain age, we’d get hitched. I’m thirty, he’s thirty-one. Nobody’s desperate here.

  His young bride, Shannon, is radiant, exotic and natural at the same time, looking every as beautiful on the outside as she is on the inside. I’ve come to be very fond of the Texan girl who’s still afraid of horses.

  “Is Uncle Danny going to dance with Shannon now?” Lorcan, beside me, asks.

  I smile down at my seven-year-old son. “Call him Danny, just Danny, OK? We talked about this.”

  Lorcan bows his head. “Yeah, sorry.”

  He looks so contrite my heart stirs for him. It hasn’t been easy for him adjusting to seeing Danny less frequently and changing the way he addresses him. It hasn’t been easy for any of us, but it has been necessary.

  “Hey,” I say, “let’s go explore the grounds. I hear there’s a new fountain in the duck pond. Would you like to go see it?”

  He jumps up. “Yeah!”

  It’s good to be out in the fresh air. Danny and Shannon got a rain-free June day for their wedding, so they’re lucky. Of course, if they’d opted to do it in Texas, instead of here in Ireland, they’d have had guaranteed sunshine. Still, her mother, Rose, seems more than happy to be here visiting her sister and her other relatives. Back to her roots and all that.

  Everyone seems so happy—Shannon’s family in their little bubble, Danny’s well-heeled Dublin friends in theirs. Some of his more distant relatives have come out of the woodwork. I can’t even hang out with his mother, Lady Ellen, as I normally would, because she’s occupied with them.

  Church bells in the distance clang out the Angelus for the Catholics. It’s only six p.m. At least three more hours to endure before I can claim that Lorcan’s tired and needs to go to bed, even though Danny knows full well he doesn’t get tired until ten. Why is my best friend’s wedding such a drag?

  Then I spot someone else who isn’t fitting in.

  Seamus Callaghan.

  The big, blond man is sitting on a bench at the edge of the rose garden playing with something on his phone, his muscular frame hunched over, his long, blond mane swept back over the collar. It’s weird to see the eldest Callaghan son sitting alone. And it’s nice to see him without his family.

  Something tells me he’s spotted me, so I can’t ignore him. He is the uncle of my child. And we’re on his enemy territory here, so I may as well make the most of it.

  He’s taken off the green silk tie and it’s draped over the iron armrests of the bench, like he’s given up on the formalities.

  “Hi Seamus,” I progress another step toward him.

  His eyebrows bob up. “Cliona,” he says, clearing his throat.

  He does a fist bump with Lorcan and his face breaks into a wide grin. “Hey you.”

  “Hey, Uncle Shay.” Lorcan is still shy around Seamus. Of all the Callaghan brothers, he knows Seamus the least on account of him having been away most of his life—all of his life, in fact, until last year when Seamus suddenly returned from his seven-year hiatus in San Francisco.

  I smile, taking the space beside him on the bench. “Your nephew is growing more like you every day.” Will Lorcan develop that proud forehead, straight nose and strong jaw like this guy? I kind of hope he does.

  There’s a guarded expression in Seamus’s eyes. “You think so?”

  Our gazes meet and lock. There’s so much vividness in his green eyes. I always feel like his soul is burning out of him. Maybe it’s the weight of the past. Maybe it’s my own guilt for his brother Owen dying as he did. Whatever it is, I can’t hold eye contact with this man for more than two seconds before I feel like part of me has been scorched by the flames of judgment.

  I look away, searching for something light to talk about. I shouldn’t have sat down beside him. I feel trapped.

  “Are you enjoying the party?” I ask.

  “What do you think?” Seamus nods at a group who have just spilled out into the patio. The men have tailored tuxedos and chiseled haircuts, the women, sophisticated updos, designer dresses, and nude court shoes. I recognize Garrett in the crowd, Danny’s best male friend. I like Garrett, but I never got to know the others.

  Seamus’s dancing green eyes meet mine. “Have you heard them talk? That tall one with the moustache? And his wife? Oh my God. So much name dropping the carpet was protesting.”

  I nod grimly. “The Fenwicks. You had to sit beside them at dinner.”

  “You noticed.” His lip curls into a smile. “I got so sick of it, I threw Barack Obama into the conversation. Told them he’d stayed in our hotel when he was visiting Ireland looking for the O’Bamas.”

  “But he didn’t,” I say indignantly.

  Seamus winks. “Course he didn’t. But I did meet him in San Francisco one time. Anyway, it shut Fenwick up for ten minutes while he tried to google it, which meant I could eat my pheasant in peace.”

  I grin. “Well, yes, he does tend to go on a bit.”

  Danny seating Seamus at the table with his Dublin friends was probably a tragically miscalculated attempt to get the clan chief to connect to some other upwardly mobile entrepreneurs, but he should have known known that Seamus would have been far more comfortable sitting beside the stalwarts of the village with more earthy ambitions, people like Sean Lannigan.

  “Danny tried to help you fit in, at least,” I say.

  Seamus lets out a sigh and shakes his head. “Always defending him.”

  I glare back at him. Then my gaze dips further down to where Lorcan is scuffing the earth with his new shoes.

  “Lorcan!” I scold, “Your good shoes! And Danny’s good lawn.”

  “Let the boy play,” Seamus says, flashing my son a conspiratorial smile.

  “No, stop it now, Lorcan.”

  Lorcan swivels his gaze between the two of us. He’s used to power plays, but usually they play out between Danny and me, and we tend to see eye-to-eye on mos
t things. This is different. Seamus is encouraging the boy to disobey me just for the hell of it.

  I give Lorcan a glare so he knows he better than to try pushing it, and that not even his uncle’s powers are going to grant him what he wants.

  “Ah now Lorcan, listen to your mammy,” Seamus says, stretching his arm along the back of the bench, not touching me, but letting me know he’s there. I respond with an involuntary full-body shudder. Damn him.

  No wonder he’s so popular in the community despite having committed the cardinal sin of leaving for so long. That’s why his hotel has been getting rave reviews—yes, I checked—particularly from women. He makes sure to chat them up at reception the minute they arrive, sealing their first impression. He sets them on a delicious edge before they even get their room keys.

  I’m sure he’s never in want of company at night. This part of Ireland is trending with single women travelers as it’s safe, beautiful, and it’s easy to meet people in public places.

  I bend down and unbuckle my straps. Then I kick off my shoes with an inward sigh of bliss. Using my toe, I shove the torture devices to the edge of the gravel.

  Seamus gaze is directed downward. “Nice shoes.”

  I grimace and flex my toes. “To look at, maybe. Not to wear.”

  “I don’t have that particular fetish.”

  “Good to know,” I say with a smirk. I hate that I sound more breathless than normal.

  “Those feet look like they’ve been through the wars.”

  “Huh, thanks.” I slide them under the bench, as much out of view as possible.

  “No, don’t do that. Come on, up here with them.” He pats the space that separates us on the bench. His intent gaze tells me he’s deadly serious despite the laughter in his voice.

  I glance at my son happily playing with a bunch of twigs and then around the vast garden currently devoid of onlookers. “Ah, no, I…shouldn’t.”

  “What’s the harm?”

  I purse my lips. “I’m grand the way I am.”

  “No, you’re not.” His voice is husky. He sounds so confident in his opinion.

  I shut my eyes and open them again. Am I really having this conversation? With him? I thought he hated me.

  “Seamus,” I say primly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just sit here.”

  He pats the space again. “And miss out on my amazing foot massage?”

  I shake my head, but I can’t help smiling.

  “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

  My toes wiggle at him of their own accord. My feet are throbbing, the skin is raw in places where the straps dug in and they’re desperate for some tender care. I try not to imagine a soothing touch on them.

  The laughter from inside the manor drifts out the back door. They’re all having fun in there. Why the hell shouldn’t I?

  I gingerly swing my legs up, glad of the flowing chiffon skirt that keeps me modest as I stretch out. My heels end up resting on his thigh—his warm and utterly steel-hard thigh. His eyebrows hike up in a brief moment of surprise but then his gaze fixates on my face. When he sees I’m not flinching or moving away, he rests his fingertips on top of each foot. Gently.

  Okay, this does not look innocent.

  This does not feel innocent.

  But I’ve come this far…

  I feel the need to keep chatting, to normalize this situation as Seamus cups his big hands around my feet, bringing a rush of warmth, comfort, and security. I gasp. The words freeze in my mouth.

  Skin on skin. It’s oh…so… good.

  Seamus isn’t looking at me now, but focusing on something in the distance as he gently runs the pad of his thumb along the arch of my right foot in absent-minded fashion. He knows where to be firm and where to be extra gentle. As if he knew my body inside out and where every nerve-ending is hidden. He’s in command of my senses. There’s a knowing smile lingering on his lips. What is he thinking?

  I thought he hated me.

  It must be a trap. Maybe he’s trying to prove something to Danny. But, God, it feels too good to even care anymore. When he pinches my heel between his forefinger and thumb, I let out an involuntary groan.

  “Hm, I think you needed this,” he remarks.

  “Yes, I think I did.”

  It’s all I trust myself to say. If I had any sense, I’d withdraw my legs from this man and use them to run far, far away.

  I shudder. His palms continue sliding against my sore flesh, smoothing gently over the ridges, communicating softly with the bones that had been forced by the fancy shoes into an unnatural position for hours. It’s not ticklish, he’s careful to avoid that. It’s sheer relief and…pleasure. It shouldn’t be this good. The last time anyone paid such exquisite attention to my body was...well, never?

  I don’t want Seamus to stop. Ever. Just as my eyelids grow heavy, there’s a murmuring in the distance. I flicker open my eyes. I meet the unguarded green gaze of Seamus head on. Our eyes lock for a microsecond. A dreadful microsecond of truth. His expression is naked, vulnerable, longing.

  He blinks and looks away as if I’ve slapped him.

  “Uhm, yeah, something happening,” he says, cocking his head backward. His fingertips resting against my ankle resume turning tiny, delicious circles. How would that motion would feel on other parts of me? If his cheeky smile is anything to go by, he’s wondering the same thing.

  As the commotion behind us gets louder, I sit up taller to look. Two servants in white shirts are wheeling a trolley with a cake onto the terrace in front of the newly renovated east wing. The murmurs intensify and more people mingle around.

  “Cake time,” I say, craning my neck to watch the bride and groom as they step out regally. “They’ve been careful with the drink. Not a wobble in sight.”

  “More fool them,” Seamus mutters. “If you can’t let go on your wedding day when can you let go?”

  Lorcan’s head darts up again. “Cake?” He scrambles to his feet like only a hungry seven-year-old can. He rushes over to our bench. I don’t have time to react and pull my legs down. I only have time to plant one leg on the ground; the other is still in Seamus’s grasp. Seamus’s fingers stop moving.

  Lorcan looks at me, at my extended, bare leg in Seamus’s grasp, at Seamus’s face, and then at me again.

  A little-boy frown appears on his brow. Then, in a hushed voice, he asks, “Are you two having sex?”

  “What?” I yank my leg violently out of Seamus’s hands. “No, Lorcan, your uncle and I are…talking. We’re just talking.”

  Seamus is blinking rapidly at the boy. “Yes, talking,” he mutters, clasping his empty hands together. All his usual confidence seems to have fled. His face is paler than it was a few seconds ago.

  “Hm,” Lorcan says, losing interest now. He turns and runs off in the direction of the cake.

  “Since when does he know about sex?” Seamus asks me when my son is out of hearing range.

  “Don’t ask me!” I clutch my head in my hands.

  “You’re his mother. Whom else should I ask?” His voice cracks with laughter.

  I lift my head and meet his eyes and feel a convulsive desire to laugh too. “Seamus—” I protest as I snort out an unladylike laugh.

  We giggle like two schoolkids, hunched over.

  “Maybe the duke told him about the birds and the bees?” Seamus says, rubbing his eyes.

  I sober up instantly. “No, don’t be silly. Danny and I would have discussed something like that beforehand. Besides, he just wouldn’t.”

  “Some older kid in that posh school then.” His tone is cooler.

  “I don’t know, Seamus. Kids pick up things. From TV, the internet, or from people talking. It’d have been the exact same if he attended the local school. Anyway, he clearly doesn’t know what sex means if he thinks…” I trail off. I’m heated, confused, and somewhat irritated.

  He rises from the bench and stretches his arms out wide, filling out his pristine, white shirt with his broad shoulders and c
hest. “I need to be getting back to the ranch anyway. Didn’t mean to stay this long at this shindig.”

  “Yes, I understand,” I say. He’s stayed the minimum time required not to be labelled a party pooper, but doesn’t want to hang on any longer than he needs to. He probably has it all timed to the minute.

  His jaw is clamped tight, his green eyes shrewd. He’s judging me, judging the way I bring up Lorcan, just like every member of his family does.

  “Look, I’ll explain to Lorcan that what we were doing wasn’t…you know,” I say in a strangled voice. “Don’t worry, there won’t be rumors going around.”

  Seamus glances wryly at the crowd milling on the patio where I see my son chatting to Garrett and his cronies. “It may be too late.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “Nobody would believe it anyway.”

  “There is that,” he says. And walks off.

  2

  SEAMUS

  “How was it yesterday?” Niall wants to know when I come in with bundles of fresh roses and carnations for the reception and public areas. He peers at my face. “You’re looking fierce healthy for someone that went to a wedding.”

  “Plus, I’ve had my morning swim,” I say. “The wedding was a dry one for me.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Don’t know why you bothered.”

  “I was invited, so I went.” I tap the monitor in front of him. “How many guests?”

  “Full house.”

  “Did they all show from Moore’s wedding?”

  “Yup. Six different parties. One of them is called Marci. Guest of the bride’s. Oh my God, Seamus, she’s gorgeous. Did you see her there? She’s small, dark, petite—”

  “I didn’t notice,” I say. “But had I been aware you were burning for her I’d have gotten her number for you.”

  He smirks. “I already have it, so there.”

  I laugh in surprise. “Impressive—for you. Don’t forget to change the menus outside the dining room. Killian has that new lunchtime special, and you can put the room prices back down to normal levels on the website.”