Authors: Cassandra Cole
CHAPTER TWO
“Vanessa... That’s a very hoity-toity name...” the Irishman teased, pouting his lips and affecting a posh English accent after Vanessa officially introduced herself on the way to the pub.
“Well, what’s your name, then?” she asked, with mock offense.
“Patrick,” he said, taking a slight bow without breaking step.
“Patrick? Just Patrick? Like Madonna... or Rihanna?
“More like Elvis.”
“Elvis had a last name,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at him.
“He did, but it really wasn’t necessary now, was it?”
He smiled warmly at her, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He reached over, took her by the elbow and led her down a dimly-lit alleyway that was emitting a discordant cacophony of folk, house, ska and dubstep from its various, resident drinking holes.
“I’ll tell you my top secret Irish name after a drink or two.”
Vanessa barely had time to consider a comeback before she was pulled into a small entranceway, which expanded into a much bigger pub inside.
It was well-lit with low-hanging, albeit slightly old-fashioned electric chandeliers, and populated with an array of Oxford locals, from young students to older looking professionals and academics.
A retro looking jukebox towards the far end pumped out Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Dancing in the Dark’ and two fresh-faced, but clearly inebriated, teens danced enthusiastically, and likely also ‘ironically’ to the tune. They looked like they were having a good time, although there was some confusion about exactly which of them were playing a younger Courtney Cox, a conundrum only added to by the fact that they were both boys.
“What can I get you, now that I’ve talked you into coming out with me?”
Vanessa eyed the draft taps and decided that while she was happy to knock back a pint with her mates in London, this was a day that called for something a bit stronger. She spoke directly to the bartender.
“Scotch, single malt, no ice, just a drop of cold water.”
Patrick raised an appraising eyebrow at her order, then gave the bartender a nod. “I’ll have the same.”
The bartender reached towards the top-shelf whiskies.
“Jameson alright?” he asked Vanessa.
She looked at Patrick, who was already, eagerly, nodding his approval, gave him a wicked half-smile and turned back to the bartender.
“Well, it
is
Irish... but it’ll do.”
The comment didn’t slip past Patrick, who lightly poked her in the ribs, causing her to giggle and pull away.
“
It’ll do
,” he mimicked her.
They drank their first round quickly, Vanessa especially relishing the slow, smooth burn of each sip that slid down her throat. She told him all about her job as a regulatory agent for the insurance firm that she worked for, and how they were hoping to build on the trend in telemetrics by using more sophisticated behavioural tracking to reduce risk, and hopefully their clients’ premiums.
Patrick tried his best to look interested, which she appreciated.
In turn, she discovered that he worked as a journalist at a popular science magazine in Dublin called
Fresh Physics
, and that he was also going to be attending the remainder of the 2015 Behavioral Economics Conference before going back to Ireland to work on his feature.
He’d been attending the conference since it started that morning and, to his mind, this meant that he deserved another drink, and that Vanessa did too, for having the good sense to leave the session early. Vanessa reached for her purse, but Patrick placed a warm, soft hand on her forearm and added their refreshed whiskies to his tab.
Vanessa smiled, hoping that her eyes weren’t giving away her disappointment at the revelation that Patrick didn’t live in London... or at least in England. It was silly, she knew, but it was also so rare that she met someone that she liked so instantly.
She decided to use the pause in their conversation to freshen herself as well, and quickly excused herself to the bathroom. Although she didn’t like to think of herself as a vain woman, she did use the opportunity to quickly check her reflection. She expected, after a stiff drink and a long day of travelling, that she would look a lot more worse for wear, but found that she was still looking mostly put together, and was pleasantly surprised.
Her long, dark hair was still pinned up and back, but the rigidity of the style had softened, releasing a few errant strands of black around her comparatively pale face. Her dark eyes shone from skin warmed with alcohol and excitement, and the tight skirt and jacket of her suit still remained remarkably unwrinkled. Not too shabby, she thought, and decided to indulge in a light slick of terracotta lipstick anyway.
When she returned to the bar, Patrick handed over her tumbler of scotch, and tipped the base up to encourage her to drink faster.
“Whoa, what’s the rush?”
“Last round’s soon,” Patrick said, somberly.
The bartender looked confused when Vanessa looked at him for confirmation, and he silently shook his head. She checked her watch.
“Gosh, you’re right, it’s almost seven...”
She smiled at Patrick, enjoying this game of his, and hoping that there was still another round to be played -- and perhaps to be drunk.
“You know what we should do?” he asked, leaning in, conspiratorially, his arm propped across her shoulders as he whispered to her.
She enjoyed his freshness, something she wouldn’t tolerate from most men. She leaned in and asked, “What should we do, Elvis?”
“We should go get a kebab and some cans and move to the park.”
She eyed him warily. “Like a couple of teenagers?”
“Like a couple of grownup professionals,” he said, his accent growing thicker with each drink. “Who are acting like teenagers.”
Perhaps it was the whiskey or the warm weather or the fact that nothing today had gone according to plan, but something made Vanessa do something that was completely unlike her normally reserved, cautious self. She slammed the whiskey glass on the bar and started for the door ahead of him.
“Come on, Irish,” she called back. “Let’s have us a picnic.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Isn’t this romantic?” Patrick asked, through a mouthful of meat, pickled salads and flatbread.
“Romantic?” Vanessa couldn’t help the incredulity that crept into her voice. “You’re a little forward, aren’t you.”
Patrick swallowed as Vanessa tried to take a ladylike bite of her own sandwich and failed miserably. She used a finger to stuff the peppers and cheese that escaped the bread into her mouth. Patrick grinned and took another hearty bite of his sandwich, letting the cheese dangle from his lips.
They sat on a bench in the still-bright evening, sipping Kronenbourgs straight from the can and watching a family of ducks slowly wade across the dark, still water of the canal.
“It is romantic,” he said, sweeping the hand holding the sandwich in an arc. “There’s still water, a lovely bridge, a comfy bench, and a bunch of fuckin’ ducks...” He grinned at her with the beer can to his lips. “What more could you ask for?”
She held out her fingers. “A napkin?”
Vanessa had amassed a pile of kebab sauce in her lap, and all over her hands. Patrick laughed at her, and handed her a napkin as she mashed the remainder of her meal back into its packaging. She wiped her face and hands and did her best to mop up the mess on her suit.
“You missed a spot,” Patrick said, eyeing her as if she were dessert.
Vanessa, who was in the process of balling up her napkin, frowned and inspected the front of her blouse. “I did? Where?”
“Here.” Patrick angled in towards her and placed a light kiss on her lips before she even knew what happened. Vanessa gasped lightly.
He paused, looking at her for a reaction. He asked, “Was that not romantic?”
Speechless, she nodded. He leaned in again. This time, she kissed him back. After several heated seconds, she pulled away and dabbed the napkin to her lips. “When you said we were going to act like teenagers, you actually meant it.”
“Irishmen never lie,” he said, pulling her to him again, his hands coming to wrap around her back and his fingers tracing lightly up and down her spine. To her surprise, she didn’t resist his advances.
“Men always lie,” she said breathlessly. “Irishmen just do it better.”
“We do everything better,” he said, brushing his lips to her cheek. She placed one hand on his face and wrapped her other arm around his neck. He used the leverage to pull her almost into his lap.
“Hey, get a room!”
Vanessa and Patrick pulled apart suddenly and looked in the direction of the voice. Floating down the canal in a small row boat were two couples, students by the look of them, laughing and pointing at them.
Vanessa felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment and she stared down at her shoes, willing the ground to open up and swallow her whole -- or to consume the boatload of rowdy teenagers in a sudden, swirling jetty of canal water.
“We have rooms, you fuckin’ wankers!” Patrick yelled. He picked up the greasy bag of unfinished kebab remains and threw it across the water and into the boat. The greasy leftovers landed in the lap of one of the teenage girls with a wet squelch. The girl screamed bloody murder and the boys in the boat grabbed their oars and started paddling over to verge of the canal closest to the couple.
“Reckon I shouldn’t have done that,” Patrick said softly, in a tone of somber revelation. “Do they look like footballers to you?”
“Yes,” Vanessa said with a grin. “Very large footballers. So what do we do now?”
Patrick scooped up the unopened beers and held out his hand. “Now, love, we run!”
So, for the second time in six hours, Vanessa found herself running in her stocking feet, her high heels clutched tightly in her hand.
“Where to?” Patrick asked as they reached the center of town again and casually switched to a slower, walking pace. Patrick took Vanessa’s bag, and extended the pulling handle, quickly adopting the relaxed gait of a visiting tourist. Vanessa stopped to put her shoes back on over her ruined stockings.
“I don’t know about you, but I actually would like to go and get a room,” she said with a heavy sigh. The day was finally wearing on her. She was just realizing how tired she was. “In fact I have a room... with a bath and a bed. And maybe even a mini-bar.”
“That does sound quite lush. Where are you staying?”
“At The Castle Hotel.”
“Well, aren’t we living the high life.”
“The company pays for it.”
“My company pays for shite,” Patrick said with a smile. “Come on, I’ll walk you. Least I can do to protect your virtue from these rowdy Oxford crowds.”
“However much of my virtue remains,” she said, looping her arm through his.
They walked in comfortable silence for the few short blocks that it took to get to The Castle Hotel. Patrick even waited while Vanessa checked in. Key-card in hand she reached out to retrieve her bag from him.
“I’ll carry it to your room,” he offered.
She shook her head at him. “I’m not going to invite you in.”
“I know.” He held out a hand, inviting her to lead the way.
Vanessa lead the way to the elevator and then to her room on the third floor. With a sigh, she turned to Patrick, who passed her the handle to her small suitcase with a little bow.
“Well, this has certainly been a most interesting evening,” she said with a smile. “It was nice meeting you... Patrick.”
“Might I at least have a goodnight kiss?” He stick out his cheek to her.
After an exaggerated sigh, Vanessa leaned forward, only for Patrick to turn his head at the last moment and capture her lips on his own. She laughed against his mouth and allowed herself to indulge in the supple warmth of his mouth, which still tasted a little like whiskey and peppers.
“Okay, I stink and I’m exhausted,” she said, pulling away. Patrick smiled at her and she felt her resolve waning, but she held fast.
“Good night then, Miss.” He took a final bow and pretended to tip a hat to her. “Sleep tight.”
Vanessa leaned on the door frame and watched the crazy Irishman go.
It had been a most interesting evening, indeed.
CHAPTER FOUR
Vanessa leaned back against the headboard. She was wearing the fluffy white robe that had she’d found in the hotel’s cupboard and still felt warm and boneless after having just taken the most deliciously hot bath, complete with complimentary, scented bubbles. Steam rose from the cup of tea she sipped while watching some inane reality show featuring a motley line-up of minor television celebrities.
She found herself wondering if Patrick was still awake, and what- or perhaps
who-
he was doing. Vanessa had to admit that she was a little disappointed with herself for having called their adventure to an end so soon, but she was a grown woman with a job to do, she couldn’t exactly hop into bed with every bloke who made her laugh in a bar.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She set down her cup, drew the robe closed around her naked body and opened the door.
Patrick stood in the doorway with a goofy grin on his lips.
“How did you get back up here?” she asked with a frown, knowing that a key-card was required to use the elevator.
He held up a key-card and wiggled it at her. “Turns out, I have a room on the third floor.”
“I thought your company wouldn’t pay for a room at a decent hotel.” She crossed her arms over her breasts and leaned against the doorframe, biting her bottom lip to keep from smiling.
“I suppose we’ll sort that out when I file my expense report,” he said with a cavalier shrug. He stepped back and let his eyes go up and down her body. “Look at you. You clean up very nicely.”
She hugged the robe around her. She suddenly felt terribly exposed. “I was in the bath for an hour,” she said, brushing a stray hair from her face. “It was heaven. Other than running up your expense account, what have you been doing?”
“I was doing my part to keep the hotel bar in business. They have a lovely selection of cheap Irish whiskey.”
“I’m sure they do.” She eyed him warily for a moment, unsure of his intentions, and, perhaps, of her own. “I told you I wasn’t going to invite you inside my room.”
“Oh, I know,” he said, holding up a hand. “But... perhaps you’d like to come up and see mine?”
That cheeky smile of his, combined with the accent, was going to be her undoing, she knew this now. Still, she tried to resist. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea. I’m really not dressed to go out.”
His face dropped for a second, then she said, “Oh what the hell..” and swung the door open. He took it for the invitation it was, practically lifting her up off the floor with the sudden strength of his embrace around her waist.
She cupped her hands around his face as they kissed. Patrick kicked the door shut behind them as they moved towards the bed. He pulled the robe off her shoulders, revealing her pale chest and long neck, and latched his mouth to the soft patch of sensitive skin where her jaw met her throat. His teeth grazed her beneath her ear and she couldn’t repress the moan that tore from her throat.
She wiggled out of the towelling robe, letting it fall to the floor, as he drew her naked body against him. He was fully clothed, and she worked a hand between them to start the process of unbuttoning his shirt.
“Eager,” he whispered, his voice harsh with want.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” Vanessa responded, breathless.
She saw the devil dancing in his eyes. He said, “Oh, darling, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
He tipped her backwards onto the bed, fencing her in with his arms as he ranged over her. She ran her hands down his back, finally pulling his shirt loose of his trousers.
He sat up, pulling the shirt off one-handed over the top of his head, before descending again to caress her breasts with warm, soft hands.
He kissed his way down her chest while she moaned her encouragement, pausing only to lift her legs. He pulled her roughly halfway down the mattress, put her legs over his broad shoulders, and buried his face between her thighs.
Earlier on in the evening, Vanessa would have guessed that she was too exhausted from the activities from the day to come as hard as she did then, but she would have been wrong.
The quickness and cleverness of Patrick’s tongue, it seemed, was not reserved to his witty banter. He divested himself of his trousers as he shimmied his way back up to the top of the bed, while Vanessa panted, glassy-eyed and uncoordinated.
He lay next to her while she caught her breath, the hard planes of his pleasantly firm form contrasting with the swells of her softer curves. She palmed the bulging hardness of his cock through his briefs, finally pulling the remaining item of clothing down and off his legs. He pulled her over him by her waist and their lips met again, his erection trapped against her stomach.
“Have you got a condom?” Vanessa asked, as his hands went south to knead the tender flesh of her buttocks, and his knee edged between her legs, causing both blood and interest to rush back to her groin.
From the frustrated groan and the way he dropped his hands from her backside, she knew the answer had to be, ‘no’. She nipped him lightly on his chest, and then rolled off him.
“Sorry, darling, no condom, no ride,” she said with a breathy sigh. She wrapped her fingers around his cock and lazily stroked his length as they pondered this, the latest obstacle in an evening fraught with challenge. “Shall I at least finish you off?”
He pulled away from her grasp. “No, that’s not how I want this night to end.” He quickly got off the bed and started pulling his clothes back on. It took a moment to get his erection tucked inside his trousers.
“Where are you going?” she asked, laying back and massaging her full breasts.
“I’m going to find a fuckin’ condom. I’ll be back in two shakes. Don’t go anywhere... And don’t get dressed!”
Vanessa nodded and yawned, seductively, she hoped, and snuggled beneath the fluffy white comforter of her now slightly less-than-clean hotel bed.
She watched the flickering images on television for what felt like enough time to run down to a pharmacy and back. Then she waited a little longer. Still, Patrick didn’t return. She resisted the urge to get out of bed and check down the corridor for him, deciding instead to call it an evening.
She did get out of bed eventually, but only to put on the oversized T-shirt and shorts she’d brought with to sleep in.
They were decidedly unsexy night time attire, which was apt, given how she was feeling having just been stood up by her one-night stand.