Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nora
T GIF—Thank goodness it’s Friday. The shooting, the wake, the aftermath of pissing off my father, having to work at the library, and waiting to hear about the positions we interviewed for at Legend. It’s been a week from hell and I’m glad it’s over.
What if we didn’t impress the owner at Legend as much as I thought we did? Neither of us has heard a thing and I’m getting worried. We need those jobs if we hope to make enough money to change our lives.
I don’t understand. I’d swear we nailed our interviews.
So why haven’t they called us yet?
I trudge along the sidewalk, my sensible flats practically silent against the ground. Another tedious day at the library, cataloging books and helping elderly patrons figure out how to use a computer. My pencil skirt and button-up blouse feel suffocating, even in the chilly weather.
My steps falter when I spot the gleaming, metallic blue muscle car parked at the curb in front of my house. The setting sun catches the polished chrome, and I’m intrigued. I notice the man leaning against the passenger door, and my heart skips a beat.
Brendan.
He’s looking chill, his boots crossed at the ankle, his muscled arms crossed over his chest. No leather jacket today—instead, he’s wearing dark jeans and a fitted gray Henley that shows off his broad shoulders. His dark hair is slightly messy—like he’s been running his fingers through it—and when he lifts his head and sees me, his smile warms me to my core.
“Hey, angel.” His deep voice sends a shiver down my spine. He looks me up and down and his dark brow creases as the smile drains away from his face.
I clutch my bag tighter, very aware of how plainly I look in my librarian clothes. Guys like him are used to flashy girls with sexy dresses and great bodies. Well, sorry to disappoint. “What are you doing here?”
He pushes off the antique car and closes the distance between us. “I thought I might sweet talk you into dinner?”
Despite my own best interests, I can’t help wishing a guy like him really could be here to sweet talk me. He must still be feeling guilty about tackling me and me being sore. Does he think I’ll sue him?
He said he has money. That’s something he or his family might worry about.
“Hello? Nora?” He tilts his head into my line of vision, looking confused. “Am I bothering you? Should I go?”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Sorry. No. You’re not bothering me, I…I just don’t understand why you’re here.”
His broad shoulders rise toward his ears in a shrug. “I told you. I wanted to take you to dinner. You eat, don’t you?”
Like before, the earnestness in his deep, emerald eyes draws me in. “Yes, I eat. In fact, tonight I grabbed a sandwich at the deli next to the library where I work.”
“Coffee and dessert then. I know a great little café not too far from here.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, gesturing to the passenger seat of his car.
I swallow, but my throat remains dry. “I won’t sue you or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He pulls back, his gaze growing dark and confused. “How did me asking you out take you to me being worried about you suing me?”
I lift my chin. “Well…we’re strangers. After the shooting, you bought me a lovely basket and now you’re here on the pretext of being interested in me. You’re obviously being nice to me for a reason. I just want to know what it is.”
For the first time since I met him, the sweet and gentle veil falls and his emerald gaze is clouded with genuine insult and anger. “Who the fuck twisted you up so badly that you look at the world like this?”
My mouth falls open, but before I can form an answer, he grips my upper arms and gives me a little shake. “Since the moment you climbed off my bike and left me sitting at the corner of your street, I’ve been thinking about you.”
“You have?”
“Aye, I have. I’ve thought about you and the inner strength it took for you to handle the shooting as well as you did. I’ve thought about the way your soft curves felt like fucking perfection when I laid over you. I’ve thought about how hot it was having your legs wrapped around me while I drove you home on my bike as your hands explored my fucking abs.”
His gaze narrows. “Did I do something to make you think I have an angle I’m working?”
“No, but guys like you don’t notice girls like me. It just doesn’t happen.”
Brendan releases my shoulders and wraps an arm behind my waist, pulling me against his chest. Our bodies are crushed together, and I suck in a breath. “Does this feel like I haven’t noticed you?”
Saliva pools in my mouth and I swallow. There’s no missing the erection pressed against my belly. It’s long and hard and threatening to bust through the fly of his jeans.
I hesitate, glancing down. “I don’t know what to say.”
His gaze softens, and he curls a strand of my hair around his finger. “I don’t know who dimmed your spark, Nora Kelly, but when I held you, trembling in my arms, I realized the treasure you are. I believe the goddess áine herself put the two of us together.”
What? That’s bonkers. “You don’t even know me.”
“That’s the point, angel. I want to get to know you. I want to spend time with you and learn more about you. That’s my angle.”
I search his expression for any sign that he’s laying it on thick to catch me off guard, but I see nothing but truth—or at least the truth as he believes it.
“Um…okay. If we’re going to get coffee, I’d like to change first. Would you mind waiting a few minutes while I get out of these clothes?”
The sexual intensity that crackles off him has my girl parts thrumming to life. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. When they open again, he seems to have reined in whatever was driving him a moment ago. “You look beautiful as you are.”
I snort and then slap a hand over my mouth, cutting off the sound. “You’re a terrible liar. I’m frumpy and woefully bland in these work clothes.”
He arches a brow. “I didn’t lie. I do think you’re beautiful…despite covering every inch of your beautiful skin in the clothes of a repressed nun.”
I giggle. “Better. The truth is always better.”
He tilts his head to one side, as if considering something. “Then, in the spirit of speaking the truth…when you said you wanted to get out of those clothes, all I could think of was peeling them off you so I could run my hands over every inch of your body.”
I swallow hard as images of that fire in my mind. My pussy clenches at the thought and I squeeze my thighs together to silence the groan building at the back of my throat.
After a long moment, Brendan cracks a smile and loosens his hold on me. “Go get changed, angel. I’ll wait right here for as long as it takes.”
I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk to my front door, let alone upstairs to my room. The thought of Brendan and my room conjures another rush of erotic images, and this time, the groan escapes.
That’s embarrassing. He only asked me for coffee.
Uh…yeah, by pressing his hard cock against my navel.
Which was huge, by the way…
“Nora. Go. Change.”
Right. I step back, the butterflies in my stomach making a valiant attempt at migrating north. “Two minutes…five tops.”
His warm chuckle follows me to the door, and my mind spins.
How is this man even real?
Brendan
I hold the door open at Cuppa Jo, a boutique café that I’m super proud of. The atmosphere is that of a Parisian boulangerie with the smell of freshly baked breads and pastries mixing with the rich scent of roasted beans. The result is a lungful of bliss that wafts around us like a warm hug and makes my stomach growl loud enough that Nora turns to glance down at my stomach.
“How long were you waiting for me to come home to invite me to dinner?”
I give her a sheepish smile. “My original plan was to take you out to lunch.”
Her eyes widen. “Brendan! You waited outside my house all afternoon?”
“When you say it like that, it makes me sound creepy. I sat in my car and worked on my laptop for a lot of that.”
Her gaze softens and I like the way the light catches flecks of navy and gold swimming in the blue pools of her eyes. “Well, still. You should’ve left to get food. I bet it takes a lot of calories to fuel all these honed muscles.” She slides her hand inside my jacket and presses her palm on the ridged planes of my abs.
“So, you noticed me too, then, aye?”
She chuckles and rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you don’t need me to stroke your ego. You know what you’ve got going on here, and use it to your advantage, I’m sure.”
I study her, not sure if I should be offended by that or not.
Damn, if we weren’t already halfway inside, I would take her back to the car and explore her theories of what me taking advantage looks like.
But we are halfway inside—and I called ahead—so it would be rude not to go in and enjoy ourselves.
Nora steps inside, and I watch her take it all in—her blue eyes sparkling. “It reminds me of Paris.”
“It should. The owner is from Saint-Germain-des-Prés.”
She lights up from the inside. “I used to live in the Latin Quarter and went to Saint-Germain-des-Prés all the time. I used to go to the Café de Flore and order their chocolate profiteroles. I’d sit there for hours and soak in the history while I sketched.”
Another couple is waiting to come in behind us, so I ease her to the side, not wanting to interrupt her excitement. “So, you’re a history buff, then?”
“It wasn’t so much about the history—it was for inspiration for my painting.”
“An artist, then.”
She bites her bottom lip. “I’m not Monet by any stretch of the imagination, but it used to be a deep passion of mine.”
“Used to be?”
Her smile dims. “I haven’t picked up a brush in a while. My muse seems to have abandoned me.”
“But she was with you when you studied in Paris?”
Before my eyes, Nora comes to life, telling me about how living in Paris transformed her love of painting from a hobby to a passion. The woman is something else. How can she not know how special she is?
The other couple finishes at the counter, and when they go to claim a seat, I motion for Nora to go ahead. “Ladies first.”
“How chivalrous.” She laughs softly and dips her chin, her blonde hair falling in front of her face and obscuring my vision.
I follow, pleased that the place is quiet tonight, offering us a perfect venue to chat without anyone eavesdropping.
As we arrive at the counter, Josephine meets my gaze and smiles at Nora. “ Bonsoir , welcome to Cuppa Jo. I am Josephine Deschamps, owner and operator.”
Nora beams and replies in flawless, Parisienne French. “It’s lovely to meet you. Your shop is magnificent.”
“I’m thrilled you like it, chérie . What can I get for you?”
Nora drops her gaze, taking in all the patisserie offerings. “Oh, everything looks so good. How can I possibly choose?”
I wave away her concern. “You don’t have to choose. Order whatever you like. Order the entire menu. I don’t care. If it’s too much to eat here, we’ll box it up and you can take it home.”
The blush that pinks her round cheeks is too fucking cute.
“I’ll have a raspberry macaron and a vanilla latte with whipped cream.”
Seriously? One macaron? This girl needs to learn to indulge. “I’ll have the baguette and stew with an Americano, and an assortment of desserts.”
Jo arches a brow. “How big of an assortment?”
I meet Nora’s gaze. “A dozen?”
She blinks at me. “A dozen desserts?”
I nod. “You’re right. We better make it two dozen.”
Jo chuckles. “ Bon , take a seat and I’ll bring everything to your table shortly.”
Nora is still staring at me when I tap my phone over the card reader and then tug her toward the booth I reserved around the corner by the fireplace.
“Here we are.” I step behind Nora and grip the shoulders of her jacket while she shrugs out of it. Then I hang it on the hook at the end of our booth and take mine off as well.
“Oh, wait. This table is reserved.” Nora points at the little brass ‘reserved’ sign sitting on the front edge of the table.
“Aye, it is. Reserved for us. I thought you might enjoy sitting across from the fireplace after walking home from work. It’s getting colder every day, and a Dublin chill can settle into your bones.”
I gesture for her to take her seat and slide in opposite her. The confusion in her eyes is something I just don’t understand. Why is it so alien to her to have someone thinking about her needs? She’s a lovely person.
Surely she’s had friends and lovers who have spoiled her—hasn’t she?
Well, if she hasn’t, that’s about to change.
“So, what do you think of this place? It’s cool, right?”
Nora seems to snap out of her reverie and meets my question with a resounding smile. “Yes, I love it. Do you come here a lot?”
“No. Not a lot. I keep tabs on things and if Jo needs anything, I make sure she’s taken care of, but I’m a silent partner, so ‘silent’ sort of implies I’m hands off.”
She straightens. “Wait. You own this place?”
I shake my head. “No. This place is all Jo. I was just in the position to help her when her husband was killed and their dream of opening this place was in jeopardy.”
“So, you are an investor?”
“Aye, among other things. My family has strong ties with Dublin and over the years, has taken an interest in many of the local businesses. We do what we can and help where we’re able.”
“So you work for your family company? You’re a businessman?”
“Aye, that’s the gist of it.”
“You don’t strike me as a nine-to-five investment guy.” The face she makes as she says that makes me laugh out loud.
“Och, I’m not. I handle things in the…security protocols department. I make sure people toe the line. Discipline those who don’t follow the laws. Keep people in line.”
“Like a bouncer at a bar.”
She’s so fucking cute. “That’s a very accurate way to describe it. So, we work together on the family interests and then, on the side, we each work on our own passion projects.”
“Like this cafe?”
“Among other investments. But I’m most proud of this one. Jo is good people, and it would’ve been an even worse crime if the violence that took her husband also took their dream of opening this place.”
Nora looks over her shoulder to ensure that our conversation is still private and then leans in. “What happened?”
“The two of them were south of the river, buying and ordering the kitchen equipment they needed to open this place and were held up at gunpoint. One assailant grabbed Jo as leverage, but instead of controlling her husband, it incited him to fight to get to her. The gunshots brought people running, and the attackers fled, but Marcel didn’t make it.”
“That’s tragic.” Nora presses a hand against her throat.
“It was, but Jo is made of strong stuff. Part of the reason I wanted to bring you here was so you could see past the violence of the shooting. Violence happened and losing your friend was senseless and tragic, but you’re still here. You can fight past it and keep your dreams alive.”
Nora’s mouth falls open, and she shakes her head. “I love that.”
A steady rattle of a serving cart brings a server around the corner with our order. By the nervous glances she flashes me as she sets our order on our table, she is aware I am a Quinn or Jo has told her I’m important.
When she’s unloaded the tea cart and has everything in place, she straightens, looking relieved. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No. Thank you. We’re good.”
She grips the long handle of the cart and wheels it away like her ass is on fire. Nora doesn’t seem to notice. Her gaze is locked on the two dozen sweet treats and pastries on display on a three-tiered serving plate. “This is insane.”
“No, it’s indulgent. There’s a difference.”
She tears her attention away from the desserts, and I’m struck by the glimmer of mischief dancing in her eyes. “Why do I get the feeling that indulging your whims isn’t new to you?”
“Because, as well as being beautiful, you are also a perceptive and highly intelligent woman.”