Chapter Five
Rebecca
Finn’s touch was as electric as before. The man was an enigma. Confident, smooth, softly spoken—almost melodic—and yet he was a fighter, a risk-taker, and he wore his desire for me like a badge he was damn proud of.
I swallowed and looked into his eyes, the lights of the restaurant reflecting in their depths like tiny flames of lust.
“You should sit between us.” Cillian stood, his movements graceful yet determined.
“I should?” I saw the same dark desire in his eyes, it was the same as his brother’s. A little thrill went through me, hot and exciting yet tinged with a sliver or trepidation—it went straight to my pussy, heating it and sending a quiver through my clit.
What was I getting myself into?
“Yeah.” Cillian held out his hand. “Come.”
I did as he’d asked and took his hand. His flesh was warm and his hold firm, which further added to the tug between my legs.
He set his hand on the hollow of my back, and his shoulder brushed mine. I stepped around the table and breathed deep, inhaling his cologne. It was leafy and outdoorsy, perhaps with a hint of sandalwood.
I settled myself between them. Finn passed me my drink, and I was glad of the cool liquid spreading on my tongue. I feared that sitting between two Irish hunks was going to mess with my self-control big time.
The waiter appeared, giving me a moment to gather myself.
Finn ordered, his leg now pressing up against mine.
Then Cillian put on his small black round-rimmed glasses again—so panty-wettingly sexy—and put in his order.
I cleared my throat.
“Soufflé and salmon, right?” Finn asked me.
“Er, yes, thanks.” I smiled at the waiter who was studying me curiously.
A flutter of self-consciousness tickled my rib cage. Did he know I was out with both men? That this was a threesome? That we would probably, hopefully, have a three-way fuck at some point in the near future?
The waiter smiled and stepped away.
“So tell me more about your work,” Cillian said, sitting back and stretching his arm over the back of the bench. “What type of cases do you prefer?”
Good. This was a good subject for me. I set down my shoulders. “I prefer cases that really and truly, for the sake of justice, need to be won.”
“What do you mean?”
“Take the one that closed this week.” I nodded at Finn. “The Tippin one.”
“Yeah, I know it.”
“She was innocent.” I held up my hand. “Not innocent of killing her husband but innocent of murder.”
“How is there a difference?” Cillian cocked his head as though curious about my answer rather than the actual answer.
“I’m sure you can figure it out.” I set my attention on him.
The right side of his mouth tugged into a smile, exactly the same way I’d seen his brother’s do in the stationery cupboard.
“Go on.” Cillian picked up his drink.
“It was self-defense. She killed her husband because he was about to kill her and her children. That is not a woman who needs to go to prison. That is a woman who fought for her life and won. Would society prefer to see her and her children dead so that an abusive monster lived? I don’t think so.”
“I agree with you totally,” Finn said. “And your closing speech was incredible.”
“Thank you.”
“So you like cases where your client is innocent,” Cillian said. “But what happens if you get someone who deserves to go to prison? Do you just not try very hard to get them off the charges?”
“No. I always do my job to the best of my abilities.” I paused and sighed. “Though there are cases that are more difficult than others, ones that tug my usually linear view of the justice system.”
“Explain.” Cillian frowned.
“Okay, last year, I had this client. Archie McDougal.”
“Archie McDougal,” Finn repeated.
“Yes, I didn’t pick his case, one of the partners, Terry Harris, was supposed to be representing him, but poor old guy took sick with his heart and I got put in his place.”
“What had he done, this Archie McDougal?”
“He was, is, a nasty piece of work.” I paused while my soufflé was set down in front of me.
It smelled divine. “He’d been in and out of prison several times already, one count of manslaughter due to careless driving and two of theft.
And then he’d decided to up his game as it were; he robbed an old couple in the middle of the night in Glasgow.
The husband produced a gun; it was a farmhouse, he was licensed to have one, and Archie got it off him, shot him in the face.
” I paused; the photographic evidence had been horrible.
“And his wife, bless her, she’d tried to get to her husband but fell and had a massive stroke. She died, too.”
“What a bastard.” Cillian’s eyes darkened, and his mouth flattened.
“If he hadn’t broken into their home they might still be alive, right?” Finn shook his head.
“Yes.” I picked up my fork. “They were old but they were well. They still ran their smallholding with hardly any help.”
“So he killed them.” Cillian looked at Finn. “In cold blood.”
“Yep, I’d say so,” he replied. “Ticks all the boxes.”
Something passed between them. I didn’t know what.
I took a bite of my starter, and the creamy cheddar coated my tongue.
“Are you saying he just got off?” Finn asked, also digging into his food. There was a flush of color on his cheeks. “No recourse, no justice.”
“Yes, scot-free. He claimed self-defense and diminished responsibility and I won the case for him.” I paused and closed my eyes. My heart squeezed with regret. “I wish I’d lost that case.”
“He deserved to go down for it,” Cillian said, “and you knew it.”
“I did know it, and what’s more, so did he.
He was a boaster, you know, laughed about the fact he’d killed the old dude who’d pointed a gun at him, laughed harder at the irony of the wife dying without him having to shoot her, too.
” I pulled a face. “He claimed diminished responsibility because his doctor had prescribed him sleeping tablets, which he admitted to me he’d sold, so he hadn’t even taken them.
But of course, I was bound by client confidentiality during the case.
” I shuddered. “He was a creation of the Devil, still is, he walks free now that he’s done his time for breaking and entering. ”
Both men were quiet.
I took a deep breath and resumed eating. Archie McDougal wasn’t someone I liked thinking about.
“It must be conflicting for you,” Finn said. “When you don’t believe in a case.”
“It is, but thankfully it’s rare. I’m senior enough to get to pick and choose my cases these days, plus there is sometimes a reason for crime; addiction, revenge, self-defense, and those cases are interesting, too.
” I waved my hand in the air. “But enough about me, tell me about your home in Ireland.”
Cillian smiled. “Ah yes, home sweet home. County Wicklow, just south of Dublin, that’s where we grew up.”
“And your parents are still there?” I asked.
“Our ma is, our da died years ago, when we were only five.” Finn sat back, his starter finished.
I was still acutely aware of his warm leg against mine. “That’s horrible, I’m sorry.”
“It was tough,” Cillian said. “We were the only kids in the village without a father, and our mother had to work in the local glass factory to support us.”
“And do you have siblings?”
“No, just us,” Finn said. “Which is why we try and get over to see her several times a year.”
Cillian touched the gold cross on his necklace. “She’s got her sister nearby and lots of friends, we check in on her a few times a week. Give her a call, you know.”
“You are good sons.”
“Well, that depends, we probably should have stayed in Ireland to be really good.”
“Why did you leave?”
“We went to London to begin with, to find a place to set up our gym, but it was too bloody expensive. So we got chatting to a guy, a cop, who was off duty and from Oxford. He said to try this area. It’s more affordable but still plenty of guys willing to pay for gym membership.”
“And he was right,” Finn said. “And so here we are, all these years later.”
Our plates were taken away and our main course arrived. Finn ordered a bottle of white wine.
The bubbles had gone to my head, and I giggled as they told me a story of scrumping apples when they were teenagers and being chased by an angry bull.
“We’ll take you one day,” Cillian said and set his knife and fork together on his empty plate. “To Ireland, that is.”
“I’d like that. I’ve been to Dublin but never out of the city.”
“It’s a date.” Finn chuckled. “And our ma will love you.”
I laughed. “Apart from the fact I am not ready to meet your family, how on earth would you explain this?” I pointed at them both then tapped my chest. “Three of us.”
Finn moved closer and whispered in my ear, “So you think my brother’s hot?”
His breath was warm on my neck as I looked at Cillian.
Fuck, yes. The man was hot with his shamrock tat and a hint of body hair peeking from his crisp white shirt.
And the way he set his attention on me, like he wanted to make me come—I wondered if Finn had told him about my orgasm in the stationery cupboard at the courthouse. “Yes, I like your brother.”
“The way you like me?” Finn asked against my ear.
I turned to him, our lips almost brushing we were so close.
“I need to get to know him better. I need to get to know both of you better.”
“So get to know us, doll.” He paused and touched his nose to mine. “Get to know everything.”
“Are you sure? I get the feeling you’re not exactly squeaky clean if I start digging.”
“We have dirty thoughts from time to time,” Cillian said, scooting in behind me so that I was in an Irish man sandwich. “Like now. About you. Dirty thoughts about you, Rebecca.”
A tremble of desire went through me. This was a taste of things to come. Both of them, like this, surrounding me, their total attention on me. Fuck. My heart was clattering and my muscles tense. “When are you next at Fight Fit?” I managed.
“Why?”
“Answer the question.” I dragged in a deep breath.