Intoxicating!. Kathleen O'Reilly
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whispered.
“Thank you.”
“So, do you do anything besides accounting?”
Daniel hesitated, because he didn’t tell many people about the bar. There were expectations of a bar owner, more of the fun-loving, pleasure-seeking crap, and Daniel usually kept his mouth shut. But Catherine would understand. He knew it. She was the type of person who invited confidences, the type of person who didn’t demand or judge, and it had been so long since he’d had an ordinary conversation. He was surprised that he remembered how. “I’m part owner in a bar.”
The sunglasses came off again, and he wished she would leave them off; her eyes were strangely compelling. So completely content. “I’ve never met a bar owner before. You don’t seem the type.”
This time Daniel did laugh. “It’s my brother. He’s the type.”
“Ah. Your family must be close.”
“Family distance is highly underrated.”
She smiled at him. “Spoken by someone who is close to his family.”
“When they’re not playing therapist.”
“Do you want lunch?” she asked, and Daniel checked his watch. He’d talked with her for nearly two hours, and never noticed.
“I shouldn’t impose.”
“Puh-lease. You’re my houseguest now. What sort of hostess would I be if I didn’t feed you?”
“You have something beyond snack foods and beer?”
She raised her brows. “That bad?”
“Hmm, it’s not, but I’m thinking your food is probably better.”
Daniel pulled on his T-shirt and followed her through the French doors to the interior of the house. Once inside, he heaved a blissful sigh. Now this was a beach house. There was no television, no stereo, only a couch overlooking the windows, two dainty sticks of wood, which Daniel termed “female chairs,” a wall of rare books and what he guessed was really good art on the wall.
“This is a great place.”
“It’s my grandfather’s. I freeload often.”
“I bet he doesn’t mind.”
“Nah.”
She opened the refrigerator and stared inside. “Eggs, salad, tuna and some berries.”
“Very sensible.”
“I have cupcakes and chips in the pantry.”
“I won’t judge. I swear.”
“Thank you. Actually, I shouldn’t have them,” she said, skimming her hands down over her hips. It wasn’t a seductive move, but a self-conscious one. Daniel’s gaze automatically slipped lower, following her hands, and he felt something stir inside him.
A momentary flicker of heat.
Daniel looked away, and Catherine never noticed.
After lunch was over, Daniel grabbed a paperback thriller and sat out on the beach while Catherine sketched. He was curious to see her work, but she didn’t invite him to, and so he left it alone. He waited until there was a break in the karaoke next door, the lawyers driving off for dinner, and Daniel took advantage, grabbing his duffel.
No one had even noticed he’d been gone. Excellent.
When he walked through her French doors, bag in hand, she looked up from the book she was reading on the couch, as if he had disturbed her. Daniel didn’t usually second-guess himself; he didn’t have to. But this time, he did. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” he asked.
“Are you kidding? Don’t worry.”
After that, he stopped worrying and simply enjoyed himself. Dinner was great, and afterward when the shadows of evening had begun to fall, Catherine broke out a bottle of 1982 Rothschild, pouring two glasses. “Grandfather’s got a truly excellent cellar,” she told Daniel. She sat next to him on the couch, curling her legs underneath her.
The wine seemed like the perfect ending to what had been the best day he’d had in some time. Seven years, in fact. Next door might have been When Good Lawyers Go Bad, but here, with the steady sound of the ocean, the quiet of the house, the easiness of her company, Daniel felt peace.
“This has been nice,” he told her. “I appreciate it.”
“You don’t expect much. I like that,” she said, lifting her eyes to his, and Daniel promptly forgot what he was going to say. It’d been too long since he’d been in such a close setting. He could feel the heat under his collar, the slow pound in his blood and the push of his cock against what had been a loose pair of shorts until he had found himself fascinated by a set of wistful brown eyes.
Snap out of it, O’Sullivan.
Even before he could look away, Catherine did. Time for bed.
Alone.
He took a deep sip of wine and then placed it on the table, getting to his feet. “I think I’ll go to bed. Sleepy. Tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.” He was rambling, pathetically rambling, but he needed to run and fast. The poor kid was probably completely unaware of the ideas that were suddenly flooding his brain.
Catherine uncurled herself from the sofa, and he found himself staring down the front of her bathing suit, which, up to this point, had been sensible and concealing. But now it wasn’t, nope—when a man was staring straight down her front, he saw flesh. Soft, pliable flesh. Soft, pliable bare flesh.
She lifted her gaze again, sending a shockwave through him for absolutely no reason, because it wasn’t as if she was going triple-X on him. No, this was just her being her, and he was suddenly in danger of busting a seam. For nothing. Just a set of dark eyelashes. And the breasts. The soft, pliable…okay, it was really time to leave. Past time to leave.
Daniel told himself to move, but it was too late. He’d found bottles of whiskey that were easier to escape than one single, soulful pair of shadowy brown eyes.
She rose from the couch.
His breathing stopped.
And then she kissed him.
3
DANIEL PULLED AWAY from her. “I should go,” he said, completely and utterly embarrassing her.
Oh God. She had thought…well, who cares what she thought? She’d been so caught up in the rare moment of being in the close proximity of such a man-man and now she’d blown it. Why the heck did she think he’d want to kiss her?
Talk. Yes. Sex. That’s a big No.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done this. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She was rambling. Whenever she got embarrassed, she developed a severe case of foot-in-mouth disease, which was a reason she always managed to avoid embarrassing situations.
“It wasn’t that stupid,” he answered, his eyes crinkling up nicely.
“I don’t mean that it was stupid to kiss you, I mean, you’re…” She waved a hand, searching for words, but found none, so opted for a silent adjective and stared a hole in the floor. He could figure that one out on his own. “I meant that I shouldn’t have intruded into your space without an explicit invitation. It’s rude.”
“I didn’t think it was rude,” he answered evenly, making her like him even more. He was so polite, trying to make her feel better, and she did.
“Okay, maybe not rude, but wrong.”
“It wasn’t wrong, either.”
“I shouldn’t have done it. Let’s leave it at that,” she stated, trying to extricate herself