Stay the Night (12 page)

“You think so?” She made a mental note to increase the number of nights she had music in the business plan.

“I know it. You were magic.”

She blinked at the reverence in his voice. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I don’t exaggerate.” He saluted her with his glass before taking a sip. “You playing was a revelation. Everyone in the room was rapt. I watched them and how you snared them with your music. You could have had them here, listening, for hours, and they’d have happily bought drinks and listened. There’d have to be another bartender and a server, of course.”

She noted to add that to the business plan, too. “So you liked it?”

“No.” He took her hand from across the bar and looked in her eyes. “Niamh, I
loved
it. It was the most enchanting thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard a lot of music. You have a gift.”

She felt a warmth steal over her, like the softest, most luxurious blanket.

Until he said, “No wonder your brother is pushing you to go to the Dublin Philharmonic. I agree with him in part. You shouldn’t work in a bar. Music is your calling.”

Disappointed, she pulled her hand away. “You don’t know that. You barely know me.”

“I know what I heard, and I saw how you affected an entire room.” He lifted his glass to his lips, watching her steadily. “Why don’t you want to play professionally? There are more options than a symphony.”

“I don’t like traveling all the time.”

“So secure a gig in a club.”

She shook her head. “You say that like it’s so easy to find a good gig, but they aren’t a dime a dozen. Those positions only come around once in a blue moon.”

“Have you looked?”

She bristled. She didn’t need to look. She’d been a musician; she knew what was available. But she avoided replying by turning to wave to some regulars who called out goodnight as they walked out.

Once they were gone, she faced Robert and gave him her polite bartender smile. “Did you have a good business meeting?”

“Yes, dear, I had a nice day,” he said, his tone ironic. He shook his head, looking as disappointed as she felt. “Is that really how you’re going to be, Niamh? Avoiding the issue?”

Frowning, she pointed at him. “I don’t have to be accountable to you. I don’t even know you.”

He leaned forward, his eyes like blue lasers. “But wouldn’t you like to?”

Her heart skipped, and then began to beat heavily. She swallowed to give herself time to think about it.

Who was she kidding? She knew the answer to the question. “No,” she said.

“I don’t believe that.”

Because he was a smart man. She crossed her arms. “I can’t choose family. I’m stuck with them. I don’t need someone who can’t support me and my decisions.”

“Fair enough.”

She blinked, eyes narrowing. “You’re giving up that easily?”

“Not at all.” He leaned across the bar, grabbed her hand, tugged her forward, and pressed his lips to hers.

She should protest, she thought as she put a hand on his shoulder for balance. But after they finished kissing, because this was just too delicious to interrupt.

She’d never been kissed like this before. It was the all-consuming kiss of a confident man who knew what he wanted.

There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he wanted her.

He nibbled on her lips and tasted her one last time before he broke contact enough to say, “I think you’d be an excellent pub owner, Niamh, but you were born to be a musician. Anyone who cares enough about you would tell you that.”

Her attention snagged on one part of his last statement. “You can’t care about me. We just met.”

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Smiling, he kissed her again and then let her go. She couldn’t find words as she watched him set a bill for his drink on the counter, take his jacket, and leave.

Longing for him and for the comfort of her violin, she dumped the remainder of his beer out and viciously wiped down the counter. Music was too risky. She tried making it work before and she failed. She was past thirty now. Cormac was right—she had to stop playing around and get serious about life.

And that meant something secure, like owning the bar. She’d just have to prove Cormac—and Robert—how wrong they both were.

Chapter Eleven

Titania pushed the creaky bicycle the last several blocks to MacNiven’s apartment, cursing it and its flat tire.

By the time she arrived at the building, she was so sweaty and out of sorts that she wanted to toss the thing in the street for a lorry to finish off.

It didn’t help that her mother had launched an offensive. The woman was
everywhere
. Titania had no desire to hang out. She’d started going out for random bike rides just to have some peace, because she preferred the annoying squeal of the old bicycle to Jacqueline’s attempts to get to know her.

A teenager hovered in the doorway of the building. The boy looked not much older than Chloe except for around his eyes. His eyes looked haunted in a way no one should ever be, especially so young.

Propping the offending vehicle against the building in hopes someone would steal it, she nodded at the boy. “Do you need help with something?”

“Actually I do.” He frowned. “But unless you know Ian MacNiven I’m screwed.”

Something about the boy inspired sympathy, but she’d been burned by someone she thought was trustworthy already, so she figured she wasn’t a good judge. “What if I did know him?” she asked carefully.

The boy reached into his bag and pulled out an envelope. It was standard, though crumpled like it’d gone through a lot to make it to this doorstep. “I just want him to have this.”

“Who are you?”

“Stanton Frank. The car accident he was in was my fault. I want to apologize, but he won’t see me.” He glanced away, shame and guilt shimmering in his eyes. “Not that I blame him.”

Her heart sank for the boy. She held out her hand. “I can’t promise MacNiven will read it, but I’ll make sure he gets your letter.”

Stanton’s pale face lit up. “Thank you, Miss.”

Taking the letter, she tucked it into her camera bag.

“Is that your bicycle?” he asked, sounding horrified.

“Careful, kid, or you’re out of luck.”

He pressed his lips together. Then he said, “You have a flat. I’ll fix it for you.”

She shrugged, angling her body for privacy as she put the code in. “Don’t bother. If I’m lucky, it’ll be gone when I come back down.”

“Er. Okay,” the boy said, his face confused.

She walked inside and rode up to MacNiven’s.

No one was in the living room or kitchen. She took off her jacket and tossed it on the couch. “Rowdy?” she called out.

When she didn’t get an answer, she picked up her camera bag and went down the hall. The flat was still, and all the open doors she poked her head in were empty.

At the very end of the hall, she heard the sound of running water.

The door to the room was open, so she popped her head in to investigate. She stilled, realizing right away this was MacNiven’s room. His clothing was very neatly folded on the nightstand and there was a small stack of romance novels next to his bed, which was made. Not like her room at all.

The water shut off and then a whirring began.

Titania looked up at the door that was slightly ajar at the other side of room. The bathroom.

He was inside; she was sure. “Hello? MacNiven?”

There was a splash.

She stilled. She should back out and return to the kitchen to wait for him. She should let him relax. He’d been working out hard. She should protect herself and leave. Now.

But she went in.

The steam hit her first. Then she noted the clothes piled on the counter, a water bottle open on the sink, and a towel on the closed toilet seat.

Not to mention the man in the whirlpool tub.

Titania stilled, her camera bag in her hand. Her fingers itched to take a picture of him, one that she’d keep all for herself, to pull out in the dark of the night when she was alone with her fantasies. He was submerged to his shoulders, reading a paperback over burbling water of the Jacuzzi. The water swirled from the jets, obscuring his body. The only thing she could see was his muscled chest, his handsome face, and the cover of his book.
Tempted by Fate
.

Story of her life.

He lifted his gaze, and he glared at her. “What are you doing in here?”

“I came to find you.”

“Is even my bath not sacred?”

“I don’t see incense burning or anything.” She set Psyche down as far from the tub as possible, to keep it safe, and pulled out the letter.

“Where’s Rowdy? He’s supposed to be safeguarding my wellbeing. I’m tossing him out on his arse tonight.”

Titania heard the affection in his tone, despite his anger. She perched against the sink. “It’s me you should probably toss out.”

“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve ever said.”

“I have moments. I have something for you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You don’t know what it is.” She held up the envelope.

He frowned at it. “I bet I don’t want to know what it is.”

“It’s a letter from Stanton Frank.”

His frown turned into a scowl. “I should have taken that bet.”

If she were him, she might not want to read it either, but she’d want to have the choice, so she stretched to set the letter on his folded clothing. “In case you change your mind later.”

“I won’t,” he said, sounding sullen, tossing his book aside.

She studied him. His face was tight with weariness and what looked like pain, although she knew he’d deny it. “Long day?”

“It’s getting longer.”

“It doesn’t have to. You could just let me take your picture.”

“No.”

“Why not?” She made a face. “You think Psyche will steal your soul?”

“I still think it’s odd that you named your camera.”

“It’s not. She and I have a relationship.”

He raised his brow, relaxing a little back into the water. “You’re a lesbian?”

She shrugged, happy her effort to distract him was working. “Want to have a threesome? Me, Psyche, and you. You’ll like it, I promise.”

He snorted.

She nodded at his Jacuzzi. “The tub is large.”

“Why don’t you join me then?”

She heard the taunting dare in his voice. If she were smart, she’d give him a flippant reply and then walk out.

But when had she ever been smart? She reached for the hem of her top and pulled it over her head.

She felt him come to attention more than anything. While he stared at her, apparently speechless, she got out of her jeans and slipped into the tub in her underwear.

She wasn’t vain, and she didn’t care about what other people thought of her, but she still wondered what he was thinking as he watched her climb in. Her underwear wasn’t anything like the frilly things Gigi liked. She wondered if he cared about things like that. Men liked pretty women, didn’t they?

She noticed the whiskey and glass on the ledge next to him and nodded at it. “Are you sharing?”

He passed the glass to her.

She sipped, feeling strange to be drinking from his glass. It felt oddly intimate.

As though sitting half-naked in his bathtub wasn’t intimate. Shaking her head, she took a sip, braced for the harsh bite. But it slid down her throat smooth and warm. She blinked in surprise. “I like.”

“I know.”

“What brand is it?” She turned the bottle to inspect it. She was normally more of a beer girl.

“No brand. My da makes it.” He took the glass from her and held it up to look at it before taking another sip. “His father taught him. It’s a MacNiven tradition. A family recipe.”

It was the first time she heard a real accent in his voice. “Are you following in the tradition?”

“Only in drinking it.” He smiled crooked and handed the glass back to her.

“Does Rowdy know?”

“Rowdy is rewarding me for being good.”

Somehow she doubted Rowdy could stop MacNiven from having whatever he wanted. “Doesn’t your father want you to follow in his footsteps?”

“No, not at all.” He shook his head. “Da always knew football was my first love. Besides, he doesn’t see it being anything beyond a hobby.”

Titania passed him the glass. “This is good whiskey, as good as the finer things on the market. He should consider doing something more with it.”

“That’s what I tell him. I think he can distribute on a small scale and set aside a nice bit of money, but the business side intimidates him. It wouldn’t take much capital though, and he can hire a business manager. I have an in with a distributor I did sponsorship with. It could work.”

“You’ve thought a lot about this,” she said.

His lips twisted. “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands to think lately. Unfortunately, he doesn’t want it, so it’s a moot point.”

And that frustrated him. She tipped her head. “You love him.”

“Very much.” He sank deeper into the tub. “I wish they didn’t live so far away.”

“Having family far away is a blessing,” she murmured.

“Is your family far away?”

“I wish.” She frowned. “Except my sister. I wish my sister was closer all the time. She travels a lot, but then I do, too.”

“You have one sister?”

“I have more sisters than anyone should have.”

“Do they all look like you, or are they pretty?”

She splashed him.

“Stop that.” He splashed her back.

“No.” She splashed him harder.

“You don’t know the meaning of the word.” He caught her hand and pulled her closer to him.

She looked in his eyes, feeling his naked leg against hers. All she wanted to do was crawl onto his lap and kiss him—to run her hands over his chest and nibble her way up it for one whiskey-tinged kiss.

But that wasn’t why she was here. She looked him right in eye and said, “I want to do a photo essay on you, and I’m not going away. I may want you—”

“You want me?” he asked, his eyes lowering with sinful intent.

“The same way you want me.” She arched her brow. “But I’m going to convince you fair and square. I’ll take the pictures because I’m good and based on merit, not because I bribed you with sex.”