Getting Off Page 4

  Liam’s expression became veiled, he looked at his watch again. There was a distinct iciness in his voice now. ‘You’re right, it’s late and I should get going.’

  He stalked back out to the living area, presumably to get his T-shirt. I followed warily, my insides hollowing out, and saw him tying the laces on his sneakers. He stood up again and just looked at me for a long moment before saying, ‘See you around, Caitlin.’

  I opened my mouth to respond, but Liam had opened the door and was gone before I could get a word out. A lone siren pierced the night. A week into my New York adventure and my first one-night stand. Or, more accurately, a half-night stand.

  I tried to rationalize the experience and not to think about how watching Liam walk away made me feel inside. I’d never expected to feel a connection of lust powerful enough to have me hopping into bed within hours of meeting a complete stranger.

  And I certainly hadn’t expected a stranger to bring me closer to an orgasm than I’d ever been in my life...and I hadn’t expected him to realize I’d faked it.

  No, that wasn’t part of the plan at all. The sooner I forgot about Liam and how close he’d come to a deeply secret part of me that wasn’t up for discussion no matter how gorgeous or talented he was, the better.

  * * *

  Liam was still scowling as he walked through his bar to get to his apartment upstairs. When he asked Toby, his bar manager, how the night was going, the young man took one look at Liam’s face and backed away with his hands raised. ‘Fine, boss, fine.’

  That didn’t help Liam’s mood. He took the stairs two at a time and slammed the door of his apartment behind him. He’d gone through every conceivable curse in his head and then some. Why was it that he couldn’t get her face out of his head? Or those huge eyes looking bruised and wounded as she’d affected a nonchalance that had had about as much authenticity as her fake orgasm. And worse, why had he even noticed? Or cared? He knew that not every woman came every time, and hell, even he’d struggled a few times.

  But, having said that, Liam prided himself on being a good lover. God knew, he should be after the in-depth initiation he’d received. He knew his way around a woman’s body. He knew how to get them off and he enjoyed getting them off. It heightened his own enjoyment.

  But somewhere in the last couple of hours, with her, his lust had overtaken him, and for the first time in a long time, his sole focus had been on himself and satisfying the inferno in his own body.

  It galled him that Caitlin hadn’t come. That he’d noticed too late to stop and do something about it. And it shouldn’t be bothering him. After all, hadn’t she said she didn’t want a post-mortem? He sensed it had bothered her more than she’d let on, but he reiterated to himself—what did he care?

  He’d never see her again. That assertion caused his insides to clench minutely and Liam scowled in response. He could hardly judge her for not wanting more than a little no-strings action when that’s exactly what he’d gone into the bar looking for earlier.

  Most women he knew were not shy about coming forward and going after what they wanted. And Caitlin was no different. But she’d shown intriguing glimpses of someone far less...street smart and confident. And Liam hated that it caught at him...piqued his interest.

  Damn. He needed to stay away from women for a while. Take a leaf out of her hippie aunt’s book—practice some meditation shit to divert his libido into some chakra or other.

  He lifted his hands to run them through his hair and stopped midway when the scent of Caitlin’s arousal hit his nostrils, coming from his fingers. Hell. Liam stalked to the shower and turned it on full blast.

  To cold.

  Chapter Five

  Two days later, it was already hot and sultry by 10:00 a.m. New York seemed to be moving from a scorching summer right into a slightly less scorching Indian summer. For the rest of the weekend I’d assiduously avoided bars and stuck to exploring my neighbourhood. I’d taken a picnic to Central Park on Sunday and spent the afternoon people-watching, which in New York could be considered a vocation.

  The problem was, even when I’d been lying on the grass with my eyes closed, trying to think of something else, I’d seen Liam in my mind’s eye—that scorching blue gaze intent on me just before he’d kissed me. And worse, I’d remembered what it had felt like when he’d thrust so deep inside me that I couldn’t breathe for a moment.

  I’d tried to force him out of my mind, assuring myself I’d never see him again. It had been an aberration. A mistake. This mental torture was what I got for giving in to the dictates of my vibrating clitoris. But something inside me still felt raw...I’d been so close.

  To my relief I spotted distraction from my circling thoughts: a notice in the window of a bar I was passing: Bar Assistant Wanted. Must Be Experienced. See Inside.

  I looked up and saw the name Sullivan’s Bar and Eatery. An Irish bar? I went in. The place was huge and airy, surprisingly bright and well laid out, with small tables dotted around the place. A few people lingered over late breakfast. A beautiful polished oak bar ran the length of the room with a massive mirror behind it, with the Guinness logo firmly in the centre. Definitely an Irish bar.

  A friendly-looking guy about my age was drying glasses behind the bar. He saw me. ‘Can I help you?’

  I walked over. ‘I wanted to ask about the job being advertised in the window?’

  He called over his shoulder, ‘Boss, someone is asking about the job.’

  There was a few seconds’ delay and then a tall broad figure stepped into the light at the other end of the bar. My eyes widened. Everything in me went cold. Icy.

  No. No. NO!

  The sun landed directly on him, highlighting that messy dark blond hair. That stunning bone structure. Faded jeans. A worn grey T-shirt that hugged the hard musculature of a broad chest. I could see the piercing blue of his eyes from here.

  I know what an orgasm feels like and you weren’t even close...

  How cruel was this? How big was Manhattan and I run into the last person I ever wanted to see again? Not entirely accurate, taunted a little voice. Well then, who I was sure never wanted to see me again.

  I got out through the shock, ‘I’m sorry...I made a mistake.’

  I turned and fled, limbs like jelly, mortified. Outside, I walked quickly, blindly, not even knowing what direction I was taking, just wanting to get away from him.

  ‘Caitlin, wait!’

  No. Not happening. I sped up. I heard, ‘Dammit.’ And sped up some more.

  There were steps behind me, and then, ‘Caitlin, will you stop, for crying out loud.’

  I stopped, breathing hard, heart almost pounding out of my chest.

  Liam walked around in front of me, hands on his hips. If he’d been gorgeous in the dim lights of the bar, dusky night and then the apartment...by daylight he was ridiculous. He looked like the love child of Daniel Craig and Matthew McConaughey. Even now I could feel his effect on my body. That betraying little hum in my pants. Which was so galling.

  I hated my schizophrenic clitoris. And I regretted tying my hair back into a low plait. I must look about sixteen. He ran a hand through his hair. He looked awkward, as if he regretted running after me. I wanted to make it easy on him. Really easy.

  ‘Look, I had no idea that was your bar...it’s cool, I’ll look for a job elsewhere.’

  I started to walk around him, but he caught me with a hand on my arm. Instantly the breath left my chest in a whoosh. ‘Wait.’

  And then, ‘Is that it? Not a word of acknowledgment about the other night?’

  Reluctantly I looked at him, ‘I’d really prefer not to talk about it.’

  He looked at me for such a long moment I could feel my toes curl. And then he blinked and let his hand drop. I wanted to touch my arm, as if he’d singed my skin from that
contact.

  ‘Fine.’

  Suddenly my head was flooded with lurid images: Liam’s hand down my pants, his fingers fucking me. His erection like a steel rod pressing into my back. Shit.

  ‘Look, I should really...be getting on.’ I backed away.

  He frowned, ‘Wait a second, you’re looking for a job.’

  I would have jumped at a job offer in Alaska if one had materialized right at that moment.

  ‘Yes,’ I conceded reluctantly.

  For a long moment he was silent, as if weighing something up, and then he said, ‘Do you have experience working behind a bar?’

  I blinked. ‘I’ve worked behind bars since I was sixteen and all the way through college.’

  His mouth flattened for a moment and I had to restrain the urge to want to kiss it back into its sensual shape. He crossed his arms and I saw the muscles bunch in his arms. Between my legs jumped in reaction. Crap. So much for hoping the other night had been some crazy aberration; or the effects of a full moon.

  He had a stern expression on his face and it reminded me of how he’d ordered me to lie down. It made me think of what it would be like to hear him issue such a command again, and what might happen if I disobeyed. Would he spank me?

  My conscience gaped at me in shock. Where the fuck had that come from?

  ‘Do you think you could handle a busy New York bar?’

  I crossed my own arms over hardening nipples and my rampant imagination running out of control. I made a derisive sound. ‘Do you think you could handle a busy Dublin bar?’

  His mouth quirked. ‘All those soft romantic writer and poet types staring mournfully into a pint of Guinness? Hell, yeah, I could handle that.’

  He was rising me. I smiled sweetly. ‘Well, I’m sure I could give a busy New York bar a try.’ After all, a snide voice pointed out, you gave its owner a try already.

  Irritation at myself made me say, ‘But do you really think it’s a good idea? You weren’t mentioning a job going the other night when I told you I was looking.’

  A muscle pulsed in Liam’s jaw. ‘That’s because our other permanent bar guy had to leave over the weekend due to a family emergency, and he won’t be back.’

  His blue eyes narrowed on me and I wanted to squirm; it was as if he could see right through me.

  ‘You said yourself you’ve nothing to say about the other night. Well, neither do I. And I don’t mix business with pleasure.’

  Something inside me clenched. Why did that hurt? I tipped up my chin. ‘It’s like it never happened.’

  Those blue eyes flashed for a moment and tension seemed to quiver between us, but then Liam said, ‘Good. We’ll give you a trial. Come by at five this evening, I’ll have Toby show you the ropes before your shift.’

  And then he turned and strode off, and despite everything that had just happened, all I could focus on was the way that broad back tapered down to slim hips and his tight muscular butt.

  * * *

  ‘You’ll be great, the crowd is gonna flip when they realize we’ve got a real Irish girl behind the bar.’

  I smiled weakly at Toby, who was the main bar manager of Sullivan’s, the same young guy I’d seen earlier. He’d been explaining the layout of the bar to me and the general workings. He’d also explained that they served food daily from morning to midafternoon, but that section was run by a crop-haired blonde called Candy, who looked anything but sweet.

  Toby inclined his head toward where she was clearing up and said sotto voce, ‘Better watch your ass with Candy around, she likes young nubile ones.’

  I repressed a smile. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

  He was sweet, really. Decent-size height, nice body. Cute face. With his surfer-dude blond hair and huge dark blue eyes, I’d say he charmed his way into the pants of many a girl giggling into her beer. And then I recalled with fresh humiliation how his boss had had me all but giggling into my own beer.

  I groaned inwardly. This was so not a good idea. But I’d painted myself into a corner now. And no way would I let Liam know how much he affected me by turning down this chance of a job.

  Toby was holding up his phone. ‘Smile and say sex on the bar.’

  I’d smiled reflexively before I realized what I was doing and then said, ‘Hey! What’s that for?’

  But Toby’s fingers were flying across his smart-phone screen and he mumbled something about alerting the media. For what...I had no idea. He looked up for a second, distracted, ‘You should change into one of the staff T-shirts now, shift starts in ten minutes. You’ll find a size that fits you in the store cupboard in the changing room. See you back up here.’

  * * *

  Liam was still trying to curb the anger he’d felt when Toby had shown him their Facebook status update a short while before, along with a picture of their newest employee: Come meet the new bar girl! She’s gen-u-ine Irish! And he’d also put out a tweet calling people to come and be served by the #irishhottie.

  And so far, #irishhottie did seem to be bringing in the punters, if the heaving crowd of mainly men was anything to go by just hours into her first shift. Toby passed him with a bucket of ice and smirked, his expression saying see?

  Liam scowled. From the moment he’d turned away from Caitlin in the street earlier, he’d been cursing himself for offering her a trial. He’d done it before he’d even registered the words in his head. He could remember the violent tug of rejection in his gut when she’d backed away as if to leave.

  He assured himself now that she wouldn’t be able to hack it and then he could tell her in all conscience that he didn’t think it would work out.

  But...his eyes were drawn to where she was leaning over the bar now, on tiptoe, trying to hear someone’s order over the crowd. She was dressed in a black Sullivan’s V-necked top that hugged her breasts and torso in a way that seemed almost pornographic, when it never had on any other female employee.

  Her hair was up in a ponytail, and the way it swung to and fro only made Liam’s hands itch to yank it back and tip her face up to his.

  Something sank inside him. She was a pro. Taking orders, smiling, chatting and delivering change all without missing a beat and with only the most rudimentary of introductions to their system by Toby.

  Dammit.

  Just then Candy appeared from the staff room ready to leave. She stood beside him taking in the view and then said mournfully, ‘If I didn’t think you’d shoot me dead on the spot, I’d like to take a bite out of that peachy butt.’

  Liam gritted his jaw and shifted to ease the pressure in his jeans. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  He heard a snort of derisive laughter. ‘Oh, please. We go way too far back for you to pretend that I haven’t noticed your look of pain ever since #irishhottie arrived for work. Walking around with a permanent hard-on must be a bitch.’ Then she murmured, ‘But for what it’s worth, I don’t blame you, I definitely would.’

  Liam glared at the woman he’d known since kindergarten, but she just blew a kiss at him and shimmied out of the bar. Stifling the urge to walk out behind her and get on his bike and ride as far away from here as possible, he finally slammed back into his office and tried to focus on spreadsheets rather than images of #irishhottie’s ass, and dark thoughts of bending her over his desk so that he could spank that bare ass for blasting every rational thought in his head to pieces from the moment he’d seen her.

  Chapter Six

  I was ready to throttle Liam Sullivan. I’d worked my arse off for the past four nights trying to create a good impression, and his almost permanent glower in my direction was beginning to seriously piss me off.

  Now that I knew about Toby’s shameless advertising of me, I was happily hamming up the whole #irishhottie thing, but I drew the line at painting a green shamrock on my
cheek. Or on my breast where the V of the T-shirt dipped, much to his disappointment.

  Liam didn’t speak, he barked at me. It had grown progressively worse over the last four nights. I felt like barking back at him, or throwing my Sullivan’s T-shirt down on the floor and telling him where he could stick his job. But I wouldn’t cave.

  Tension coiled like a live wire between us, almost tangible. Not to mention the very annoying fact that my clitoris still seemed to be magically linked to his presence, going on and off like a fecking beacon alerting me to his whereabouts at all times.

  Toby was off tonight, and for the first time Liam was behind the bar with me full-time. My nerves were raw and ragged. I felt achy and jittery. Aroused and very sexually frustrated. It didn’t help that I noticed how the women seemed to congregate wherever Liam was serving, moving en masse if he moved.

  It was galling to know I wasn’t much better, my gaze devouring his form whenever I thought he wouldn’t catch me. Invariably drawn to the healthy bulge in his jeans. Crap. Since I’d met this man I’d turned into a woman obsessed.

  A customer was looking for attention at the bar and I moved toward him, but Liam cut in front and said curtly, ‘I’ve got it.’

  He seemed to be doing that more and more if it was a male punter. I overheard the man say to Liam peevishly, ‘I want her, Irish, to serve me.’

  Customers had started calling me Irish or Red. I could see Liam’s jaw clench from here and his back tense, but he took a step back. I sent up silent thanks that the shift was over in about an hour and moved smoothly forward with a smile on my face and my best Darby O’Gill accent, ‘Now, sir, what can I be getting you?’

  * * *

  After locking the main door and clearing up the bar area, I was more than ready to call it a night. There had been nothing but silence between me and Liam since the last customer left. As much as I hated to admit it, perhaps working together just wasn’t practical.

  Thankfully, when I went into the staff changing area, it was empty. I couldn’t wait to get out of the oppressive tension. It was the same kind of atmosphere just before a storm hits. Thick and full of electricity.