Stay the Night (16 page)

Any time he thought of a future after football, he’d push the thoughts away to think about later, when it was necessary. He figured he’d play well into his forties. He never figured his career would be over before he’d stepped fully into his thirties.

Titania squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present. “What about your dad’s whiskey?”

“I don’t have any on me, but I wish I did.”

“So do I.” She grinned. “But that’s not what I was asking. What if you helped him distribute it?”

Ian shook his head slowly. “He won’t go for it.”

“Have you asked him?”

“I don’t need to. I know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Then what do you love most?”

“Football.”

“So then play.”

He glared at her.

She sat on her heels, glaring back. She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You’re the one who came here. If you wanted platitudes and woe-is-me, you should have gone back to your nurse.”

The thought of being with Jennifer made him scowl. “I don’t want that.”

“So answer me. Do you want to play or not?”

More than anything, except perhaps kissing her. “The doctor doesn’t think my knee will sustain me.”

“Since when do you accept someone else’s reality for your own?” She shook her head. “Wear a brace if your knee won’t hold.”

“There aren’t any good enough.”

“Then make one.” She shrugged. “You of all people know what would make one great.”

He frowned, wondering if he could make one that worked. He needed something that kept side-to-side motion minimal.

She placed her hand on his bad knee again. “I’m just saying if you love football so much, then find a way to participate. Pouting isn’t helping you.”

“It
feels
satisfying.”

She grinned. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

Her crooked grin enchanted him. He had to kiss it. Taking her hand, he lifted her to her knees and leaned forward.

She tipped her head, her eyes wide open. “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

“Because you’re here,” he said, stretching forward to meet her lips.

The moment his mouth touched hers, everything else melted into the background. The only thing that existed right then was her.

“I missed you,” he couldn’t help saying. He pulled her between his legs.

“I’ve been here.”

Yes, but
here
wasn’t his flat. Not that he could say that—not when he’d tried so hard to get her to leave.

She nibbled at his lips, as though he were a delicacy she wanted to savor. “You could have just asked me to return.”

“Would you have?”

She shrugged. “Eventually.”

That annoyed him. He wanted her to declare that she’d missed him, that she was miserable not being around him the way he’d been the past couple days. Completely illogical. He knew it, and still he wanted it.

He lifted her up and guided her to his lap. She straddled his waist, her arms loosely wrapped around his neck.

They kissed for what seemed like forever—slow heated kisses that melted him from the inside out. He felt her melting, too. He loosened her hair so he could slide his hand into it.

She wiggled closer, and he thought for sure he was going to lose it right then and there because he was so excited, like he was a boy and this was his first time.

His hands trailed up her back, under her shirt to feel her soft skin.

He paused and pulled back enough to look at her. “I want to take this shirt off.”

“Are you asking for permission?”

Eyes narrowed, he lifted the bottom over her head, letting her extract her arms before he tossed it aside. Underneath, she wore a plain white bra, and it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, demure and saucy at once. A shadow of her nipples showed through the fabric.

He thumbed them, loving the way she arched back. He lowered his head, intent on taking one in his mouth—

A gasp came from the doorway.

Titania startled and would have jumped off him if he hadn’t had the presence of mind to keep her close, to guard her from being seen by whoever entered.

It was two women who looked very similar to both Titania and Jacqueline. One wore a black suit and the other primly held on to pearls that surrounded her neck.

The one with the pearls frowned. “Good lord, Titania, what are you wearing?”

The other grinned. “It’s what she’s not wearing that takes the cake.”

Reaching for her shirt, Titania would have fallen off his lap if he hadn’t steadied her. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” she grumbled.

“The door typically has to be closed for that.” The prim one looked at him, her eyes round with curiosity. “Who is he?”

“A—” Titania frowned at him as she slipped her top over her head. “I don’t know what you are.”

“A friend,” he replied.

Her reply was soft, for his ears only. “Are you?”

He took her hand and held it close. Then he turned to the other women. “I’m Ian MacNiven.”

“The football star,” said the one in the black suit. She raised her brows at Titania. “So the project is going well, I see.”

Titania glanced at him but didn’t say anything.

He felt guilty. Part of him wanted to relent and let her take his picture, but he didn’t need speculation about how well he was doing now—especially after today’s doctor’s visit. Anything that documented his weaknesses could be damning, and he knew that giving his opponents even a psychological advantage could jeopardize the cup.

“Hm,” the prim one said. Then she headed straight for him. “Portia Summerhill,” she said, her hand outstretched.

His erection suitably subsided, he rose. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Portia said with arch humor. She took the hand he offered and then squeezed it, leaning closer. “I should tell you I have a pistol, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

“
Portia.
” Titania put a hand to her forehead and shook her head.

He blinked. “You think I’m going to harm Titania?”

“Not anymore you’re not.” She smiled.

“I think I just soiled my knickers,” he murmured.

She laughed, delighted, patting him on the chest. Then she turned to Titania, her smile wide. “I like this one. If you decide to keep him around, I think he’ll fit in.”

He didn’t know whether that was a compliment or if he should feel insulted. The only thing he knew for certain was that he hoped Titania would keep him—at least for now.

Chapter Fifteen

Niamh leaned her elbows on the bar and stared at her notebook on the counter in front of her. Last night, she’d made a decision. She needed to come up with a way to make money before Robert made an offer on the Red Witch. It was the only way to ensure that she got the pub.

She chewed on the end of the pen. She couldn’t compete with him. He obviously had more resources at his disposal, and it was clear he wasn’t going to take her on as a partner. If she could make Geraldine an offer before Robert did, she figured she could guilt the woman into accepting hers.

If only she could think of a way to get the money.

Because she hated how empty the page looked, she drew a staff across it and added a few notes for good measure.

Maybe she should talk to her brother again.

She cringed. That was desperation talking, and she wasn’t that desperate yet. She’d figure out a way to get enough money for the down payment.

The entrance opened, and she smiled in relief when she saw it was Beatrice, Portia, and Rosalind. “It’s not Tuesday,” she said as they pulled up stools to the bar.

“We’re mixing things up,” Rosalind said as she took off her sweater.

“Then you want a margarita tonight?” she asked with a grin.

Beatrice set her handbag on the counter and unwound her scarf. “Let’s not get carried away. We’ll have a round of our usuals.”

“Sure.” She turned to make Beatrice’s gin & tonic.

“What is this?” Rosalind asked, tapping a finger on the notepad.

Niamh added a lime to the glass and set the drink in front of the oldest Summerhill sister. “Brainstorming. For raising money.”

Beatrice stopped her drink midway to her lips. “Ellis hasn’t been by yet?”

All the feelings rushed back—the anger and confusion and angst—and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. “About that.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Beatrice sipped her gin & tonic, nodding, and then set it down. “Tell me.”

She poured two shots of whiskey for the other sisters and thought about how much to tell Beatrice. Robert was her friend, and she didn’t want to alienate the woman.

Truthfully though, she also didn’t want to talk badly about him. He was—

She sighed and put her hand on her jean pocket, which held the card he’d given her. He was complicated.

Beatrice shook her head, a wry smile at the edges of her perfect mouth. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t be offended. Just tell me what happened.”

“He’s interested in the Red Witch, but to turn it into a more hip nightclub. A casual version of Nuit Blanche.”

“And I take it you aren’t interested in that,” Beatrice said. “Or is it that he doesn’t want a partner?”

He didn’t want
her
as a partner, and that stung. Though she was good enough to shag, which she supposed was something. She frowned. “He doesn’t think I’m suitable,” she said diplomatically.

“I’m surprised by that.” Beatrice’s gaze went distant as she was obviously thinking. Then she pulled out her mobile. “I’ll put out feelers for other investors.”

Rosalind rotated the pad around and took the pen. “May I see your brainstorming?”

“There’s not much to see.” Niamh faced Beatrice. “Thank you. I have a couple options, but I’d rather not use them if I don’t have to, which is why I was brainstorming other ways of coming up with the money.”

The oldest Summerhill sister glanced pointedly at the music notes drawn on the pad.

“I haven’t figured out what those alternative ways are yet,” Niamh said.

Beatrice smiled. “I can see.”

“I have ideas.” Portia poked Rosalind in the ribs. “Let me see the pen.”

Rosalind slid it all over. “I started it for you.”

Portia looked at the notepad and nodded. Then she scribbled a few things on there. With a satisfied smile, she held the legal pad out to Niamh. “To get you started.”

“May I?” Beatrice asked, taking the notepad before Niamh could see it. She read it, smiling wryly, before handing it back to Niamh. “This is why you should never go into business for yourself, Portia.”

Portia pursed her lips. “I thought the second one was inspired actually.”

“A cookie sale?”

Niamh looked at the pad. On the staff she’d drawn, Rosalind had added a caricature of Niamh, floating along the lines, her hair wild all over. The short list Portia had made was under the musical flight.

Niamh laughed. “My personal favorite is ‘rob a bank.’”

“Portia has a criminal side we try not to abet,” Rosalind said.

“Did you go to the bank, Niamh?” Beatrice said.

“They needed collateral.” She slumped a little, feeling like a loser. “My business plan was brilliant, too. Even the loan manager said so.”

“Send it to me,” Beatrice said, taking a card out of her wallet and passing it over. “That way I can forward it to anyone I may think of.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” she said from her heart.

Beatrice smiled at her. “Don’t be silly. We look out for our own.”

A lump gathered in her throat. She knew how close-knit the Summerhill sisters were, and to be included was an honor she didn’t take lightly. Especially when her own brother didn’t support her at all.

Chapter Sixteen

Ian’s romance novel was actually really good. Titania turned the page, settling deeper into his couch. She wasn’t a reader, certainly not like Gigi, but she’d picked up this book while she was waiting for him to finish his workout. She hadn’t expected to still be reading it two hours later. Whoever this Kate Perry was, her writing was entertaining.

Titania was so engrossed that she was tempted not to answer her mobile when it rang. But she didn’t recognize the number, so she figured she should. “Hello?”

“You’re screening my calls,” Cole said.

She sighed. She should have stuck with the book. “You find that surprising?”

“I went by your flat but you weren’t there.”

Maybe getting evicted was a blessing. “No.”

There was a pause, and then Cole said, “Titania, I don’t want us to be at odds.”

“And yet you’ve stonewalled my career.” Frowning, she said, “Have you considered that I might not have money to eat?”

“I like to think that if you were that desperate, you’d have come back to me,” he said, trying to joke.

“You should think again.”

“Was I that bad, Titania?”

She shook her head. “Not until you pulled this. Do you have any idea how damaging this is to my career? At this point, even if you lift your ban and people start publishing my work again, they’re going to remember me as one of your playthings. I didn’t want that.”

“That’s not what people think.”

“Yes, it is.” She shook her head. The only way to restore her good name was to deliver what no one else could get: Ian MacNiven, explored and exposed.

Fortunately, she wanted to do both.

Unfortunately, he still wanted nothing to do with her when she was behind a camera, and the more time went by, the less chance she had of making an impact with the photo essay.

“If you get MacNiven to pose for you, all would be forgiven,” Cole said, echoing her thoughts. “But you better hurry. It looks like London Assault is going to the championships, but once the FA Cup passes, MacNiven is going to be irrelevant, especially if he doesn’t play.

He was going to play. She lifted her head. “He—”

Ever oblivious, Cole continued, “But how are you going to get at MacNiven? He won’t let media around him since the accident.”

She thought about being half-naked in Ian’s bathtub. “You think so?”

“You’re not his type, either, so you won’t be able to seduce him into it.”

She decided to ignore the fact that he thought she needed to seduce someone to get him to work with her. She realized Cole couldn’t help being an ass. “He has a type?”