Page 14 of Daring Wicked Love (Wicked Dade #2)

There was little point in lying to myself any longer.

The whole drive down to the bar, I told myself the only reason I was going to see Orla was because I instructed Hank to stay in the same hotel as Maura. I wanted him to be on standby, to be there if Penelope called me and asked to come back home.

Without Hank, Orla needed a way home.

I was being a good boss, that’s all.

It definitely wasn’t because I spied Orla leaving in the cab earlier wearing a backless gold dress that made blood surge to places it shouldn’t.

Not even jacking off in the shower — twice — eased me.

It didn’t matter that my stomach couldn’t handle an ounce of dinner or a single glass of scotch, thinking about other men leering at her, trying to put their hands on her naked, sweaty skin.

Not even throwing myself into my work was able to distract me.

As much as I didn’t want to admit the real reasons why I drove across the city to the Irish bar, all pretenses evaporated the second I saw Orla dancing with some worthless batard.

His hands so freely on her bare back, his drunken eyes filled with sloppy lust, and his hips grinding against her like some horny teenager.

Who the fuck did he think he was?

The second I clocked them, nothing else mattered except getting him far away from her before I broke every single one of his fingers and then fed them to him.

Even if that meant swallowing my pride and apologizing to her.

“Where’s your drink?” Orla took a sip of her Manhattan, leaning back into the plush, cushioned booth.

“I meant what I said, I am your ride home.”

She shook her head. “Nonsense. It’s a cardinal sin to come into an Irish bar and not drink.”

“I’m pretty sure one more sin won’t kill me.”

“C’mon, live a little. We can get a cab back home.”

A flicker, a little whisper of something, echoed through my chest as she referred to my house as home.

Shaking the feeling away, I rolled my shoulders back. “I’m fine.”

“What’s the plan? Sit here all night and watch me drink, while you sit there all sullen and moody? Because that’s going to be a downright buzz kill, and I think I’d rather spend the night watching Callie hustle those guys over there at pool.”

Why did I come here again?

Devious defiance glittered in those grey eyes of hers. “You know, I still haven’t quite forgiven you yet.”

“Is that so?”

A smirk toyed on her lips. “Have a drink with me.” She shifted across the booth toward me, the hem of her dress slipping up past her knee, and her floral perfume embracing me. “Promise, I will forgive you if you have a drink with me.”

This fucking woman.

Drinking with her was a dangerous game.

Even if it was only one drink.

The rational part of me screamed to go and sit in the car until she was ready to leave, especially when a drop of her cocktail escaped from the corner of her mouth, and it took every ounce of my moral fiber not to grab her by the chin and lick it from her flushed skin.

My mind spun out of control, saliva pooling at the mere thought of how good she’d taste — the perfect blend of sweet and heat.

Christ, I seriously needed to find a way to break my dry spell.

She nudged her shoulder into my arm. “Having a drink with me isn’t going to kill you.”

A drink won’t, but she might be the death of me.

“Fine.” I raised a single finger. “One drink, that’s all.”

She clapped her hands with triumph while I caught a waiter’s attention and ordered a scotch on the rocks.

When my drink arrived, Orla turned her full attention to me, swiveling in the seat and brushing her bare knees against my thigh. The movement hiked her silky dress further up, revealing the smooth skin of her upper legs that looked so bitable, and sent the blood pumping straight back into my groin.

Despite the trousers covering my skin, the heat of her skin seeped through the material. The hairs on my arms raised, my whole body reacting to the woman beside me who managed to knock me off guard with an easy-going smile.

She smiled a lot, that was nothing new.

But there was something different about the ones she directed at me.

Or maybe I was just seeing things.

“You’re forgiven by the way, as long as it doesn’t happen again,” she said. “I won’t stay somewhere I’m not wanted, Fred. I made a promise to myself that I’d stop letting people treat me like I’m disposable.”

Despite the fact I told myself it was none of my damn business, the word disposable echoed like an atomic bomb between my ears. My mind raced, trying to piece together who the fuck treated her like that?

A family member? A friend? An ex-boyfriend?

Orla was too good, too pure, too everything I wasn’t, and the mere thought of some worthless piece of shit making her feel disposable—the blood rushing through my veins turned acidic.

“You have my word.”

Her teeth skimmed her bottom lip before she nodded. “I’d like for us to try and be friends.”

“You want to be my friend?”

“We’re stuck with each other as long as I am Pen’s nanny, and I think it might help if we learn to become friends. You’ll come to find I’m a pretty damn good friend to have in your life.”

I didn’t doubt that for a second, but I highly doubted it was common practice to fantasize about fucking your friend in the closest darkened corner of a bar.

The band abruptly started playing again, and the music and echo from the crowd singing along filled every space of the place.

It was exactly the sort of place I’d avoid in a heartbeat. Outside of work, the very idea of spending time inside a bar or a nightclub made my skin itch.

Then again, there were few places I truly spent any time in that weren’t Dade Diamonds or Monarch .

Maura always complained when we were married about my lack of interests outside of work.

Unfortunately for the two of us, my world was my work during our years together.

I was so focused, so driven, rebuilding the business my father lost while trying to simultaneously take down Jaxon’s wife’s father, that nothing else mattered.

Not even trying to save my sham of a marriage.

I was ashamed to admit that learning I was a father did nothing to deter me during that time.

It was only when the risk of losing the one good thing I had done with my life put everything into perspective.

Now that my focus had shifted, I realized how isolated I had allowed my life to become.

“Do you want to talk about the court thing?” she asked over the noise. “I’m sure you are worried sick, I know I would be if I were you. Maybe talking about it will help?”

Like hell I want to do that.

Talking about it only added igniter fluid to the blazing inferno within me.

“So, an Irish bar?” I spoke, ignoring her questions and knocking my scotch back. “Feeling homesick?”

Orla drained her glass. “Something like that.”

“What part of Ireland are you from?”

“I lived all over, depending on whatever foster home was able to take me and my sister in. The longest placement I had was in a town called Mullingar.”

“Does your sister still live in Ireland?”

“Yup, she is there studying Business Finance in Dublin.” Orla signaled the waiter for another round of drinks. “We managed to stay together throughout our years in the foster system. The social workers thought it best to keep us as a unit.”

“At least you had each other.”

Her lips turned downward, her brow furrowing for a beat before she plastered her smile straight back into place. “Before all the foster homes, we lived in a small town called Donegal. It’s a far cry from here, I can tell you that.”

I already knew that part, having Stefan conduct a background check on her. I wasn’t about to have someone with a hidden criminal background move into my home and take care of my daughter.

Her file confirmed that she was clean and provided me with some basic information about her.

To be honest, the file was too clean.

It was as if she hadn’t lived in Ireland at all, with only information about her life back in Ireland filling a quarter of a page.

“You grew up in Monaco, right?” she asked.

“Now, who’s the stalker?”

She rolled her eyes as her cheeks tinged pink.

“I lived there until I was eighteen. Once I got accepted into Toronto University, I left.”

“Monaco looks beautiful from what I’ve seen online. I bet the photos don’t compare to the real thing.”

“Some people find it appealing.”

“It’s on my bucket list of destinations to visit before I die,” Orla said. “I want to swim in the French Riviera, eat my weight in fresh bread and cheese, and get drunk on good French red wine.”

If I could never step foot back in Monaco for the remainder of my life, I would. The place was my living nightmare. It was a constant reminder of the years with my maman before she took her own life, and all the emptiness that was left behind after.

Those angry, hate-filled years watching my pathetic father drink his liver into dust. Only for my Grand-mère’s sake had I bothered to fly home and restrain myself from strangling my father with my own bare hands.

I drained my second scotch. “Do you miss Ireland?”

There was a strained beat of silence, her eyes drifting down to look at her hands. Blonde strands of hair fell across her face as her usual spark dimmed right before me.

She looked so small, so vulnerable, so broken in that moment.

Merde, I wanted to reach for her.

Before I got the chance to do anything, a dark-haired woman flopped down into the booth beside Orla. Sweat laced her brow, and she appeared to be one drink away from either passing out or vomiting.

Maybe both.

“I think it’s time for home,” the woman hiccupped. “Cab outside. Let’s blow this joint.”

In the blink of an eye, Orla was back to her normal self. Though as much as she tried to hide it by smiling and giggling with her friend as they tried to get out of the booth, I saw a single tear slide down her cheek.

The sight of it was a sucker punch straight to the jaw.

Between the two of us, we were able to bundle her friend, Callie, into the front seat of the cab while we occupied the back.

No one spoke until the cab dropped Callie off.

I tipped the driver generously to keep the engine running while Orla practically dragged her friend out of the car and into the arms of who I assumed was Callie’s unimpressed fiancé.

When Orla jumped into the back seat beside me, my body thrummed to life having her close again.

“When was the last time you were in a cab?” Orla asked once we were on our way home. “Rich people taking cabs is like seeing wild animals in the zoo; they don’t mesh.”

I chuckled lightly. “It’s been a while.”

“What about a bus? Or a train? Or hell, when was the last time you flew economy?”

I shrugged, biting back a smile. “A few years at least.”

“More than ten years?”

“Maybe.”

She tipped her head back with laughter, tangling her hands in her hair.

Was it possible to be jealous of someone else’s hands?

I imagined how soft her hair was, how perfect it would look twisted around my fingers while strands clung to her skin with sweat, while she moaned my name.

Jésus-Christ, ressaisis-toi.

“What’s the point in taking a cab if I have my car and my own driver?”

“That is the height of snobbery, my dear Fred,” she toyed.

I shrugged off the jolt of joy at hearing my name— non, not just my name, but her nickname for me—roll off her tongue, and how bizarrely okay I was with her calling me hers .

“I guess I can’t really complain,” she continued, turning her head to meet my gaze. Her floral scent reached across the small gap and taunted me to move closer. “You did fly me to New York on a private plane and used a private car to take us around the city.”

“You see petit lutin , ‘snobbery’ has its benefits.”

“You know, Pen’s been helping me brush up on my French. You called me little, but I don’t recognize the other word, yet .” Her eyes softened. “I really do appreciate you doing that for me by the way.”

“It was only a flight to New York.”

“There’s nothing only about it to me. If it wasn’t for you, I would never have met the owner of Nirvana Gallery and learned about her open event for selected new artists.”

I didn’t bother fighting back my smile.

Orla matched it as her eyes grew heavy. “To be honest with you, it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

I opened my mouth and then shut it quickly as we pulled into my driveway.

It had been a long time since I did anything for anyone else, except my daughter. I wasn’t too proud to admit I was a selfish man, because I learned a long time ago that I could rely on no one else except myself.

Physical attraction aside, I told myself it was Penelope’s total and utter infatuation with Orla that made me want to help her after her flight was cancelled.

The whole world saw me as something twisted and cold, but Penelope saw right through it to the barely lit light inside me.

The truth was that flickering light shone brightest around Penelope whenever she was happy.

So, if that meant being nice to her nanny to keep her that way, so be it.

It had nothing to do with the confusing feelings that stirred when Orla was near me. I was just trying to be a good father, simple as that, right?