Chapter 39
thirty-nine
DAGR
It had taken thirty minutes to get from his flat to the event. Thirty minutes in which Dagr tried his best not to stare at the woman sitting opposite him in the backseat.
It made her mouth that much closer to his.
Her hair was in a smooth bun at the nape of her neck.
It was a simple style that perfectly showed off the dress and the diamonds in her ears and at her neck.
Her makeup, he noted, was also simply done.
She was the first woman he’d taken to something like the charity event where they didn’t wear gobs of the shit and eyelash extensions.
He definitely preferred her natural beauty over the artificial kind. It was impossible to tear his eyes from her silk-covered breasts, his mouth watering to suck the slight outline of her nipples through the thin barrier of material.
Impossible—that is, until she turned around and he caught his first glance of Bébhinn’s bare back where the material was draped low enough to see the dimples on her strong, lower back.
When he’d told her he’d never seen anyone so lovely, he’d meant it. She blushed at the compliment and told him he looked elegant in his Armani tux. He blushed, too, unfortunately.
The driver was opening their door, and he was about to slip out when Bébhinn clasped his hand.
“There won’t be a more handsome man here tonight, Dagr.”
The look on her face made him want to climb back in and forget the charity. Instead, he said, “I doubt that very much, but I wouldn’t mind you thinking so.”
He drew her out of the car behind him, ensuring her matching silk cape was set correctly around her shoulders before offering his arm. Names were given, and pictures were taken before they were allowed through the open front doors of the opulent home of tonight’s host.
A smartly-dressed hostess led them to the ballroom, offering glasses of champagne and a brief property history. He listened to none of it, too focused on the woman at his side.
He was fighting to remove her hand from his arm and pull her close. He was fighting with himself over every desire he’d had for months. He didn’t want to take advantage of their friendship and, most importantly, her age by trying for more.
She made keeping things platonic difficult with her subtle touches and stolen glances. He’d caught her watching him with interest more than once. He’d only caught her because he was watching her as well.
Before he could ponder their relationship further, they were led into the great dining room where guests were already mingling and sipping cocktails.
He was stopped repeatedly by acquaintances, his and his father’s. Land preservation was definitely not the only thing being discussed that evening. Events like this charity were the perfect place to mix high-powered businessmen, politicians, and men like him, who closed whatever deals were made.
Bébhinn leaned into his side and whispered an hour later during dinner, “I wonder if this feels more like work than your normal work week.”
Without thinking, he squeezed her thigh with the hand that had been resting on his lap and raised his eyebrows, smiling. “You are very observant.” And because he was a masochist, he leaned over to whisper, “You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight.”
She laid her hand lightly over his, where it was still warming the top of her thigh. They looked at one another, both trying to read each other.
Bébhinn broke the silence. “Do you want to see what others see when we stand together?”
Dagr felt his brows raise in confusion. Was she referencing their age difference? His chest tightened with the beginnings of embarrassment. She picked her phone up with the hand that wasn’t still covering his and began to flick through apps. He felt his body grow more tense.
“Did you research my family much?” she asked without looking up from her phone.
“Only a brief history—businesses, holdings, that type of thing,” he answered, wondering again where this was going. And then she held up a picture that blew his mind.
“No wonder you thought I was your brother,” he laughed. He was looking at a tall, white-haired man with a woman so similar to Bébhinn, that he found himself taking her phone to get a closer look.
She chuckled. Pointing at the picture, she said, “That’s my oldest brother, Bran, and my Aunt Raven.” She swiped to the next photo. “And that is my brother Patrick and my Aunt River.” She swiped again. “My nephews, Daniel and Jonathan.” And the last swipe. “Mom and Dad.”
Hugh O’Faolain was younger than when he’d passed, with dark hair silvering at the edges. Dagr stared for several beats at Bébhinn’s mother.
Though Bébhinn looked extraordinarily similar to her aunts, she was the mirror of her mother. Looking at the photos, he realized her comment had nothing to do with their age and everything to do with their similarity to her family.
She with her mom and aunts, and him with her white-haired, identical brothers. They were also all tall like him, but where the brothers had high-cut cheekbones and a slightly golden tint to their skin, his jaw was squarer, and his skin was as pale as his father’s.
He blew the pictures up and saw that their eye colors ranged from dark brown to amber—a honey amber like Bébhinn’s and her father’s.
He and his father were so pale blue that they tended to be sensitive to bright lights.
The differences were many, but if you didn’t look too closely, their hair and height would throw any stranger into thinking they were related.
“Wow.” That was all he managed to say as he handed her phone back.
“I know.” She grinned before tucking her phone back into her clutch while still maintaining contact between their hands.
“I can assure you, despite our first meeting, I’ve never looked at you again and thought of one of my brothers,” she laughed softly, mindful of the long dining tables full of important guests bidding on various pieces of art, spectacular trips abroad, and jewelry.
There was also the recognition of several guests who gave religiously every year.
“I should hope not.” He squeezed her thigh once more as the dinner, auction, and speeches ended. The guests were then herded toward the ballroom, where more drinks and mingling awaited.
They entered the ballroom, and he heard his name being called within seconds.
The minute he turned and saw who was hailing him, he sighed in frustration.
Lauren James was a researcher for his firm, and a woman he dated briefly last year—and by dated, he meant they slept together a whopping three times.
He realized after the second encounter that she was the type of woman who said she understood that sex for him was nothing more than that—companionship at its most basic. He was upfront and clear.
She was thirty-five, a divorcée, and a mother. When he told her he wasn’t interested in anything serious, she said it was the same for her, and then the homemade treats started showing up in his office, and her clothes went from business attire appropriate to strip club.
The third time was a colossal mistake. He’d conveniently avoided her for weeks, but she’d come to his office late, he’d had a bitch of a day in court, and she came bearing his favorite whiskey.
He bluntly told her he was no longer interested in anything other than friendship, but when she’d dropped to her knees and took things in hand, literally, the third and last bad decision where she was concerned commenced.
He’d managed to avoid her for months.
Lauren must have wrangled a date from some unsuspecting man who didn’t realize she would become their next stalker. He really despised clingers.
He lightly wrapped his hand around Bébhinn’s waist and placed a casual hand at her hip. She glanced at him but didn’t move from his side as Lauren landed.
“Dagr, love, I didn’t know you’d be here tonight,” Lauren crooned, completely ignoring Bébhinn. There was zero chance of her not knowing his schedule. The woman stalked his secretary and spoke to her more than he did.
“Lauren.” He prayed that for once she would hear the fuck off tone of his voice. Clearly not, with the inappropriate hug that resembled a human boil, where Lauren tried to elbow Bébhinn to the side, and her cheek kisses were akin to a pestilence.
Bébhinn’s kindly smile faltered, but her elbow was now pressed firmly on top of his hand, making it clear that she didn’t wish him to remove it.
“I’ve missed you, babe,” she flipped her bleached blonde hair behind her shoulder, presumably to show off her gigantic breasts erupting out of the top of an inappropriate gown.
How in the absolute hell had he ever found that woman attractive?
Her personality alone should have been a three-kilometer red flag.
“I’m going to make this short. I am not your love or your babe. We are not friends or even friendly. You will cease making a spectacle at this charity event, which happens to be extremely important to me. I am here with my—”
“Girlfriend,” Bébhinn interrupted. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, ma’am. Take me to the bar, my love. I’m dying for a Jameson.”
Lauren’s face flushed with anger, and when it looked like she was about to cause an even bigger scene, he pivoted on his heel and led Bébhinn away.
The second they were out of Lauren’s hearing, Bébhinn said, “Sorry about the ‘my love’ thing, but yikes. That woman is desperate.”
His past screw ups weren’t something he wished to discuss, but he owed Bébhinn an explanation. “Obsessed might be a better designation. Unfortunately, I got the warning from a buddy of mine too late.”
There were three separate areas where drinks were served. Dagr led her to the one furthest away from where they’d left a sputtering Lauren.
Drinks in hand, he finally looked at Bébhinn and grimaced at her questioning gaze.
“Right. So, I fooled around with Lauren a few times. Three exactly. The last time, I knew I was being foolish since her personality had begun to show itself.” He shrugged in a juvenile manner, as if he had no control.
She surprised him by covering her giggle behind her hand. “My, my, my, Dagr. You must be quite something in bed,” she teased.
“Christ, don’t you dare try to embarrass me more than I already am.” They laughed at that point, the encounter absurd enough to tickle their funny bones. “But I am.”
“Am what?”
“Quite something.” He winked and nudged her side, causing another round of snickers.
Despite the Lauren encounter, the evening turned out to be one of the best evenings he’d enjoyed. Bébhinn was sharp, witty, and an excellent conversationalist. She’d spoken to his clients and friends alike—all unabashedly curious about his relationship with the young O’Faolain.
It hadn’t taken long for the presence of an Oklahoma oil billionaire’s only daughter to get around. She fielded questions and curiosity about her family with calm grace.
He should have expected his presence, but when Lee Whiten joined him and Bébhinn, he felt tension creep into his shoulders. He should have realized his friend would be at the charity. Both he and Lee had several land preservationists as clients.
Bébhinn, of course, knew Lee. Lee didn’t let on that he was shocked at who Dagr’s date was. He spoke to her like the caring granddad that he was. He did give Dagr a brief look, which was meant to convey that he expected an explanation.
Dagr was under no illusion that Lee would insist on the details of their relationship. He only wished he knew what those details were.
“I know I’ve told you this, but your father is a man that I will remember the rest of my days. He is very missed by me and my staff.”
Cheeks flushed with emotion, she gave a small, circumspect hug to his friend. “I appreciate that, Lee.”
“You haven’t contacted me yet, like I thought you would.” Lee raised his bushy brows in question.
“I will. Soon. I promise. Dad said he left me a package, but I just wasn’t ready to have it all over with yet.”
“In your time, Miss O’Faolain,” he said, patting her hand. “Though I admit, my curiosity might be greater than yours.”
“I’m sure Dad left me something special, which I will appreciate, but I know it will make me cry. I’ve just…put it on a back burner. If you would bring it to the next board meeting, I’d appreciate it, Lee.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” the older man assured.
“I’m so glad I got to see you while I was in town. You and Dagr must know each other?”
“Oh yes," Lee nodded. “Your man, here, is one of the best solicitors I know.”
Dagr cut in. “At least the one you know that you can still beat at poker,” he teased.
“There is that,” he chuckled. “Your father couldn’t make it, Dagr?”
Rolling his eyes, he admitted, “You know, Dad. He’d rather chew on nettles than attend such a ‘ridiculous waste of time.’” He air-quoted the last.
“Your father has never fallen in line a day in his life. Good to know that Ulf is still very much, Ulf. Did he—”
A young man breezed up, interrupting Lee. He was a twenty-something adonis straight off a Paris runway, his presence instantly irritating Dagr. “Bébhinn. My God, I can’t believe you’re here. I wish I had known. We could have come together.”
“Harry,” Bébhinn whispered back.