All my decadent early morning fantasies have gone up in a putrid puff of surreal smoke. It’s official, I do have the worst taste in men.
I had this man all wrong. He’s not good, He’s not romantic. He makes money on the back of other people’s misery. On their divorces.
A fitted expensive-looking overcoat perfectly encapsulates familiar broad shoulders. His sullen expression is trained intently on me.
‘Ava.’ His attention is thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.
‘Cillian?’ The squeak in my voice is downright embarrassing.
He extends a hand. Several seconds pass while I stare at it in horror before extending my own. My palm slips into his and a jolt of electricity surges straight up my arm, through my core and straight down to my panties.
His gaze falls to our entwined fingers, and he rapidly retracts, twitching like he too felt the burn.
This cannot be happening.
I’m torn between disappointment that the man I had on a pedestal for all these months is the king of divorces, and elation that he’s equally as hypnotising up close.
‘You’re not what I was expecting,’ I blurt, picking up my half-empty champagne flute.
He studies my face intently. Those sterling twin pools hold me captive. ‘What did you expect?’
‘I don’t know, maybe a beard, a tail and two red horns?’ I take a huge mouthful of my drink, willing the alcohol to take the edge off this bizarre encounter.
Cillian makes a tutting sound. ‘You have a very a low opinion of me.’ He slips off his coat and hangs it on the back of the stool next to me. He’s wearing navy trousers and a white, slim-fitting shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Tanned, powerful forearms steal my attention from his face. The man is like a living breathing god, never mind the devil.
‘You make a living from other people’s misery.’ Finally able to tear my eyes from his masculine body, I search out his with a defiant glare.
‘On the contrary, in fact. I make a living from setting miserable people free.’ He signals the barman over and orders a neat whiskey, and another cocktail for me. Good, I’m going to need it.
‘Haven’t you ever made a mistake in life?’ His deep gritty tone’s as sombre as his expression. ‘Ever thought you knew someone, then discovered they’re something or someone completely different behind the mask?’
An image of Josh, the married ankle-tag-wearing douche, slaps me with the reality stick. That’s different though, we weren’t married. Primarily because he was already married to somebody else … Shame floods my cheeks.
‘If you’d done your homework on me like I did on you, you’d know that I specialise in representing vulnerable women, freeing them from their unfaithful or overbearing husbands.’ He arches one thick dark eyebrow and takes a sip of his drink.
My throat thickens. ‘You only represent women?’
‘Mostly. But primarily, I only represent decent human beings. Criminal lawyers, on the other hand, really are the devil. Or at least they sold their soul to him somewhere along the way.’ Thick fingers thrum against the bar counter thoughtfully.
Words fail me. Mr Suave Suit Guy, AKA Cillian Callaghan might not be the hero I’d conjured him up to be, but he’s got some redeeming qualities. Even if he is the most solemn man I’ve ever met.
‘Now we’ve cleared that up, shall we get to business?’ His unapologetic perusal of my figure sets goosebumps rippling across my skin.
‘Business, yes.’ I swallow hard. ‘Because we’ve already established that this isn't a date.’ I nod at his whiskey glass.
His lips twitch and for a split second I wonder if Cillian ‘can’t-crack-a-smile’ Callaghan is about to laugh. He doesn’t. But his eyes do linger on my mouth for a beat longer than professional.
‘What do you need me to do?’ That came out way more suggestively than I intended.
He rubs his thumb across the dark stubble dotting that sculpted jawline thoughtfully. ‘I need you to pretend that you’re in love with me.’
Shouldn't be too hard, given that up until about ten minutes ago, I thought I was. I mean, the man is exceptionally easy on the eye. Which is the exact reason my heart is beating like a drum in my chest.
‘Okay …’ I plaster a smile onto my face and wait for the details.
‘Teagan, my ex, is back. And she’s got this mad idea that we should get back together. She’s convinced that because I haven't had a serious girlfriend since her, that she’s in with a chance.’
I drain the remainder of the first cocktail and reach for the second. ‘I can do that.’
