by MJ Fields
“I work in hospitality.”
I laugh, surprised by the coincidence.
She tilts her head. “Are you involved in that, as well?”
“You could say that.” I own one of the largest hotel chains worldwide, but she doesn’t need to know that. I’ve sunk to lows, but I’ve never had to use my money to get a woman in bed, and I’m not about to start now. She didn’t need to know about my parents dying, either. I could see the evoked sympathy when I admitted as much.
Too much honesty, too much rehashing of reality can kill a mood, and I don’t want that now. Not here. And not with her.
My desire to take her to bed is increasing more by the second. And though she’s still weighing it up, I won’t deny myself the unaccustomed pleasure I will no doubt find in her. I imagine we’ll have had a lot more conversation before dawn, and I’m not upset about that. There’s no denying I want to press my face into her neck, taste her with my lips…my tongue, to smell her, and to feel her body’s heat increase against my touch. I want to just...get in her space. Make her come, make her smile, draw out her moans when I’m deep within her. I can’t wait to uncover what’s behind this gentle exterior.
She seems to notice the air between us has changed. “Uhhh.” She fiddles with her soft blonde hair again, letting out a small laugh. The blush of her skin increases. “It’s kind of hard for me to keep a conversation when you’re looking at me like that.”
“That’s kind of the point, Sarah.” Her eyes widen, and her lips part. She likes the way her name sounds coming from my lips.
“You’re pretty intense,” she says in a shaky laugh.
“You have no idea.” I inhale the sticky smell of the bar, trying to stay grounded in the real world so that I don’t throw this woman over my shoulder and run upstairs to Raff’s spare room, right above the bar. It’s been far too long since I indulged in anything that felt so forbidden. And I decide that’s what she feels like. The air about her is intoxicating. She might not be my type, but the draw is there. Still, I need her permission.
I wait for her to lift her eyes to mine, the invitation lingering as she goes the safe way.
“Tell me more about your Saint Patrick’s Day in Dublin. Is it different from how we celebrate here?” Her body is angled toward me now, just how I like it. When I have a woman, I want to have all of her attention.
“Well.” I shuffle forward on the barstool, getting closer. “Celebrations start a week earlier. The ‘lore goes that St Patrick's Day marks the death of Ireland’s fifth-century saint, who introduced Christianity to the Irish and banished all the snakes from the land.”
She shudders. “I hate snakes. Can we get Saint Patrick to come back and banish the rest?”
I laugh. “The beer is great. The pubs. The food. The people. Every street is decorated for the holiday in lights. It’s a good place to celebrate.”
“I bet you miss it?”
“Sure. But life is full of chapters. Just because I’m not there now, and don’t plan to be in the near future, doesn’t mean I won’t flip the pages back and reread later on.”
She nods. “That’s true. God willing, life is long, and there are many chances to revisit the fond places and memories.” She tears a piece of cocktail napkin from the one resting below her beer, her eyes dropping briefly, her lashes fluttering. “They can light up even the darkest days, and like that,” she snaps her fingers, snapping her eyes back to mine, “things eventually begin to look up. Or at least they should.”
It’s then I get a hint what the underlying part of the mystery of this woman is—lingering sadness.
I slide to the edge of my stool, so our legs are only centimeters apart. For a reason I can’t understand, I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her whatever she’s going through will pass. Instead, I ask, “Were you born and raised here?”
“It feels like it at times, but no.” She shakes her head. “I grew up in a small town on Long Island, about forty-five minutes from New York City…and.” She stops herself from revealing more.
I quirk my brow.
Her eyes flit from side to side as if she’s in search of a lie.
Interesting.
“Well, then I left for Colorado.” She clears her throat. “Boulder for college.”
“Uh huh.” I take a sip of my drink, knowing this part is true.
“After graduation, I got a job at a small hotel in Aspen, so I moved there for that.”
“Which one? I’m familiar.”
“It’s a really small hotel. Boutique.” She shifts on her stool as if the conversation is over.
“But I presume you spent some time in Holiday Springs? Faith mentioned you lived above her book shop before the move.” I’m pulling teeth right at this point to get her to speak. Maybe I should let it go, but for whatever reason, getting her undressed and underneath me is coming in second to prodding her for more. And with all her hesitation, I find myself wanting to know her truths. But with another fast lick of her lower lip, I also want to know what makes her burn inside.
She runs her fingers through her silky hair, inadvertently tousling it. “I just needed a change for some time. Holiday Springs really is a wonderful town.”
We both pause, what seems like a lie of omission fresh on her lips. I’ll get to the bottom of it. Eventually.
If necessary.
But for right now, I will carry on with small talk, exchanging tidbits of personal information, and taking the time she obviously needs to feel comfortable enough for the plan I’m formulating with each passing second. For her. For us.
I want those fucking moans.
“Change can be a beautiful thing, Sarah.” Her gaze lands on my lips before she lifts her eyes to mine, seeming to soak in every syllable. “It requires bravery, which requires inner strength.” I lean forward and capture the same wave of blonde hair that’s been falling in front of her eye this entire time we’ve been conversing. I rub it between my thumb and forefinger.
Silky.
We lock eyes at my gesture, the air growing static as I cut all pretenses.
“It’s as soft as I’ve been imagining the entire time we’ve sat here.” Her lips part a fraction. “Tell me, Sarah, what have you been imagining?”
Chapter Three
“Oh Vey!”
(Indicating surprise or shock)
- Yiddish saying
Sarah
Unable to answer, I’m mesmerized by the intensity in his green eyes. Instead of demanding any sort of answer, he pushes a lock of hair behind my ear, his knuckle lightly skimming my cheek. My nipples pucker at the touch as he stands, discarding his suit jacket before rolling up his sleeves, giving me a clear view of the tattoos on his muscular left forearm.
This situation as a whole is so not me, and yet, I find myself drawn in with every exchanged word, every simple gesture. Again seated, he leans in to engage me, and I look down at my beer, frowning at the lack of liquid. I can’t believe I’ve finished two.
In truth, I can believe it because I’m feeling pretty fantastic between the dueling buzzes of the alcohol and the nipple drawing chemistry with the stranger sitting next to me.
Better than I have in quite some time.
Between sips of fresh drinks the conversation begins to flow. Beckett orders a couple of shots for us as the noise level around us increases. Before I know it, I’m laughing hysterically at stories about him and Raff at ‘Uni’ and how they still play in a football league together when he’s in town. I love that his accent grows thicker as he relaxes. He tells me a story about being in Madrid when Real won the World Cup, their wild shenanigans and other anecdotes with his friends back in Ireland. In exchange, I give him an early day story about Faith and me, which he listens to attentively. The closer we draw, the harder it becomes to hide my growing attraction. I do my best not to fidget, crossing and uncrossing my legs, unable to stop the increasing flutter in my clit. Every time his alcohol-laced breath hits my lips and neck, some part of m
e physically reacts.
I’ve been starved for this type of attention for far too long.
Eventually, our conversation starts to stall. Instead, we exchange long looks, the last far too potent to ignore.
Seeming satisfied with what we’re not saying, he slides his massive, muscular body off the stool and stands to his full height. A grin spreads on the corners of his perfect mouth before he nods to the bartender and asks her to close our tab. I grab my phone from my purse, pretending to be involved in my newsfeed as opposed to what I’m actually doing—staring at his perfect ass. That’s when another thought hits me: I’m nowhere prepared for this in the physical sense. Not only that, I’m bordering drunk and need to make sure I don’t look like a complete mess in case I allow this to go any further. I scan the room, mindlessly dropping my phone back into my bag. I need Faith. Is she still here? I scan the crowd but am unable to find her as panic threatens. I stand and shoulder my purse and tap Beckett’s shoulder, which he seems to find amusing.
“Um, Beckett, I’ll be right back.” With his nod, I high-tail it to the bathroom. If there’s a chance of this happening, which from what I can tell, there is, I want to be present. I burst through the swinging bathroom door and find a few women hanging out by the sink, collectively laughing as I attempt to nurse my mini meltdown.
I shut myself in an empty stall managing to line the toilet seat with paper. Before I push down my pants, I close my eyes, allowing myself another moment to enjoy the feelings Beckett has stirred in just a few hours. My emotions are conflicting—skepticism, anxiety, lust, and need. But if I’m taking this ‘gift’ from Faith at face value, I don’t have to be sure about Beckett, and I don’t have to war with my morals.
In this moment, I just want to revel in the fact that my libido is still alive and kicking and hasn’t been depleted. After everything I went through, I thought for sure it had shriveled away and died.
Tears well up in the corner of my eyes.
But it hasn’t. I can feel it in the flush of my skin, the racing of my pulse, the dire need coursing through me, a gift in and of itself.
I’m still capable.
Maybe Faith is right. Normally, I’m responsible. I stay well within a realm of safety in all things. Perhaps I need to live a little bit in order to truly embrace this second chance.
Because I did get a second chance, I’m living it. And what better way to embrace it than indulging with a hot as sin man ready for a night of fun—with me?
Maybe Beckett is my green light.
I wait until I hear the women leave and walk out of the stall. Standing in front of the mirror, I exhale. My blonde hair is flat and lifeless, but it’s clean. I flip it and tousle it up a bit for some volume. My cheeks have a slight glow, no doubt due to the booze and the exhilaration of male attention. I’m not wearing any makeup, because I didn’t bring anything with me this weekend. After splashing water on my face, careful not to wet my hair, I rummage through my purse, trying to find some lip balm. Beneath a half-eaten granola bar and some loose green Tic Tacs, I find an old tube of cherry Chapstick and smear it across my lips. It’s…something.
Faith comes barreling through the bathroom door a second later, and I instantly latch onto her hand and pull her to me. “I thought I saw you come in here.”
“Where have you been?!”
“I think the bigger question is, why are you in here? You need to be outside with the Irishman.”
“I have been. He’s waiting for me.” I grab her purse and start rummaging through, relieved when I find a tiny bottle of body spray. “How could you let me leave the house looking like this?” I spritz the scent lightly over me as she stares at me with a knowing smirk.
“This doesn’t mean anything is happening.”
“Uh huh…” She muses as I obsess over my appearance. “It was hard enough to get you to come, let alone order you to dress up, and you don’t need it.”
“What am I doing?” I falter as she nudges me and turns me to face the mirror.
“You’re living, Sarah, and you’ve faced a lot harder than this. And look at you, right now. Just look.”
I study my flushed cheeks, my expression, the look in my eyes, and smooth down the fly-away hair.
“Stop overthinking it.”
“I don’t have time. I’ve already been in here too long.”
“Wait on me.” She pees in record time and does a fast hand wash before we walk out together. I scan the bar. What if he’s gone? What if he changed his mind about me? As if she can read my mind, she links her arm in mine and gives me the strength I need to keep walking. We push through the crowd, and I’m relieved to see he’s just where I left him. We’ve almost made it back when two women block my view. I have no doubt with them he’s just as charming.
In mere seconds they latch on, and as we close in, I see they are laughing and finding any excuse to paw him. I pause, gripping Faith’s arm. “Maybe I should just go.” My stomach suddenly feels raw, my fears and insecurities threatening.
“Oh, fuck them. That’s just Catherine. I told you Beckett is good people. He’ll see right through her. And I told you, he came to meet you.”
“But—”
“No buts. A minute ago, you had your mind made up. Don’t go there.”
It’s then the crowd parts a little, and Beckett’s eyes find mine, his lips lifting as Faith guides me back to where he stands, surrounded.
“Hey, Faith!” The redhead Faith identified as Catherine flips her hair, smacking Beckett in the chin with it while greeting us animatedly. “This is my sister, Brianne.”
“Hi, Catherine,” Faith replies with a tight smile. “Nice to meet you, Brianne.” Catherine has her hand on Beckett’s forearm, her long, blood-red nails digging in possessively as if to stake her claim. He inches away slowly as not to offend her, his eyes on me.
“Catherine, I wanted to tell you something important. Can you come with me for a second?”
“Really?” Her eyes flit to Beckett who slips on his jacket in what looks like an excuse to grant him space. His wink at me tells me as much. I can’t help my answering smile, and I swear I see his eyes flare when I do.
“Now?” Catherine asks.
“Yes.” Faith nods her head, like whatever it is she’s about to say is that serious. “You know how you recently hooked up with Rob last week—”
“Beckett, excuse us, I’ll be right back,” Catherine grits out. Faith squeezes my shoulder briefly in encouragement before leading them both away. I stare after them, knowing that move was far too easy to read.
“Could she be any more obvious?”
Beckett steps toward me and takes my hand, lifting it up to his lips. His lashes flutter, his featherlight kiss leaving me longing for more as I get lost in him in a mere second. “We were doing just fine on our own, wouldn’t you agree?”
When I give him a slow nod, he leans in. “Sarah.” He’s so close to me that I can feel his body heat radiating. “I have a room upstairs. The decision is yours.”
My knees threaten to knock at his invitation, my hand lingering in his. I know somehow, I’ve given my consent because in the next breath, I’m being led away from the obnoxious crowd. I feel as if I’m floating as I follow the mountain of a man whose raw strength combined with an air of sexual prowess hangs thick over him in an unspoken promise of pleasure as he guides me through the bar. I keep my eyes lowered so I can’t see the expressions of those we pass, especially the women, but I feel them. I don’t at all fight the budding smile on my lips.
He leads me through a sea of faceless people to the back of the bar, through an office, and up a stairway. We’re still hand in hand as he punches a code to unlock the door.
Nerves attempt to overcome desire, but I force myself to hone in on his broad back.
The pulsing between my legs intensifies as I inhale the remnants of his cologne.
“Raff has his loft up here, but he keeps this spare room. I always stay here when I visit.”
I follow him inside, ‘always stay here’ lingering in the air. Is this his MO? Am I one of countless many? Do I care?
Not enough to deny myself. Not tonight.
Maybe, in Beckett’s eyes, I’m just another Catherine. But regardless of his reasons, I’m doing this for me. That’s the gift I’m giving to myself, and he’s just the man to deliver it. Confident, experienced, insanely handsome.
As soon as the door shuts behind us, he turns, grabs my hips, lifts me, pressing me against the wall. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist, and we stare at each other through several breaths, his eyes holding me hostage.
He dips, his tongue sweeping across my bottom lip, and I have an urge to suck it. I’m so turned on—I’m shaking. Just the intensity of his gaze has me on the verge of moaning.
“Sarah,” he growls, his eyes roaming to my heaving chest and back up, “just to be certain. You want this?”
I nod.
“I need to hear you say the words.”
Want? For years, I wanted my life back, willing myself to get better, hoping to reclaim the life I had before, the life I took for granted. I wanted normalcy. I wanted a lot of things. But now, more than ever, I want to reclaim a piece of me I swore I lost. I drink him in, fully intoxicated by the feel of him surrounding me, the truth crystal clear. So, it’s the truth I give him.
“I need this.”
Chapter Four
If you’re lucky enough to be Irish… You’re lucky enough!
-Irish proverb
Beckett
Pressing her up against the door, my lips linger against her neck. I don’t allow myself to kiss her, not yet. Fuck, I don’t even dare breathe her in for fear I’ll lose control.
And I don’t lose control. Ever.
With her secure against the wall, I use my free hand to pull off her black long sleeve T-shirt revealing a colorless nude bra, which isn’t at all something I’ve encountered before, hell, not even during my years at Uni. Again, against my norm, but it turns me on to the point my cock is fully engorged. It tells me that she wasn’t planning on presenting herself to a man or getting fucked tonight.
