3. Mary
Mary
What the actual ..? Words stopped working for me as the god walked towards me.
Because he was a god. All six foot plus a few inches of him.
I was a tall woman (Johnny and I had inherited our father’s height – not so much for Caitlin, who often lamented her more average stature) and one of the things that had put me off online dating had been the too-many experiences of turning up on a date to find a man with his eye-level on my breasts.
This man ... my eye-level would be on his chest. He stood at the other side of the table now. He made everything look Lilliputian.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
My insides fluttered. More than fluttered.
His voice was deep and gravelly. I shook my head, momentarily mute.
Thankfully I found my voice and croaked out, ‘No, please, I mean, yes, join me. Thank you for the wine.’ Jesus wept.
I can’t string a coherent sentence together.
I bet Dee was somewhere with a hidden camera crew laughing at me right now. Sick twins, my ass.
He slid into the booth beside me, gracefully for a big man. The energy changed immediately, became charged. My mouth went dry; he wasn’t just gorgeous. He was stunning. There were little streaks of grey at his temples and it peppered his beard. I felt like whimpering. This was a man. A mature man.
I noticed that his drink looked like whiskey, or something similar. Dark amber in a tumbler glass. I suddenly wanted to know if he would taste of it if we kissed.
He sat very easily in the space, one elbow on the table, hand around his glass. The other hand resting on his thigh. I was trying not to look down. His mouth was full and firm. Sensual. Sexy.
But his eyes ... his eyes were silver. Long dark lashes. Should have made him pretty, but with all those hard planes and the salt-and-pepper scruff, and dark brows ...
‘Do you live here?’
Stupidly I said, ‘In the bar?’
He smiled and his mouth went up on one side, lopsided. Between my legs throbbed. I squeezed my thighs together and his eyes flickered down as if he could tell. I sucked in a breath and forced some oxygen to my overheating brain.
‘I’m sorry, yes, I live here in Dublin. You must be visiting?’ There was no way he was Irish. He’d been hewn out of stock that came from another planet.
He dipped his head. ‘Here on business.’ Then he lifted his glass towards me. ‘Here’s to international relations.’
I blushed. Blushed! What was I? Sixteen? I raised my glass too and clinked it against his, taking a quick sip, hoping he wouldn’t notice my gauchness but no such luck.
He said with another smile, ‘I don’t think I’ve seen a woman blush in years.’
I blushed even harder and muttered, ‘The curse of being pale.’ I had dark hair and eyes, but sun averse Celtic skin. To deflect from my flaming-hot face, I asked, ‘So you’re here on business, you said?’
‘I’d much prefer not to talk about work. So boring.’
I agreed. I didn’t want to think about the conference I had to attend tomorrow afternoon. I tried not to let my eyes wander all over him. Focus on his face. Not his package.
‘Why did your friend leave?’
My eyes opened wide. ‘You saw us?’
‘I’ve been sitting at the bar the whole time, watching you in the mirror.’
I looked up at the bar and noticed the huge mirror all along the back of the bar. To think of him looking at me all that time made me feel hot and achy inside. I looked back at him. ‘Dee ... that is, my friend – she has young kids, twins. They’re sick, she had to go home.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that her kids are sick, I hope it’s not serious, but I’m glad I had a chance to come and talk to you.’
‘You are.’
He nodded. ‘Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?’
The way he said it, it didn’t sound like a line.
I was embarrassed now. I shook my head. ‘Really, I’m nothing special.
’ I’d always felt so ungainly. So much taller than all the other girls in school.
And I’d developed early, which had compounded the sense of exposure.
Even now I was taller than most women around me.
But next to him, I felt positively petite.
His hands were huge. Long fingers. Graceful yet masculine.
I could imagine those hands cupping my …
‘Should we exchange names?’
I dragged my mind out of the X-rated gutter. Suddenly the thought of telling him my very plain name felt like it might burst this bubble. And I didn’t want to burst the bubble.
Impulsively I said, ‘What do you think my name is?’
He pulled back slightly and looked at me. Up and down. Lingering on my chest. I resisted the urge to check just how many buttons Dee had undone. My breasts seemed to swell under his gaze, nipples tightening. And this was just with a look!
His silver eyes came back up and I let out a breath.
He said, ‘Boudicca.’
I looked at him, my head filled with images of a wild-haired woman. ‘The warrior queen?’ He nodded. ‘It’s a bit of a mouthful.’
He smirked. ‘So I’ve been told.’
It took a second for that to register and I let out an unexpected laugh. Lord. Funny and sexy? Save me now.
‘What about me?’ he asked.
Now I had the excuse to sit back and look at him.
His jacket was open and even though he was relaxed, his shirt did little to hide the powerful musculature of his chest underneath.
I could make out the dark shadow of hair.
Ridges of muscles. The biceps of his arms pushed against the fabric of his jacket.
And down. His legs were spread, but not in that annoying man-spreading way. My eyes widened as I took in the very obvious bulge in his pants. My face got hot again. Was he ... hard? Or at rest? Both options were a little overwhelming.
I looked back up. I wanted to say Thor, but that was a bit obvious. So a little lamely, I said, ‘Leo?’ Someting predatoryesque suited him.
‘Do I remind you of a Lion?’ he asked.
He did actually. I felt like squirming a little. This was so intense. No small talk. But it was also deeply thrilling and the most exciting thing that had happened to me in years. Ever. I shook my head, then, feeling breathless, asked, ‘What about second names?’
He cocked his head to one side for a second, thinking and then stuck out his hand and said, ‘Hi, I’m John.’
I felt like giggling; he was no mere John. I put my hand in his. ‘I’m Elizabeth.’ Mary Elizabeth, probably two of the most common first-name combinations in Ireland.
His fingers closed around mine and I almost had a mini orgasm right then. ‘Hi, Elizabeth.’
‘Hi ...’ I managed to say.
He kept hold of my hand. ‘Now that we have names, would you like to come back to my hotel with me?’
I gulped. He really wasn’t into small talk. ‘Are you always so direct?’ I pulled my hand free reluctantly.
‘I find that it’s better to leave no room for confusion. I wanted you the moment I saw you walk into the bar.’
I knew I should be running in the opposite direction, but a part of me liked the directness. It was mature. No messing around with small talk or faux flirting. A little feebly, I asked, ‘You’re not a serial killer, are you?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I like to keep my lovers alive.’
Lovers. Was I going to be this man’s lover? It throbbed in the air around us. We’d met literally minutes ago and yet was I really ready to leave this bar with a total stranger – literally John Doe– and go to his hotel room for some down-and-dirty sex?
Hell, yes. But I wasn’t taking complete leave of my senses. I forced myself to say, ‘I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll let you know when I get back.’
He was arrogant and gave off vibes that he always got what he wanted, so it would do no harm to make him wait. Not that I thought for a second I was really keeping him, or me, in any doubt.
But, just when I thought he was going to let me out, he moved closer and said, ‘How about a little taster to whet your appetite?’