Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dublin—12 Years Ago
Olivia’s mouth was a desert. She glanced around the room, feeling disoriented.
How did I get back here?
This is my room, right?
Panic climbed in her throat before she let out a slow exhale of relief.
Okay, same boring landscape on the hotel bedroom wall, and there’s my suitcase spilled over the floor. My outfit from last night neatly folded on the chair…
She had a vague recollection of wrestling with the shirt in the bathroom and tripping… Her hand skimmed down her body to the sore spot on her hip.
She was hurrying because…
Olivia’s eyes darted to the side, triggering a stabbing pain in her temples. Inches from her face, a honey-colored bicep rested across a chiseled jaw darkened by stubble.
Holy Shit, there is a man in my bed.
Her eyes bulged as memories flooded back. The hot-as-hell bouncer had walked her home from the bar. And then she’d taken off all her clothes.
Oh god! She silently groaned, her cheeks flaming. What happened next? Olivia tried to concentrate, but her head pounded painfully.
A shift of the sheets next to her brought the scent of bergamot and something deliciously male, before a large, warm hand moved under the covers and spread across her stomach. For the tiniest second, she forgot her hellacious hangover. The warmth of the hand had traveled, waking up other parts of her body.
Damn, he smelled good.
Olivia maneuvered to the side, hoping to get out of the bed without waking her unknown bedmate.
Please tell me I at least asked him his name.
Just as her left foot touched the ground, and she attempted to calculate the physics of torso movement versus blanket friction and the likelihood of waking him up, the warm hand cupping her waist tugged her back up against a firm chest. Pressing her tight against an exponentially warmer body who, by the hard length pressing against her ass, was now very much awake.
Her hormones lit like the Fourth of July, but resisting temptation Olivia cleared her throat and moved purposefully away to sit on the side of the bed, the arm that held her dropping away with a sleepy objection.
Summoning her courage, Olivia glanced over her shoulder and was hit with the most gorgeous eyes she’d ever seen. Were those real? Olivia tried not to gape, but… seriously? Men shouldn’t be allowed to have lashes like that.
“Morning, lass.” The deep voice, raspy with sleep, was a straight shot to the ovaries. She was hungover, not dead.
Did I have sex with him? Or worse. Did I have sex with him and not remember?
Inscrutable eyes watched her silently, and another memory popped into her mind. Her hand crept up and found the lump on the edge of her hairline.
He’d taken on the two guys trying to carry her out of the bar. Olivia vaguely remembered falling and going to the bathroom to get away… What happened next?
Should I ask him what happened? This is going to be humiliating.
Hey, thanks for coming back to my room with me. Did we have sex? Was it good? Can I have a do-over?
Her brain began to spiral.
This is fine. Everything is fine. I’m an adult, and he didn’t murder me. Clearly a drunken evening gone awry. And, so what if it’s the first time I’ve ever had a one-night stand, and he just happens to be the sexiest man on the planet… And I don’t remember getting to touch him.
Gah! Those shoulders!
He is beautiful. Like someone plucked one of those Grecian statues out of a museum, dipped it in sex appeal, and then breathed life into it. Warm, vibrant, muscular… Oh shit, he’s laughing at me.
“I wish I had a camera,” he said. “You should see your expression.”
“I’m going to have anxiety nightmares about this moment until the day I die,” she muttered.
A cloud crossed his face. “Do you have a lot of nightmares?”
“What? No.”
What a weird question.
Silence stretched as the shirtless man in her bed lifted his arms and tucked his hands behind his head, impressive biceps flexing with the movement. She licked her lips. Am I drooling?
“Good morning,” Olivia belatedly said.
A sleepy smile crossed his face and…
Are you serious? Is that a dimple?
Her eyes, defying her perfectly mature thoughts, dipped to scan his impressively muscled upper torso and shoulders.
It was insult to injury. He was seriously the hottest man she’d ever seen, and she didn’t even remember sleeping with him.
A sigh slipped from her lips, and then her eyes widened in horror when his eyes lit with humor, and a smile stretched through his thick morning beard.
Olivia swung her legs over the side and fairly launched herself out of the bed. “Just… I need… I’m going to take a shower.”
Olivia shut the door harder than she intended, fairly certain she heard him chuckling. Swiftly pulling off his shirt, she flung it blindly back into the room, before closing the door again.
Is he naked under the blanket? Go find out, her body screamed, but sanity had finally reasserted itself.
Turning the shower on, Olivia took her time. Hot water sluiced over her, alternately making her feel cleansed of the pub yuck and absolutely exhausted. She couldn’t remember the last time she drank that much. If ever.
Stepping out of the shower, Olivia wrapped herself in a towel and struggled with what she should say. “It was a fun night. Sorry I don’t remember it.”
She’d taken stock of her body while she was bathing, but other than the new bruise on her hip and the lump on her head, she couldn’t tell anything was different.
I’d be able to tell, right? Or is that just something people say?
Olivia hadn’t been intimate with anyone in over a year. With her school and work schedule, she didn’t have time for relationships.
Shouldn’t I be sore or something?
An image of his enormous frame dominating her bed appeared in front of her.
I should definitely be sore.
More memories came back like her own personal slideshow of embarrassment: Throwing herself at him in the bar, him offering to take her home.
Did he try to leave?
She frowned and mentally shook herself.
I’ll just be casual. Adults do this all the time.
This. Is. Not. A. Big. Deal.
But, when she stepped out of the bathroom, a question about his breakfast preference on her lips, it died on an exhale. Less than five seconds confirmed what she knew instantly.
The bed was rumpled, but empty.
Her Irish vacation fling was gone.
Why do I feel so disappointed?
Cocooned in her towel, Olivia tumbled into the bed and pulled the duvet over her head. Her last thought before drifting off again was no one can ever know.
“Rise and shine.” Warm lips pressed into hers before pulling away too soon and the air around her filled with the intoxicating smell of coffee.
“I thought you left.”
“Just to get coffee.”
“Ah.” Olivia took several grateful sips, trying to get her brain to fully engage and make sense of the intense feeling of relief she had at seeing him on the side of her bed.
Olivia pushed to a sitting position and studied him over the cup. He wore the same dark Henley and perfectly faded jeans as the night before. Her imagination hadn’t failed her. He was the best-looking man she’d ever seen, and for whatever reason, she was entirely comfortable sitting in a towel in front of him.
Was she still dreaming?
“What’s wrong?”
Olivia glanced at him, surprised. He pulled the chair in the room over to the bed, and slouched in it, resting his sock-covered, crossed feet on the foot of the bed. “You’ve gone all… pinchy.”
“I don’t know your name,” she admitted.
He smiled then, eyes twinkling. “Declan.”
“Right,” she smiled back, “I’m?—”
“Rose. I know.” He chuckled. “A strange bride wrote it on your arm.”
What the hell is he talking about? Oh ? —
“Named for your Grandma Rose, who doesn’t take shit, but also you wear rose perfume because it reminds you of her.”
Oh god! Should she admit her first name wasn’t Rose? That she’d been so wasted a complete stranger had to write her name on her arm with cosmetics like a dog’s ID tag. ‘Hi, my name is Rose, and if you found me, my mommy is ugly crying.’
She sipped her coffee to buy time.
I mean, my name is Rose. My middle name anyway. It’s not like I’ll see him again.
“Did I share any other tidbits with you last night?”
“Other than declaring your undying devotion to me as long as we both live?” He broke off with a laugh. “I’m kidding.”
“You’re hilarious,” Olivia groused. But something was picking at her brain. Something she’d forgotten, and it was important. “Oh my god!” Her spine went ramrod straight. “I’ve missed my flight, haven’t I? What time is it? Where’s my phone? Oh my god! My flatmates must think I’m dead.”
She swung her legs to the side, sloshing her coffee, only to freeze when Declan extended her phone in his large hand. “You’re all good.”
“What are you doing with my phone?” she asked suspiciously.
“It was lighting up constantly, so I answered them.” He shrugged. “I thought you’d rather sleep than have them banging on your door at daybreak.”
“You answered them? As me?” She gaped at him.
His eyes dipped to where her towel was slipping, and she tightened her hold but stayed silent.
“You really should have a password on it.”
Olivia scanned through the texts, groaning inwardly.
“Where are you?”
“Where did you go?”
“Are you okay?”
“Are you coming with us?”
It was the return text purporting to be her that made her want to shrivel with embarrassment.
“I ran into a good Samaritan who helped me back to the hotel, but I need to sleep off the gallon of booze I drank. See you back home.” Olivia read the text aloud while he sipped his coffee, clearly unrepentant.
“It wasn’t a lie.” Declan regarded her steadily.
To her surprise, she found her outrage at his audacity waging war with her amusement and so settled for rolling her eyes. She quickly regretted the movement when her headache throbbed.
“You know what you need?” Declan didn’t wait for her to answer. “A traditional fry-up. It’s a guaranteed cure after a night out with the lads.”
“Guaranteed by whom?”
“Generations of Irishmen,” Declan deadpanned, and she couldn’t help a small smile.
Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to drop back into her pillows.
“As a non-native, I’m not sure that’s going to work. I think I need the tried-and-true American remedy of a sports drink and a handful of ibuprofen.”
The bed bounced a little as he moved his feet, and when she opened her eyes, he had a sports drink in one hand and two small pills in his other open palm extended toward her.
She snatched up both. “Are you some kind of Irish angel?”
He huffed a laugh but didn’t answer. Olivia swallowed the pills and gulped half the drink before looking at him again. “I don’t suppose you rescheduled my flight, too?”
Declan shook his head with a smile. “I thought I’d let you handle that. You know… if you could walk today.”
“I’ll live.” Olivia leaned back against the pillow. “I’m just tired.”
“Why don’t you go back to sleep?”
Her lids were heavy, but she fought against it. “Will you stay?”
An electric current charged the air around them, and Olivia didn’t dare open her eyes again. She couldn’t believe she’d just asked that. She didn’t even know him. But the thought of him disappearing made her sad.
Something pulsed in the surrounding air as Olivia hardly dared to breathe. She heard a rustling, and when she peeked between her lashes, she saw Declan shedding his jeans. Though to her disappointment, he kept his massive chest hidden beneath the long-sleeved shirt. “Nowhere else I’d rather be, Petal.”
Olivia rolled to her side, facing away from him as he climbed into bed behind her.
He pushed her hair over her shoulder out of his face. And she would have sworn she heard him say something about ‘a bleedin’ saint,’ but she was already half-asleep again, pulled under by the heat of his body next to her and an inexplicable feeling of contentment.
The sunlight, bright through a gap in the curtains when she opened her eyes again, told Olivia it was at least mid-day if not later. A large hand cupped her breast where her towel had slipped, and she could feel soft snores against her neck. Her body tingled, and heat pooled in her belly. But as much as she wanted to arch into his palm, her bladder made itself known, and Olivia slowly slipped from the bed.
After taking care of her most immediate needs, Olivia brushed her teeth, feeling a million times better than when she’d woken hours before.
Her stomach growled as she pulled the knee-length sundress over her head and crept quietly back to the side of the bed to watch Declan sleep.
He looked like some sort of fallen angel. The sheet covered his lower half, but his rounded shoulders and biceps strained at the fabric of his shirt. Dark lashes fanned out over tanned cheeks covered in thick stubble, the only thing softening a face that was pure masculine beauty.
Olivia sighed. Only she could come home wasted with a virtual sex god, share a bed, and still not get laid.
“Does that sound mean I need to get up?” Declan asked, his eyes still shut.
Olivia flushed, even though he couldn’t see her. “There was the promise of something called a fry-up, I believe.”
His lips lifted in a smile, and he rolled to his back, opening his eyes to blink sleepily at her.
“Fry-up. Yes.”
Ten minutes later, they were dressed and retracing their cobblestoned route from the night before, while Olivia tried to keep her anxiety at bay. “I can’t believe I lost my purse.”
“It’ll be at the pub,” he assured her. “If not, we’ll sort it out, Rose.”
Not for the first time, Olivia thought about correcting him, but at this point, it was just too embarrassing. What harm could come of it?
“It was nice of you to make sure I got home safe last night. Thank you.” She scrunched her nose. “I mean, if I didn’t say it before. I wish I could remember if I did.”
Declan flashed one of his brilliant smiles at her. “All part of the service.”
Olivia was so dazzled by how the smile took him from handsome to devastating, she stumbled on the uneven cobblestones, almost falling. His large hand locked on hers, his strength righting her. But as she regained her footing, he didn’t remove his hand. Instead, he interlaced their fingers, and the sense of rightness had her heart pounding.
When they reached the pub, Declan pulled the door open ushering her in front of him without relinquishing her hand.
Two people sat in a booth near the front, absorbed in a guidebook.
“Last time I leave a lazy Riordan to close up,” a man yelled from behind the bar where he was stacking glasses. “You left the garbage bags by the door, you fecking eejit!”
The bartender’s gaze shifted curiously to Olivia before dropping to where their hands were still connected.
“Rose thinks she left her purse here last night. Any chance it got turned in?” Declan lifted a black leather jacket off the hook by the door.
“If you’d bothered to clean up, you’d have found it and remembered your coat. But now I understand the rush to leave.”
“Colum,” Declan’s tone warned. “Ignore my cousin. Working in a pub, he tends to forget his manners.”
Some sort of unspoken communication passed between the men, and Colum broke into a smile.
“Ah, don’t mind me. Is this yours?” He dipped behind the bar and emerged with her cross-body bag.
“Thank god!”
He tossed it across the bar to Declan, who caught it with one hand before handing it to her.
“I found it in the hall outside the ladies.”
Olivia could feel her face heat. “Thanks.”
Declan’s hand was already pulling her to the door when his cousin called out again in a more serious tone, “Seamus has already been round this morning looking for you. Said you weren’t answering your phone.”
Declan’s fingers tightened on hers for a fraction of a second. It was a small movement, but her attention was suddenly on the tension in his shoulders and the muscle ticking in his jaw.
“It’s handled.”
“Yeah, lad, but…”
“It’s handled.” Declan’s voice was hard, and a shiver ran down Olivia’s spine.
Colum raised both hands in surrender. “It’s your brother. A runner picked up your message for Uncle Iain… He’s looking for you too.”
Declan didn’t acknowledge the words, tugging her through the front door.
“If there is something you need to deal with…” Olivia trailed off.
Declan came to a stop and turned her to face him. “There is nothing I would rather do right now than introduce you to the best fry-up in Dublin.”
She studied his face intently, noticing how his broad chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he were trying to suppress some deep emotion. Olivia couldn’t explain it, but she sensed that Declan was just as eager to explore what was happening between them. The real world could wait a little longer.
“Is it far? Because I’m starving.”
Gratitude flashed across his face. “Not too far.”