Chapter 6

Tag

Feckin hell, I need to get a grip. I'm decades past being a teenager, but one brush of our hands and I'm hard as stone and everything wild and dangerous within me is raging.

Women often capture my attention, but never has one sparked an interest at this level before.

When she first wandered in out of the rain, I knew she wasn't from around here. I know all the locals, if not by name, then by their faces or their kin. Dublin is my city and I pride myself on knowing my people.

This lovely lady with eyes that hold so much sorrow and anger is new here. I'm sure of it. But she's not a tourist. She doesn't have that light about her.

She's something…other.

Meeting her gaze is like getting caught in a storm.

A storm I'm very willing to weather.

It occurs to me I've been staring longer than is natural and I get out of my head and back to the moment. "Come. Let me give you the tour."

She's got a bit of a ‘deer in the headlights' look in her eyes, but if I need to be a little dominant to get her somewhere quieter, then so be it.

Making sure not to touch her skin, I press my hand to the small of her back and lead her away from the bar.

We're passing the dance floor when she sends me a sideways glance. "Wait. Are you Jimmy Frances? Do you own this place?"

How adorable is that?

I rarely speak to anyone who isn't aware of who I am—and where's the fun in that? People around here are either too polite because they're afraid of me or too bold because they're trying to impress.

It makes for boring conversation.

But being mistaken for Jimmy is new. He'll get a kick out of it later when I tell him, too.

"Och, no. Jimmy is the burly gent behind the bar. He's the namesake, but we run the bar together."

"I see. And what is your name?"

"You first," I counter, leading her up six steps and into the staff only area. "I confess I tried to read your credit card, but you snatched it back too quickly. What is your name, Miss…?"

She blinks up at me with wide brown eyes and seems to consider. Either she's more gone with drink than she looks or she's considering whether or not she wants to tell me. I'd guess the latter.

Smart woman.

"Laine O'Neill," she says, "But I go by Laine or Lainey."

The way she says that sparks all kinds of questions, but I push them to the back of my mind for now. There will be time to ask all my questions, I'll make sure of it.

"And yours, Mr…"

"My given name is Teague and is mispronounced by most English folks, so I mostly go by Tag. It's close enough." My hand over the ID scanner releases the lock on the door, and I open the way into my office. "Make yourself at home."

She steps inside the door and her eyes go wide. Her gaze scans over the leather couch and chair of my seating area, to my massive desk, to the mahogany pool table at the far end of the room. "Wow. This is…not what I expected."

I gesture toward the leather sofa that looks out the one-way glass to the dance floor below. "Would you like to sit? Here, set your things on the table."

"Oh, sure. Thanks." She sets her things down, takes off her jacket, and then lays it over top of her bag. "Your office is lovely. I suppose being a restauranteur, you spend a lot of time here."

Restauranteur? Sure, let's go with that.

"A fair bit, yes."

The knock at the door is Ginny with our tea service. I open the door and point to the coffee table between the sofa and the glass wall. "Thank you, Ginny."

"Of course. Do either of you need anything else?" She glances from me to the young lady and studies the brunette's gaze expectantly. "Anything at all?"

Annoying.

There are only a handful of people who could get away with something so blatantly undermining without fear of retaliation. Ginny is one of them. Being the daughter of Da's chief enforcer, we were raised as family.

Ginny's got a kind heart and is obviously worried about my sudden interest in Miss O'Neill, but she also knows I'm a gentleman who lives by a certain code of conduct.

And in that vein, I remain quiet to let the lady decide how she wants to answer.

"I'm fine," Laine says. "Thanks so much for bringing the tea. You've been wonderful."

Ginny dips her chin and tucks her tray under her arm. "Of course. I'll leave you to it, then."

When the door glides shut, the noise of the pub is abruptly cut off and the two of us are alone at last.

I gesture to the sofa, and she accepts the invitation and takes a seat. It seems being in the office has set her at ease somehow and I take that as a small win. When I approached her at the bar, it was obvious she wanted to leave, but I couldn't let her go until I unraveled a little of the mystery of who she is and why I'm so captivated.

Leaning forward, I pick up the wooden box of specialty teas and offer them to her. "Anything you'd like to try?"

She peers into the box and starts to finger her way through the rows of packets. When she selects one, she plucks it free. "Oh, this sounds nice."

"Peppermint chocolate. A good choice. I think I'll join you in that."

Once we have the two little pots steeping, I turn sideways on the sofa and lay my arm across the backrest. "So, tell me. Who is Miss Laine O'Neill and how is Dublin treating her?"

She brushes a swath of mahogany hair away from her face as her cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink. "Well, I only arrived this morning at seven, so other than a long nap and walking here from my inn, my Dublin experience has been rather uneventful."

"Ah, then today's yer first day in the city?"

"It is, and I think my brain is still hovering somewhere over the Atlantic."

"So, first impressions, then?"

Her heated gaze studies me and she bites her bottom lip. "First impressions are good. I imagine Dublin will earn herself a 5-star review."

I like the sound of that. "A woman with exceptional taste."

She drops her gaze to stir her tea and then shifts on the sofa to face me.

"And why Dublin?"

She isn't wearing a wedding ring, but her ring finger has a band of pale skin where a ring sat not long ago. If she's come to the Emerald Isle in search of adventure after a bad situation, I'm exactly the man for the job.

"It's a family trip." She tilts her head toward her belongings on the table and the squat copper vase beneath the drape of her jacket. "Mom was born Kate O'Neill. Her parents moved from Brittas Bay to the U.S. when she was a teenager. She wanted to be brought home to be laid to rest, so here we are."

Loyalty and family are the foundation upon which my life is built. The thought of traveling all this way to fulfill her mother's dying wish warms something deep in my cold, dark heart.

"Well, welcome to you both, then. I hope yer mam finds peace returning to the land of her birth and you find a level of solace doing right by her wishes."

She draws a deep breath and, though she seems sad, her strength shines through. "Losing a parent is hard."

"Aye, it is. We lost Da back in October, and I still expect to see him when I turn corners around the city."

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry." She sets her tea down on the table and takes my hand where it lays against my leg.

Having her hand so close to my zipper has me hardening with delectable swiftness. "Sadly, it is what it is."

She squeezes my hand. "And I know exactly what you mean about turning the corners. It's one of the reasons I thought I'd begin again somewhere new."

I like the sound of that.

"So, you're here for a time, then?"

She tilts her head this way and that. "If all goes to plan, that's the idea, but I've found that life rarely goes to plan."

"Aye, that's the truth."

The conversation goes quiet, and she turns her attention to the dance floor on the other side of the glass wall. She's tired and sad, and the electric charge in the air is dimming.

Talking about our dead parents doused the mood like a bucket of cold water. That's not the way I wanted this to go.

Getting up, I tug her to her feet and walk her over to look out the glass wall. "The energy of the folks on the dance floor never ceases to energize me. When the day gets me down, I have a pint standing here and things seem to fall into perspective."

I hope it will have the same effect on her.

She waves out at the people having fun. "One-way glass? I didn't notice being able to see into an office while I was downstairs."

"It is. I can watch over things without being seen or drawn into anything." I shift behind her and place my hands against the glass on either side of her shoulders, penning her in.

"That sounds awfully voyeuristic." There's no missing the invitation in her words.

Fuck. I've never been so turned on in my life. Certainly not fully dressed and with a woman I haven't even kissed yet.

I drop my mouth to the crook of her neck and rectify that as I breathe in the scent of her skin. "Your pulse is racing against my lips, Miss Laine. Are you imagining me fucking you against the glass?"

"Well, if I wasn't, I am now."

I smirk against her skin. "And is that something you want to explore? Are you hungering for some mind-blowing spontaneity tonight?"

Her head drops back as she presses her hands against the glass next to mine. "Do you ever just want a moment so intense that the real-world dissolves and you can escape…even if it's only for a little while?"

"You have no idea how often."

I continue to explore the column of her neck, nipping and sucking against her racing pulse. "Tell me, Miss Laine, are you noisy when a man is driving you over the edge? Do you cry out in pleasure? Will you scream my name?"

The arch of her back brings her ass up against the bulge of my pants and she groans. "I guess you'll just have to find that out for yourself."

A low growl rumbles up my throat. "Challenge accepted."

Without easing off her neck, I drop my hands from the glass and find the front clasp of her jeans. After making quick work of the button and zipper, I shove the denim out of my way.

My fingers slide into the heat at her core, and I suck in a breath. She's soaked and ready for me. "Fuck. You are much too addictive."

"Glad you think so," she breathes, shoving her jeans down her thighs so I can get at her better. "Well, wait until I'm rested and on my game. I'm only functioning at fifty percent at the moment."

"I can't fucking wait." I'm not sure what this woman has done to me, but I don't want it to end. "Turn around. I need to kiss you properly."