Stay the Night (11 page)

It wasn’t, but he heard the
Butt out
loud and clear. He cooked in silence while she sat there and tinkered with her camera. It should have been disconcerting but it actually felt nice. He had a goal he was working toward, and even if they weren’t talking, it was nice having her there.

He dished up their food. Two plates in his hands, he said, “Ready.”

“Okay.” She closed her laptop and followed him with her camera.

He headed automatically to the dining room but changed his mind and veered at the last minute. Setting their plates on an end table, he rearranged two of the low chairs to face toward the window and then dragged the table closer. London stretched in front of them, dusk stretching over the city.

“Cozy,” was her proclamation as she surveyed it. She plopped onto a chair, set her camera on the floor, and picked a plate.

“You have your camera with you all the time,” he said as he scooted his chair in and set the napkin on his lap.

“My camera is the most precious thing in my life.” She chewed a bite of food thoughtfully. After she swallowed, she said, “Actually, my sister is most important, but Psyche is a close second.”

He shook his head. “I can’t believe you named your camera Psyche.”

“It makes complete sense if you think about it,” she said reasonably. “Psyche, Greek for the soul. The intangible self. The camera never lies, and neither does a person’s true nature.”

“That’s rather philosophical.”

She shrugged. “I’m deep.”

“And men?” he heard himself ask.

“What about men?” She forked more into her mouth, humming when she tasted it.

He tried not to get distracted by how much she enjoyed his cooking. “Are you seeing any?”

“
No.
” The way she wrinkled her nose told him what she thought on that topic.

For some reason, that answer made him glad. “How did you start taking photos?”

“I found an old camera in the attic, and it was love at first sight.” She took a bite, her eyes widening as she chewed. “This is good.”

He nodded, knowing he was staring at her while she ate, but he couldn’t help it. She looked like she relished every bite, like every mouthful was worthy of love.

“Fran tried to teach us to cook,” she continued, lowering her head to focus on her food, “but I was more interested in taking pictures.”

“Is Fran your mother?”

“Fran was our nanny.”

He raised a brow. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a princess.”

She snorted. “Hardly.”

“Where was your mother?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about my mother.”

“You never want to talk about your mother.”

“Because I don’t understand her.” Her brows furrowed as though she were deeply disturbed. “I thought I did, but none of that seems to apply now.”

“What changed?”

“I have no idea. I think she’s playing mind games.” She gave him a flat look. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

He was tempted to push her about her family, but she’d never pushed him—oddly—so he let her have her space. “Then tell me about your pictures.”

“I’m good at what I do.” She speared him with a look. “I get to travel all over the world and meet great people. I stay with them—”

“You stay with all of them?” he interrupted, imagining her in his bed.

“To get to know them.” Her eyes narrowed. “No monkey business. I get my own room.”

“You’re not staying with me,” he declared, even though at the moment he was of two minds about it.

She gave him an incomprehensible look. “Am I that bad?”

“Yes.” She was trouble and he’d had enough of that this year to last a lifetime.

She shrugged and returned her attention to her food. “Anyway, I get to know people before taking their pictures. I like to show the truth of their personalities, not what they try to project. It must sound funny to you, but that’s why my photos do well, because of their honesty.”

“If you took my photos, they’d show how honestly sexy I am.”

“
When
I take your photos, they’ll show more than that.”

He grinned. “You think I’m sexy.”

She rolled her eyes and set her empty plate aside. “You know you are. You don’t need me to prove it.”

“Maybe I do.”

Eyes narrowing devilishly, she grabbed her camera. Before he knew it, she was climbing on his lap, looming over him.

“Hey.” He juggled his plate into his other hand and set it on the table, taking hold of her by her hip. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t take any. I’m just scoping things out.” She trained the camera on him, adjusting the lens. Kneeling over him, she looked powerful and in charge. His hands tightened on her, and he fought the urge to pull her down to him.

“Look sexy, MacNiven,” she said in a low voice. “You can do better than that. Picture a couple Victoria’s Secret models in bed with you.”

The only person he wanted in bed with him was right there. He gripped her hips, trying not to imagine sliding into her and what it’d feel like.

Only of course he imagined it. It’d be heaven, and the very thought made him so hard he wasn’t sure his pants would keep him contained.

Behind her camera, she smirked as she adjusted the lens. “So Victoria’s Secret works for you, huh?”

She
worked for him, but he knew better than to admit that. Taking care with Titania and his knee, he rolled them onto the floor.

“My camera!” she exclaimed, holding it aloft to keep it safe.

He looked down at her lying under him and knew there was no resisting. “Just one,” he promised.

She frowned. “One what?”

He lowered his mouth and showed her.

Maybe he was more aware since he’d been reading romance novels, but the kiss was immediately intimate—the caress of their lips, their breaths mingling. Every brush, every lick, incited him, urging him closer, to jump deeper into her.

He lifted his head. The world had shifted, and he knew he’d never feel the same.

He rolled off and sat far enough away from her that he couldn’t reach for her. What had he done?

She sat up and licked her lips. “Does this mean you’ll let me do the photo essay?”

“No.”

“I won’t give up.”

Her ponytail was even messier than usual, and her shirt was rumpled. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman—or one he wanted more. “I’d be disappointed if you did,” he said. Unfortunately, he meant it.

Chapter Ten

Ready. Her violin tucked against her chin, Niamh looked at Bennett and waited for his cue to begin.

The old man was a master of drama. As he met each of their gazes, he raised his bow and pointed it at Niamh.

She played one long, plaintive note, rolling into the melancholy melody on her own. Then Bennett, Clancy, and Sean joined in with their violins.

The bar hushed, conversations lost with the music’s crescendo. She looked around the bar, smiling at the rapt expressions. It wasn’t a normal occurrence to have music at the Red Witch, but on the rare occasion when the guys convinced her to take a break and play with them, everyone appreciated it.

She closed her eyes and lost herself in the melody. Playing with the old boys was the best. They gave her enough space to be herself, to play with the notes and improvise. Following strict guidelines had never been something she was good at.

Their violins trailed off, and she smiled as she played the last notes on her own, letting them die sweetly in the silent room. She opened her eyes and looked around.

No one made a sound at first. Then the entire pub erupted in applause.

Then she noticed Robert, leaning against a wall in the front, clapping enthusiastically.

She flushed from his intense gaze more than the accolades. She’d thought about him entirely too often since that night he’d come in. She’d thought about kissing him, and about talking to him, and about playing music for him, only unlike this moment they were both naked and in bed as she played.

She didn’t usually lust after her customers. It wasn’t a good habit to have. She usually dated men she met in other places. The world was full of available men if you wanted to find one.

But she’d never found one that she was so intrigued by. She might have even gone so far to say that she was infatuated. That happened once in a blue moon.

Her cheeks burned hotter, and she cleared her throat.

Bennett nodded, mistakenly taking that as a cue. He tapped his bow to his instrument and launched into a happy jig.

They all joined in. She focused on the music, impishly going in and out, dueling with each of them in turn. They ended in unison, all playing the last note together.

The crowd in the bar broke into applause again, some people standing. Bennett bowed.

Laughing, Niamh glanced at Robert as she lowered her violin. She thought he’d have walked over to her as soon as the music were over. Instead of looking at her, he surveyed the bar, as though interested in everyone there and what they were doing.

Sean nudged her with his bony elbow. “I like the look of him.”

So did she. She put her violin back in its case. “A beer, Sean?”

“I did work up a wicked thirst,” he said with a grin.

“I’ll get to it.” She squeezed his arm and went back behind the bar to catch up on the drink orders.

Between fulfilling each order, she kept an eye on Robert. He stood apart for a bit, seemingly observing the scene, then he made his way over to the old boys and chatted with them.

She couldn’t hear what they were saying. The bar was exceptionally crowded this evening, and more people were slowly filtering in from work. She handed over a couple ciders and then began building the beers for the old boys, aware of the looks they shot her.

Then Robert turned and walked out of the bar.

Where was he going? She stared after him, the disappointment stabbing. He hadn’t even said hello to her.

She realized she had Guinness flowing over her hand. Mumbling under her breath, she shut off the spigot and let the beer settle before delivering all three glasses to them.

“Thanks, lass,” Bennett said, his brogue stronger than usual. He always turned up the Irish when he was performing. He lifted the pint to the other two men. “
Sláinte
.”

The men echoed him, and they all took a large gulp in unison.

Niamh pushed an escaped curl behind her ear. “Where did that man you were talking to go?”

“Ah, you mean Robert.” Clancy winked at her. “Got an eye for him, do you, lass?”

She shook her head, but she couldn’t deny it out loud. “I’m surprised he didn’t stay for a drink.”

“He’ll be back,” Bennett said with a knowing nod.

“Is that what he said?” she asked as offhanded as she could.

“No, but I know.” Bennett gestured to the room. “Good crowd today. Imagine how busy it’d be if you played music here all the time.”

She nodded. “I plan on doing that once the Red Witch is mine.”

“And when is that happening, lass?” Clancy asked.

“I have an appointment with the bank this week.”

“Good decision.” Bennett gestured with his beer, sloshing a little over the sides. “The bank gives money to any old crook. They should be doubly eager to give it to a pretty, honest girl like yourself.”

“Don’t wear pants,” Clancy said.

“That’d get their attention, wouldn’t it?” she said with a grin.

Bennett faced his friend, frowning. “What do you mean, don’t wear pants? She’s not wanting to sell her body for money.”

“I didn’t mean she should go naked,” Clancy protested. “I meant she should wear a skirt. You can’t trust a woman in pants.”

Niamh looked down at her jeans. “Really?”

Sean nodded. “And you can’t trust a woman who whistles, so you shouldn’t whistle, either.”

Bennett shook his head, his bushy, gray eyebrows drawn. “Why would she whistle at a bank?”

Sean shrugged. “Why does anyone do anything they do?”

They were all silent as they processed that. “He has a point actually,” Clancy admitted in the end.

People were lingering that night. It was always like that on the days when the weather was nice.

Niamh didn’t mind. She did what she could around them and would just take care of everything else later. The music they’d played earlier had left her feeling jazzed.

And then there was the surprise of seeing Robert. She’d decided over the course of the evening that he wasn’t going to return. Why would he? He was the sort of man who could have any woman he wanted. Why would he be interested in an ex-musician bartender?

Still, every time the door opened, she looked up and hoped. Even in the last hour, though they’d close soon, she expected him to walk in just like he’d done at closing the last time.

Nothing.

She lined up the glasses that she’d washed. The old boys had left her with winks and veiled teasing about behaving herself when Robert returned. She wondered who’d be more disappointed that it hadn’t happened.

The entrance opened, and Robert walked in.

She blinked, sure she made him appear from her thoughts. But then he strode straight to her and said, “Hello, Niamh,” as he took a seat at the bar across from her.

“You came back,” she said dumbly. Feeling her cheeks redden, she shook her head. “I mean, I saw you, and the boys said you would, but—”

“You were busy earlier, and I had a business meeting.” He took his coat off and set it on the stool next to him. Unbuttoning his cuffs, he rolled up his sleeves. “You didn’t believe the men?”

She shrugged, not wanting to admit that she’d had doubts. “Get you a drink?”

“A Guinness, please.” He watched her start pouring it and then looked around the bar. “There’s still a number of people here.”

“The warm weather does that. It’s my normal night here, too. I have a lot of regulars.”

“Do you always play music for them?”

“No, just sometimes.” She slid the beer toward him, biting her lip. Part of her wanted to ask him what he thought, and part of her didn’t want to know.

He accepted the pint with a smile. “If you played more often, this place would be packed.”