‘Exactly. So I did what any sensible woman would do—’
‘You got the hell out of dodge?’
‘Exactly. I got into the cab, but the cabbie seemed a little skeevy. He made a couple of comments on the house, and I don’t know. Something felt a little off. It’s silly really, but I was kind of conscious of not telling him the house was going to be empty for a few hours. Sorcha was at her grandparents, and Agnes wasn’t home. So I tell him my husband’s coming, that he was just saying good night to my mother.’
‘Sensible,’ Ella adds.
‘Up until that point, maybe.’ Paisley’s lips twitch as though holding a laugh. ‘Anyway, Keir comes out and gets into the cab next to me with a face like thunder. The cab pulls away and Keir is still silently fuming. So I ask him what’s up and he answers,Jesus,’ Paisley says, trying to imitate Keir’s Scots brogue. ‘What a pain in the arse she is!’He sort of explodes just like that. The cabbie catches my eye aghast, but Keir’s on a roll. ‘The wily bitch was hiding under the bed. I had to poke her arse with a coat hanger to get her to come out. She tried to scarper then, but I wasn’t havin’ it, so I grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and held her out of the way so she couldn’t scratch me like last time—I’ve still got the scars. Then I’ve carried her fat arse down the stairs and chucked her into the laundry room. She can stay there all night for all I care. She’d just better not shit in the tub again.’
‘Oh my God,’ she says, tears streaming down her face, ‘that cabbie’s horrified expression will haunt me for the rest of my days!’
‘You can bet your house isn’t going to be burglarised.’ Ella giggles. ‘Imagine their fate if mothers-in-law’s are kept in a dungeon!’
‘Who keeps their mother-in-law in the dungeon?’ Mac’s broad Scots accent carries across the space. Placing his hand on the back of her chair, he leans in towards Ella, bringing with him the scent of soap and clean man.
‘Did you win?’ she asks, tipping her face to meet his lips.
‘It was just a practice, darlin’.’ Their lips meet briefly, but the love is obvious there.
‘If it was just a practice, why does he look like that?’ asks Keir, bringing up the rear as he hooks a thumb over his shoulder.
‘ ’Cause the man can’nae keep his trap shut,’ Mac grumbles, pulling out a chair next to Ella. ‘We brought a straggler with us,’ he says, tipping his head.
I feel my expression twist, instinctively knowing who is sliding into the leather chair next to mine before I even turn my head. It’s a strange kind of awareness, almost as though my body recognises his. The shape of him in the air. I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it’s hard to explain. Whatever it is, every inch of my skin seems to be aware of him.
‘G’day, everyone.’ Much like Mac, Flynn smells of freshly showered man, but the smell of his cologne hits me almost viscerally as heat radiates deep in my belly at the familiar low timbre of his tone.
‘Flynn!’ Paisley exclaims, her expression turning to one of delight, though her pleasure doesn’t completely hide the way her gaze flicks almost questioningly between him and I. Maybe she’s wondering why he took the chair next to me, or maybe it’s more than that—maybe I’m not the only one sensing things in the air between us? Actually, she’s more than likely wondering why I’m acting so weird and sitting so rigidly in my chair. Wondering why I haven’t turned to greet him.
‘I’m so glad you could make it,’ she continues. ‘God knows we’re always inviting you.’
I still can’t bring myself to look at him for fear of what he’ll see on my face. Paisley, too. Sometimes I feel like I don’t need to speak, like my thoughts are telegraphed to her by my expression. Though none of that stops my eyes from following his strong forearm as he reaches across the table for the carafe of water and pours himself a glass.
Muscles engaging, extending, contracting, reminding me of last night.Damn.
‘And this time you said yes.’ I aim for a tone of barely masked disdain—our go-to interaction—as I finally turn my gaze to him. Other than his perma-smirk, it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, given the blue-framed wayfarer glasses he’s wearing. ‘You must’ve had a heavy night last night if you still can’t cope with a little sun at’—I make a show of turning my wrist to look at my watch—‘one fifteen?’
‘A heavenly night more like,’ he murmurs from behind his glass. ‘It’s surprising,’ he continues, setting down his glass, ‘how well pizza and champagne mix.’Bastard.
‘You can’t help being a bit of a philistine,’ I reply as though bored. ‘I take it your dazzling wit and personality are too much for even you today.’
A low chuckle travels around the table, but Flynn doesn’t speak. Rather, he reaches out, leaning his long arm across the back of my chair as, with his other hand, he slowly lowers the sunglasses from his face.
I gasp. Then I see blood red.
‘What the fuck happened to your face?’ I almost clap my hand over my mouth, my eyes making a quick sweep of the surrounding area. Thankfully, there are no children nearby. However, for anyone caring enough to pay a little attention, that was far too passionate an enquiry from someone who isn’t supposed to care.
‘You should see the other guy.’Otha guy.Gah! This man and his stupid but irresistible accent.
‘Arsehole.’ Keir chuckles from across the table, his gaze flicking to Mac. ‘I see him, and he looks just fine.’
My head turns to the bulk of Mac who doesn’t appear entirely comfortable. He folds his arms as his deep voice rumbles, ‘It’s what you get for being on the other side.’
‘It was a friendly game, you fucker,’ Flynn responds on a chuckle.
‘Aye, well, Mac doesn’t take kindly to loud-mouthed taunts.’ This from Keir. ‘They’re not all as good-natured as me.’
‘Now you tell me,’ Flynn retorts, making everyone laugh. Except me. I’m still staring daggers at Mac.
