14. Seamus
fourteen
Seamus
Same Night
This doesn’t feel real.
Marcella walks beside me in a coat worth more than my car.
I’m tired. Starving. Running on fumes, wired from everything and nothing.
The night air is cool, carrying the crisp scent of autumn as Marcella and I walk the short block to the Metropolitan Grill.
I want her so badly my chest aches.
With the way my cock is reacting to her presence, the distance might as well be a mile.
She’s close enough so her perfume—rose layered over leather, delicate with an edge sharp enough to bleed —curls around me, embedding itself in my senses.
I shouldn’t be thinking about how good she smells.
Or how good she looks. The dress she’s wearing hugs every curve just right and the neckline dips enough to make me swallow hard.
She’s sin. Pure fucking sin.
Her suggestion to get dinner came out of the blue. My day in the lab sucked ass capped off by being forced to bare my soul in her conference room. I’m wrung out. Broken. Have been for months. The way she looked at me as if I were a kicked puppy makes me think she feels sorry for me.
I should be offended. Hell, let’s be honest, I’m happy to share a meal if it means another hour in her company.
Hunger aside, I’d prefer to spend the time burying myself balls deep inside of her.
She’s who you’ve been waiting for.
We reach the entrance of the restaurant.
I hold the door open and she gives me a polite nod as she steps inside.
There’s something uncertain in her expression, almost wary.
Maybe she feels it too—the tension thrumming between us like an electric current.
Or, she senses how attracted I am to her and is trying to be polite to let me down easy.
The hostess leads us to a booth in the back, dimly lit and tucked away from the rest of the restaurant. Probably a good thing, considering the way my body is betraying me around her. I’m pretty sure every diner saw the telltale bulge in my crotch as we made our way here.
Sitting across from her, it’s all I can do not to let my gaze linger on the way the soft lighting casts a golden hue over her skin. Or the way her full lips press together as she scans the menu.
Silence expands between us, thick and awkward.
We’re not enemies anymore. We’re not friends either.
She needs me to help her take down my mentor.
It’s the only reason we’re in each other’s orbit.
I sincerely doubt she’d be too impressed if she knew how many hours I’ve spent with my hand wrapped around my cock imagining fucking her tits…
Or how her ass would jiggle if I rammed into her from behind…
Watching my cum spill out of her pussy…
Christ. I need help.
The waiter brings us two glasses of wine Marcella requested from the hostess while I was lost in my own goddamn thoughts. I won’t touch it—I don’t drink, but I don’t have the energy to get into that particular conversation.
Instead, I order a porterhouse steak medium rare, a baked potato, a salad and a side of fries. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and let’s be real—I’m not a small guy.
Marcella only orders a dinner salad, and my brow furrows. “You’re not hungry?”
“Not really. I’m glad we’re here because it looks like you are.” She lifts a shoulder in an offhand gesture.
“No judgment—I’m not sure how you come to Seattle’s most famous steak restaurant and not indulge.” I tilt my head, studying her. “Your willpower is insane.”
Her lips press together, then she exhales and sets her menu down. “My family owns a Spanish restaurant in Tacoma, I grew up around food. It’s part of who I am. I’ve also spent my whole life being aware of my weight. When you grow up as a bigger girl, it’s…something you learn to manage.”
“Manage? How?” I frown, thinking about Caldwell’s inappropriate jabs at her.
“Ahh.” Her lips curve into a wry smile with no humor to it. “Control your food intake. Make sure it doesn’t get out of hand. People like to remind you if you don’t.”
Something sharp twists in my chest. “Bullshit.”
She blinks, like she wasn’t expecting my reaction and isn’t sure whether I believe her or empathize with her.
“People should mind their goddamn business. You’re beautiful,” I word vomit against my better judgment. Hell, it’s the truth. “If you want a steak, you should damn well eat a steak.”
Her mouth opens slightly, and for a second, she looks at me. Like she’s trying to figure me out. Then she shakes her head. “You don’t hold back, do you?”
“Not usually.” I look her directly in the eye.
Marcella exhales softly, tracing the rim of her wine glass with one manicured finger.
“My dad has been slowly turning things over to my sister, Rosa. She went to culinary school, trained in Spain, and came back ready to take the restaurant to the next level.” A small, wistful smile tugs at her lips.
“She’s implemented updated menus, wine pairings, a whole rebranding thing.
My parents pretend to fight her on it, but they’re proud.
You can see it every time she talks about some new dish she wants to introduce. ”
I watch as she pauses, like she’s lost in a memory.
“They all work together. My dad’s the face, my mom keeps everything running behind the scenes.
My brother Lucas—” She shakes her head with a soft laugh.
“He’s in real estate but helps with the books.
The restaurant is his favorite place to bring clients. Says it helps close deals.”
I’m fascinated. She’s so much different when she talks about her family. All the rough edges smooth out.
“I should see them more,” she admits. There’s something heavy in her expression now, a weight that wasn’t there a moment ago. “I want to. Work always gets in the way.”
I know the feeling. Too well.
“You should make time,” I encourage. “Before you look up and realize you missed more than you meant to.”
She lifts her gaze to mine. Something unreadable flickers in her mesmerizing hazel eyes. Maybe it’s the atmosphere of the dimly lit restaurant. For a moment, it feels like we aren’t adversaries, or even uneasy allies. We’re two people, trying to navigate the choices defining their lives.
“Yeah.” She exhales, a slow, measured breath. “I should.”
The tension between us shifts, softening into something else—something more comfortable. Making her next question feel even more direct.
“So tell me, Doctor McGloughlin.” She swirls her wine like she’s a bit uncomfortable. “What’s with the extracurricular activities in the stairwell?”
I nearly choke on my drink. “Excuse me?”
“The women. The rumors. The, uh…apparent exceptional level of anatomical knowledge.” She flicks her gaze to mine.
I drag a hand down my face. “ Jesus .”
“What? You’ve got to realize everyone is talking about it.” She tilts her head. “The lawyer in me worries you’re setting yourself up for a different kind of lawsuit.”
I push the wine glass away as I weigh my words. The truth feels too raw—too personal to lay out in a casual conversation over dinner with a woman I barely know. Marcella watches me with sharp, assessing eyes, and for some reason, I don’t want her to assume the worst about me.
“I’ve never analyzed it too deeply,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck.
She quirks an eyebrow, clearly waiting for more.
I exhale and lean forward, lowering my voice.
“Look, I’m not an idiot. I know what people say.
Hell, you brought it up in my deposition.
I won’t lie—there’s a reason I’ve had my fair share of…
experiences. Not exclusively in stairwells, for fuck’s sake, though they’re awfully convenient when you fucking live at the hospital.
Definitely not in the way you’re thinking. ”
“What do you mean?” Her brow furrows slightly.
I glance around the restaurant, feeling an unfamiliar wave of nerves tense in my chest. I don’t usually get anxious. Not in surgery and sure as hell not when talking to women. With her?
This is uncharted territory.
“It means,” I say carefully, “if you did your homework you’d know I never actually fucked anyone in said stairwells. Let me blow your mind. Technically, I’m still a virgin.”
Marcella’s lips part with shock. She says nothing. Stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“You can pick your jaw up off the floor.” I fight the urge to smirk.
She blinks, shaking her head slightly. “I’m sorry. I find it difficult to believe with your reputation—”
“A reputation I’ve never bothered to correct because my sex life is no one’s business unless I choose to share it.” I narrow my eyes.
She studies me and there’s a palpable shift in her demeanor—curiosity laced with desire? “Why do you do it then?”
“I got into medicine because my family has a history of alcoholism.” I gesture to my untouched wine. “I wanted to understand why some brains are wired toward addiction.”
Marcella moves the glass away. “I’m sorry for being presumptuous about the wine. Let’s order something else.”
“It’s fine. I’m good with water.” I hold up my glass and take a sip.
She nods. We look at each other for a beat.
She purses her lips and smiles. “Continue…”
“Ah, right. You’re not letting me off the hook.
” I lean back and give her the rundown on how it all started.
“At the end of the day, understanding how to give a woman pleasure became a challenge. I wanted to be the best.” I tilt my head.
“What started out as an experiment with two friends in medical school expanded. No two women are the same and this fascinated me. Things got a bit out of control, apparently. Hence, the reputation I never asked for, but can’t deny. ”
Marcella’s throat bobs when she swallows, her gaze flickers down my body for a brief second before snapping back to my eyes.
“I see,” she murmurs as her cheeks flush red.
I watch her carefully and notice something I didn’t expect—interest. Genuine interest. It’s subtle. Unmistakable.
Holy hell, this is getting dangerous.
I shift in my seat. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Why?” A flash of hurt crosses her face.
I shift, extending my legs under the table.
This woman knows more about me than my own brothers, why not leave it all out there?
“Look, I come from a family of men who are larger than life. Three rockstars. A tech mogul. A man who’s taken over the family’s construction empire.
I was the sensitive, quiet one. The one who always followed the rules.
When you grow up watching your brothers get all the attention, you start to wonder what you’re missing. ”
Marcella giggles nervously. “Jesus. That’s…”
“Ridiculous?” I supply.
She stabs at her salad. “Not the word I was going to use.”
“Look, it stopped being fun years ago and I stopped. It wasn’t fulfilling for me. After Miranda…” I trail off, running a hand through my hair thinking of my encounter with Cecily and how empty I felt. “Pointless.”
Her brows draw together. “Why wouldn’t you think I’d understand? Do I come across as uptight? I was twenty-nine once, you know.”
I roll my shoulders, feeling the weight of the admission before I even say it. “Because you’re probably used to being worshipped. You don’t seem like a woman who’d ever stoop so low to let some creep get you off in a stairwell and not remember your name.”
Marcella exhales sharply, like I’ve struck a nerve she wasn’t prepared for. Her fingers clamp around the stem of her wine glass, and for a second, I think she’s going to brush it off, give me some cool, unaffected lawyerly response.
Instead, she lets out a bitter laugh. “Guys don’t worship fat girls like me, Seamus. They fuck them in secret. Or they don’t bother at all.” She looks off into the distance, not before I catch the flicker of something in her eyes—raw and unguarded.
Beneath all her armor, she’s as lost as me.
“ Christ . That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” I can’t help myself.
Her head jerks toward me in surprise.
I lean forward, elbows on the table. “You’re not fat.
You’re the most stunning goddamn woman I’ve ever seen.
” The words come out rough, guttural. “I can’t get you out of my head.
I can’t sleep. Or concentrate. It fucking kills me you think I’m some misogynistic asshole who’d treat you that way.
If circumstances were different, would you even give me the time of day? ”
Her lips part slightly. No words come out. A flicker of shock—like I’ve caught her completely off guard.
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink.
Whatever walls she built, have I somehow slipped through the cracks?
Her silence dares me to make the next move.
It’s all I can do to hold the line—for now.