"Not that I'm jumping to conclusions, of course. I meant 'hooking up' in the sense of going somewhere for a drink... maybe...?" Leo's voice trailed away.
I bit my lip. I'd been grateful to see his name on my mobile screen and not simply because it was him or not Gray; also because he wasn't Andrew, who'd sent a number of texts. But too, guilt plagued me as if I shouldn't even be contemplating telling Leo that "Saturday's good."
"Excellent. We are going to have so much fun together this weekend. I can tell. I could pick you up around eight and take you somewhere. Then again, you don't know me. You'll want to meet up in town, won't you? I don't like to leave a lady waiting on a street corner or in a pub on her own, though. Hmm. Any suggestions? I'm not too familiar with this city yet. You know the better places to go, I'm guessing?"
I suspected he'd deliberately left the ball in my court to allow me to choose a place in which I would feel comfortable. This, together with his realization I wouldn't want him picking me up at home and his insistence I not wait anywhere for him on my own, reassured me that underneath his dirty exterior there beat the heart of a gentleman.
Gallagher's? No. It was an Irish pub for people who weren't Irish; natives would be insulted at the twiddly diddly bogtrotter atmosphere although they might be fond of the endless supply of Guinness. A bit like covering a pub in tartan, nailing a haggis to the wall and calling it a Scottish bar.
"It depends on what sort of place you like." He didn't strike me as a spit and sawdust kind of guy. Sure, he'd had his shirtsleeves rolled up on Saturday but they were immaculate shirtsleeves, pressed and gleaming white under Kelleher's lighting. "A wine bar?"
"A wine bar! I'm not going to one of them puffy places."
"There's Cole's I suppose..."
"Oh yeah, that one right next door to Kelleher's?"
"That's the one. It gets pretty crowded later on, though, that's the trouble."
"Oh, I don't think we need to worry about that. I meant, we could move on somewhere else. Another pub that is," he added and I wondered if that was genuinely what he'd meant. "And, you know, it depends on if eight is okay for you. I usually start early. Get the first round in."
"So it's true what they say about Irishmen?"
"If you've heard something that makes me sound good, then yeah, it is. So eight's okay for you then, darlin'?"
I loved the endearment, right down to his glottal stopped 'g'. "Eight's perfect."
"I don't want you waiting outside or loitering around in a bar on your own so don't get there early like women
always do."
"Leo, I've been going to bars for years. I've been in some rough places."
"Yeah, maybe you have, but not on my watch."
"Not on your—?" My voice cut off, halfway between insulted at his attitude and flattered by the attention.
"Humour me. If you're spending the evening with me I at least want to make sure you keep yourself safe before we hook up."
"Promises, promises."
"Don't be early. Aim for five, ten past and I'll wait outside for you."
"You're being very solicitous."
"Humor me. It's the way I was brought up, to show good manners—at least on the outside—but cut me open and you'll see... Well, I'll leave that to your imagination. For now, that is. But you go get some sleep and keep your strength up. Saturday, then?"
"At eight."
"I'll look forward to it."
Six
What the hell am I doing? I asked my reflection but the damn thing came up with no answers. You shouldn't be here. All the trouble you get in with guys and...
I stood on a street round the corner from Cole's, contrary to Leo's wishes, but he wasn't to know. I pinched my cheeks despite the fact I'd dusted on some blusher, smoothed down my eyebrows and double checked my appearance as best I could in the compact mirror for the umpteenth time.
Well, you'll just have to do. I snapped the mirror shut and put it back in my bag.
My mobile phone told me I was bang on time for my date.
Bracing myself against the last minute or two of my walk, the thought of which filled me with trepidation, I pulled my short black jacket more tightly around me. Clearly a fashion item rather than made for convenience or comfort, its three quarter length sleeves and three huge inchdiameter buttons undid any good done by its woollen thickness.
But it looked good and that was the main thing.
Leo wasn't a complete stranger. Okay, nearly so, but we'd met before, had a bit of banter. And we were meeting in a public place. So my nervousness mystified me. Perhaps it was the thought of what it might all lead to—probably would lead to.
Piper, that little voice in the back of my mind taunted, are you confusing apprehension with excitement again?
The twist in the pit of my stomach at that very
moment confirmed this was the case and it grew ever tighter as I turned the corner onto the street where I was due to meet him.
The knot, the twist in my gut wound around itself, contracted painfully as I caught sight of him. Leo.
His back was turned and he had one hand up to his face or his mouth, I couldn't tell which. He wore a dark jacket or blazer, and jeans. No trainers, but proper shoes. Highly polished. His hair was close cropped at the back and on top it had those 'just been fucked' spikes which looked as if they'd been mussed up carelessly in a few seconds but had probably taken him an absolute age to arrange in the way he liked.
Oh God.
Those two words repeated themselves over and over again in my mind.
Oh God, oh God, oh God... I want...
I wanted to touch the back of his neck so badly, could have reached up with one hand and—
"There you are!" he said, making me jump with the enthusiasm of his greeting. "I've been waiting." He took a drag on the cigarette he'd been holding before dropping it, crushing it with the toe of his shoe and kicking it into the gutter. "Jesus it's freezing out here. How do you bloody women manage in those..." He pointed at me. "Things."
"Things?" I echoed, trying not to smirk as I met his gaze. He was a smoker. Deep joy. He swore even more than I did. And he had a tendency to be bossy under the guise of being a gentleman.
I really shouldn't fancy you. I really, really shouldn't fancy you. I've just come out of a break up. I hurt another guy badly. I don't deserve this, but... goddamn it, I do. I do fancy you. So much it hurts. And I give up.
"Yeah. All that... girly shite. F'r'instance, where's the rest of your coat?"
"The rest of my…?" I looked down. Didn't think I looked too bad. I'd made an effort to look nice. I'd also made an effort to look as if I hadn't made too much of an effort. "What's wrong with it?"
"It doesn't have any fucking sleeves."
"You swear more than Gordon Ramsay."
"Yeah, but I'm better looking though. Come on, woman, where's your sleeves?"
"Look, they have sleeves. They're meant to be that way. Three-quarter-length. You've never heard of threequarter-length sleeves?"
"No." He choked out the word in an accented laugh. "I'm a bloke. I do coats. Jackets. That's about it. Sleeves are supposed to go all the way down to your wrists."
"You roll your shirtsleeves up."
"Ah, you noticed?"
"Fuck. Oh. Damn it. Well, if you've got Tourette's it's evidently catching. Um, yeah. I might've noticed."
"Shirtsleeves are optional," he told me, smirking. "They're there so I can roll 'em up and look all masculine and sweaty. Right, you, let's go inside."
"You?"
"It's a term of endearment." He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me into Cole's, sweeping me past the doormen like he owned the place. I let myself be swept.
We headed straight for the bar. At least, he did. I followed.
"Um...is it just you?" I asked. "Or...?"
"Huh?" He stopped, leaned down so I could shout in his ear. My stomach damn near leapt into my throat at the very smell of him. I never knew how delicious... now what was that... musk? I never knew musk and cologne could have that effect on me.
"I said..." My words came out as a croak, barely audible above the music, rasping against my suddenly dry throat.
"Something wrong?" His thick brows knitted together and being so close to his eyes didn't help me get my breath back any quicker. "I can't hear what you're saying."
"I said..." I tried again, relieved when the words came out relatively smoothly. "I asked if it was just you here tonight?"
"Who else would there be?" The corners of his mouth threatened a smile, but nothing beyond that. His eyelids crinkled ever so slightly, though, and I felt...not mocked, but certainly like the object of his amusement.
"Just wondered. Blokes usually meet their friends in bars at weekends don't they? At the start of the evening, even if they have...other plans later?" When in doubt, fall back on the failsafe. Flirt your way out of any embarrassment.
"You must be fucking joking!" He drew back slightly to examine my face before finishing his reply. "You think I wanna show you off to my mates when I've got you all to myself? I'd never get any peace. Especially when you look that good."
"I look…?" No, never mind. Whatever he meant by it, it was best I let it lie, otherwise I'd sound as if I was fishing for compliments. I straightened up and faced the bar. Time to grab some alcohol.
But no. He grabbed me, pulling me back by the elbow. Never in my life had I been so grateful for three-quarterlength sleeves, whether he liked them or not. No sleeves meant his skin made contact with the inside of my arm, his thumb grazing the inside of my elbow and thank God the music was loud enough to conceal my gasp.
"Listen." His breath warmed my earlobe and I wondered if some kind of sexual foresight had persuaded me to wear my hair up tonight in a messy French roll. Any closer and he'd be licking my neck. "Listen, the only reason I didn't meet up with the boys tonight...well, there were two. Meeting a bunch of strangers all at once can be quite intimidating for a lady, sure enough, which is why I didn't introduce you the night we met, but more importantly..." He gave my elbow a near imperceptible squeeze and I would have thought I'd imagined it, were it not for the shiver of electricity that ran up my arm. "I'm not sharing you with anyone."
I gulped, not wanting to look up at him, not because of fear of what I would see on his face, but what mine would reveal to him.
I swore he knew what his hot breath on my neck did to me because he gave a short burst of laughter and automatically I turned my head to catch his smile and his breath smelled of cigarette smoke still. I hated the smell. On him, I knew I'd love the taste.
At that moment I couldn't tear my gaze away from his lips. Centimetres from mine, with cigarette smoke lingering, close enough for my heart to pound, close enough to make my lips part.
He put his other hand on my neck, fingertips grazing the hollow below my ear, his thumb at my throat and if he pressed a little harder, my breath would catch again. "No."
I blinked. What the—?
"No, I'm not gonna kiss you."
"What?" It was unladylike of me to exclaim so loudly over being denied a kiss, but Jesus, he'd let me think he was about to...
"Not yet anyway." Smiling, he broke contact piece by piece. Thumb. Fingers. Hand. "I might get carried away."
"Might..." Attempting further speech was pointless. All I could do was clear my throat.
"Can I get you a stiff one?"
"I...what?"
He broke into an uncontrolled grin. "I meant a drink, you dirty wench." The way he said it, it sounded like dorty.
"Yes. Please." Another attempt at clearing my throat. And thank God I had the presence of mind not to ask him for an alcopop. "Vodka and coke. Thanks."
"Double?"
"Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Of course not, I prefer my women sober. They enjoy it more."
"Enjoy what more?" I winked. At least I now had control over my facial muscles and my ability to flirt had returned, though for how long I didn't know. Probably until the next time he touched me.