Chapter 9 #2
She hoped he didn’t notice her descent into the chair was a little less graceful this time.
There was no mistaking that the trail of his fingers across the back of her shoulders was a little more deliberate, and the heat they left in their wake radiated up her neck and made her head spin more than it already was. Just how many drinks had she had?
In the middle of the table sat a beautiful stack of lady fingers covered in coffee and cream and dusted with cocoa powder. Her wine had been refilled, as had his whisky, but beside both was now also a glass of water. There was a small dessert plate and a spoon in front of each of them.
Ciaran caught her examining the table. He picked up his spoon and waved it at the dessert perfection between them. “I wasn’t sure how you wanted to share, so I had him bring plates too.”
His thoughtfulness was putting deep pits in the wall of ice she’d tried to construct between them. The warmth in his eyes had rivulets of water dripping down the sides. For a long moment, it was too much and she debated putting the spoon down and saying goodnight.
Ciaran lifted an eyebrow and indicated with his spoon that she should go first.
Her cheeks warmed as she moved the empty plate to the side and dug in.
She put a hand under the spoon until the dessert was safely in her mouth and her eyes fluttered closed.
The explosion of vanilla, coffee, and chocolate on her tongue was like nothing she’d ever tasted.
She opened her eyes to find Ciaran’s fixed on her mouth, his own slightly open.
“What?” she asked, and self-consciously brushed a finger along her lips. “Do I have something on my face?”
Ciaran blinked and cleared his throat. “No, lass.” he replied. He took a bite himself and nodded. “But I do understand your reaction. This really is very good. Rivals any I’ve ever had in Italy.”
That got her attention. “You’ve been to Italy?”
He nodded and took another bite. “Aye, a few times,” he replied around a mouthful of cream.
“My family went every few summers as a child. It’s a bit like someone going from here to say, the Caribbean on your summer hols.
I mean, holidays.” He waved the spoon in the air as he swallowed. “I mean, vacation.”
Jal chuckled. “I’ve only ever lived in two states, and never set foot outside either of them.” She replied and took a moment to savor another mouthful of bliss on a plate. “Italy is more than just a plane ride away, for someone like me.”
Her throat tightened and her eyes threatened to grow wide as soon as the words left her mouth.
He froze, his hand hovering halfway back to his mouth. “What do you mean for someone like you?”
Her heart started to race, and she thought for a long moment on what to say when clearly her sub-conscious wanted to say anything.
Everything. And that was not entirely a good thing.
Answering his question could invite more questions about her upbringing that were, at minimum, embarrassing.
“Just that I’ve never really had much money or opportunity.
I didn’t become what I am because I was bored. ”
Ciaran studied her face for a moment and must have been satisfied enough with her response to resume eating. But still, his eyebrows drew down thoughtfully as he chewed.
Needing to change the subject, she set her fork down and took a small sip of her wine. “Tell me more about Italy.”
He smiled and launched into a recounting of summers spent with his parents, siblings, and their extended family who all rented a Tuscan villa or a townhouse in Venice. The antics he and his cousins would get up to, especially once they hit their teenage years.
Jal just sat back and listened, and tried not to look relieved that he didn’t press the subject of her upbringing.
Soon, the dessert was gone, and so were their drinks, and the waiter returned one more time, his ordering device in hand.
He turned to Ciaran and showed him the screen which must have had a summary of their bill.
Ciaran reached for his pocket as she opened her purse and flicked through the cash she had brought.
“What do I owe—“
“No worries, lass. I have it.” Ciaran pulled a credit card from his wallet and tapped it to the reader.
Jal sat back, her hand still in her purse. “No, really.”
“Yes, really.” Ciaran replied as he signed the bill. “It’s the least I can do.”
The waiter glanced at the screen and his eyes widened briefly before he smiled. He thanked them profusely, bid them a good evening, and walked away.
Jal stared at Ciaran for a long moment as he rose and shrugged into his jacket. “Wait here a moment. I’ll go get our coats.”
She nodded and watched over her shoulder as he walked to the host stand.
He passed out of view, but in her mind, she saw the woman who had clearly been flirting with him earlier—and who even more clearly blamed Jal for his lack of interest in return—look up from her precious guest list and greet him again with her ample cleavage.
The thought was almost enough to bring her out of her chair and stalk over there.
But that was something a jealous person would do. And she wasn’t jealous. Not at all.
She swallowed and glanced over her shoulder again to find him turning the corner, her coat draped over his arm. He stepped up to the table and held down a hand to her. “You’ll be happy to know that your coat is unharmed.”
Jal snapped her clutch closed with an audible click and pushed back her chair. She looked at his hand for a moment before placing her hand in his. The room swayed only slightly when she stood, or maybe that was her.
Ciaran tightened his grip and the room settled.
“Should I be checking the pockets for death threats? Or maybe her phone number to pass on to you?”
Ciaran winced slightly and then chuckled. “She tried it with my coat.”
“Oh, she did, did she?”
“I declined.” He replied and flashed a wide smile as he held out her coat for her to slide her arms into the sleeves. He settled it onto her shoulders and smoothed the lapel at her neck. A tingle went down her spine as his fingers brushed across her skin.
Jal turned and he held out an arm to her. She hesitated for only a second before tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow. Who knew such a gentleman could live under that veneer of scoundrel?
They walked together toward the bar area. Jal couldn’t help glancing at the hostess as they passed, and one corner of her mouth turned up at the stony expression she received in return. She suppressed the urge to flutter her fingers in a farewell wave.
As they passed through the bar area, Jal caught sight of her friends sitting where she and Lexi had started their night.
Lexi was talking to someone whose back was to her, but going by the dark blond hair brushing his collar and the broad shoulders, not to mention the small crowd of women vying for his attention, it was her friend Maks.
New York City’s newest Most Eligible Bachelor.
Elena, on the other hand, was sitting facing the restaurant with her legs crossed at the knee, one arm draped over the back of the chair, the other holding a martini glass.
Her eyes locked on them immediately, studying Ciaran, and her hand tucked into his arm.
She nodded approvingly and subtly raised her glass.
Jal was smiling at her apparent approval as Ciaran pushed open the door.
He made a curious noise in his throat as she brushed by him and out into the cool night, the din of a hundred people packed into a small space was replaced with the quieter but ever-present drone of traffic that was the soundtrack to New York City.
“Do you need a ride?”
She shook her head. “I’ll get a cab.”
For a moment, they stood at the curb, still arm-in-arm, and just looked at each other.
A charge seemed to build up in the air between them the longer it went on, but she found herself unable to look away even to look up at the sky to see if that charge could be blamed on weather moving in. She knew it wasn’t that at all.
“Would I be asking too much if I asked to see you again?” His question was hesitant, and it pulled at something deep in her chest. Despite her better judgement, she was attracted to him, and more than a little tipsy, a dangerous combination.
She steeled herself and tried to harden her gaze, to dredge up any of the bravado she’d so easily turned on him before. “It was a lovely dinner, Ciaran, but I came here as a way to make up for you having stolen from me. But now that it’s over, I don’t think we have a reason to.”
He smiled, a wicked gleam dawning in his eyes as if her words were a challenge.
Before she could react, he gently slid his arm along her back and bent down at a careful, deliberate pace that even in her state, she knew was meant to allow her the chance to pull away.
There was nothing she could do about her heart kicking into a gallop and the muscles under his hand tensing up. She also didn’t pull away.
He paused an inch away, his eyes still locked on hers.
Her lips parted with an almost inaudible gasp for breath, but before their lips could touch, he drifted past and pressed a kiss high on her cheekbone.
Still, her eyes drifted closed at the softness of his lips, but they were already drifting to the shell of her ear.
His breath tickled the sensitive skin there and she couldn’t help clenching her thighs against the rush of heat that shot to her core. “Now, now. We both ken that is a lie.”
Her eyes flew open as he eased back so their faces were only inches apart again. Gently, he slid his arm away and finally took a step back.
The cool air of the spring night flooded the space between them. She swallowed, and drew her coat tightly around her.
He signaled the valet who walked up to the curb and raised a hand. As if he had some magic most ordinary citizens of Manhattan lacked, a yellow cab immediately turned off its light and came to a stop perfectly centered on the rubber carpet. The valet opened the door and waited.
Ciaran drifted over to it and stopped with one leg halfway into the car, one hand braced on the doorframe. “You should go back inside, Jal. ” He winked then climbed inside. “I’m sure your friends will want to hear all about it.”