Chapter 2 #2
“I see,” she replied and shifted again in her seat. Her movements were smooth, a gentle sway of her shoulders as she adjusted the position of her legs under the table.
The brush of her foot against his ankle sent a shock of electricity up his leg.
Ciaran’s knee hit the underside of the table, rattling the silverware. He glanced around the surrounding tables, but no one even glanced their way. He leaned back in his chair as, slowly, the arch of her foot slid up the inside of his leg to his knee, back down, then up again.
All the while, she continued to casually sip her wine and study his reaction. Whatever she saw in his face, or in his eyes, brought a sparkle to hers.
His trousers were suddenly a little too tight and there was a prickle of sweat at one temple. What game is she playing?
She set her glass aside and put her elbow on the table and a finger to her chin. “Then I have another question…” Her voice was a sultry purr.
He couldn't help himself from leaning forward. “And what would that be?”
Quick as lightning, her foot left his calf to spear between his legs and give him a firm tap where it counted.
The pleasant haze of good whisky and attractive company immediately vanished. He jumped and pressed back as far as he could in his seat, but the vixen didn’t give him any space.
“When am I going to get my money back so I can get the hell out of here?” she asked him, the smoke in her voice, and her eyes, replaced with ice.
“Seeing the position you have me in,” he replied, “I doubt I have much of a choice in the matter, do I?”
Jal shook her head and pressed harder nearly crushing his balls into the chair. “Christ, woman!” he exclaimed. “I have your money. Can you please give my bollocks a wee breather?”
There was a breath of laughter from the table next to theirs and Ciaran glanced over as he reached into his jacket.
The couple next to them was trying to act like they weren’t paying any attention, but not at all succeeding.
Before he looked away, the man glanced up and gave him a look that said, “better you than me, mate.”
Ciaran set a white envelope on the table and slid it in her direction as best he could without leaning into the pressure that threatened to emasculate him.
Jal lifted the flap with a fingernail and studied the pile of bills inside, then cocked an eyebrow at him. “And the jewelry?”
Ciaran started to reach a hand under the table to push her away but she tapped him again. Stifling a groan, he replaced his hand beside the bread plate, his back rigid against the high back of the chair.
“Fenced it,” he replied, voice tight, and tried not to squirm like a worm on a hook.
Ridding himself of the better part of a dozen pieces of fine jewelry at a fair price hadn’t been easy by any means.
He didn’t nearly have the network in the States that he had back in Scotland, but he’d had a favor or two owed to old associates who thankfully had connections on this side of the pond that could be trusted not to rip him off or turn him in to the police.
“It’s a shame you got rid of that sapphire ring,” she mused, running a thumb along the stack of bills as if counting them. After a moment, she slid the envelope off the table and into her purse. “But this will do nicely.”
When she took another sip of her wine and made no move to release him, Ciaran cleared his throat gently and jerked his head down to the goings-on under the table.
She gave him another one of her half-smiles and slowly slid her foot away.
All of the tension in his body fell away with it, and if they hadn’t been in the middle of a busy restaurant, he would have put his head down on the table and eased his wounded… dignity.
“I’m much obliged to you, lass.”
Jal took her last sip and slid the chair back to secure the strap of her shoe.
“Thank you for the wine, and for,” she made an illustrative noise and raised her clutch, “and if you don’t mind, I’ll be going now.
” She rose to her feet but didn’t make it more than a step before Ciaran wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her to a stop.
“Please Jal,” he said, all too aware of the crowded restaurant, and especially the couple next to them who had given up on trying to be discrete.
Dinner and a show, fabulous.
“I can’t believe that you got all fancied up for ten minutes. Come, have dinner with me.”
Jal looked down at his hand and though his grip was gentle, her pulse skittered under his fingertips. It would have taken very little for her to pull free, but instead she stood rigid, her chest rising and falling nearly as rapidly as her heartbeat.
He let his hand slide away, and they stood for a moment before he took hold of the back of her chair and gestured to the empty seat.
She took a deep, steadying breath, briefly met his gaze, and walked away.
Jal pushed open the door to the ladies’ room and headed for the sink.
She braced her hands on the black marble counter and studied herself in the mirror.
Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils wide enough that she was nearly blinded by the light fixture above the mirrors.
She grabbed for a hand towel from the neat pile at the edge of the sink and knocked most of them to the floor.
With a whimper, she bent and gathered them up and tried to rearrange them, but her hands were trembling, and the pile came out rumpled and crooked.
Get a freaking grip, Jal…
He’d barely touched her, but even that slight pressure of his fingers wrapped around her wrist had sent her heartrate skyrocketing and not in a good way.
She flicked on the tap to wet one of the hand towels and pressed it to her neck, her temples, her cheeks, until she felt less like she was going to vomit, or pass out, or both.
Yet even then, her body still vibrated with adrenaline, her neck merely a string holding her head to her shoulders to keep it from floating away.
She opened her clutch and dug a small, light orange pill from inside the lining pocket and swallowed it with a handful of water from the tap. She chased it with another handful of water and drew in a shaky breath.
It would take a few minutes for the medicine to kick in, so she picked a swirl on the textured wall to stare at and concentrated on her breathing. In and out. Again. And another.
The door opened and a woman in a black dress hesitated a step inside. She was probably in her fifties, with wine red hair twisted tightly up. Jal sighed in relief as the tingling faded from her fingers. Talk about fast acting.
“Are you all right, dear?”
Jal smoothed her hair back over one shoulder and nodded at her reflection, managing a weak smile.
The woman nodded back and continued into a stall.
After one more peek in the mirror, Jal tucked her purse back under her arm. The envelope crackled inside. The transaction was complete, there was no reason to even think about Ciaran Gray again. The thought repeated over and over in her head as she reached for the door handle.
The cacophony of instrumental music, clinking silverware, and overlapping conversations hit her like a wave as she emerged back into the restaurant.
She hesitated in the short breezeway, eyes fixed on the front door to the restaurant directly ahead on the other side of the bar, no more than twenty feet away. It might as well be a mile.
The woman in the black dress emerged from the bathroom and collided with her back.
Jal stumbled forward out of the breezeway and the woman skirted around her with a glance over her shoulder that was equal parts confusion, annoyance, and oddly enough, sympathy.
Her mouth twitched in what was meant to be a smile and the woman continued on her way. Jal’s eyes followed her across the room and widened as she passed their table. Ciaran sat frozen, his glass of amber whisky half-way to his mouth, his lips slightly parted.
His eyes, which were almost the same color in the flickering candlelight, were curious. He had rolled up his sleeves while she’d been away, and even from across the room, the grooves of muscle in his arms were clear.
She took a step towards the table and paused again.
Ciaran slowly set the glass down on the table, but didn’t otherwise move for a long moment. When he finally did, it was only to make a subtle sweep of his hand in the direction of her empty chair in invitation.
Jal swallowed, then squared her shoulders and fled out the front door.