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Diarmuid

 

 

 

Now—Limerick, Ireland

 

 

Twenty-three minutes past five next Friday afternoon and Saoirse wasn’t here at O’Malley’s gym like she should have been.

I gritted my teeth. My insides had been bouncing around like a can full of worms all week. I’d been dreading this session with her.

And looking forward to it at the same time.

Go fucking figure.

I grabbed my phone from my bag just as it started ringing. I answered without looking at the screen. “Where are ye?”

“Diarmuid?”

Fuck.

It wasn’t Saoirse’s voice. It was Ava’s.

I rubbed my fingers across my closed lids. I’d managed to avoid Ava’s calls until now. “Oh, hey.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you.” I hated when she got her whingy voice on and boy, was it on in layers today.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry.” Fuck, Brennan, get off the phone. “I’ve been busy. With work.”

She snorted. “You’re always busy, Diarmuid. But it’s about making time for the things that are important. We need to talk.”

Fuck, no.

“About what?” I said, stalling.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I thought we could get together sometime this weekend. Have dinner, maybe.”

“I don’t know, Ava.” I silently slapped my forehead. Why couldn’t I just tell her to fuck off like I should. I was perfectly capable of telling everyone else who pissed me off to fuck off.

“Like it or not, Diarmuid, I am still your wife. You owe me this.”

I looked up in that moment. Perhaps I had been drawn to look up because I heard a noise. Or perhaps I just sensed her.

Saoirse was standing in the doorway of the gym in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, fresh-faced, her long blonde locks pulled into a high ponytail. My heart tugged. Would I ever get used to seeing her all grown up? She looked effortlessly sexy even in baggy clothes.

Shit. Not sexy. Not sexy. I could not be calling my seventeen-year-old juvenile assignment sexy, for fuck’s sake.

“Diarmuid? Are you even listening to me?”

Shit on a stick. Ava was still on the line.

“Sorry. The person I’ve been waiting for just arrived. I’ll call you later.” I hung up and turned off my phone before Ava could yell at me.

Saoirse walked towards me like a panther, watching me. I felt an unreasonable flush on my neck, as if I’d been caught doing something wrong.

She strode right up to me until we were toe to toe, her rose perfume curling around me in wisps. The scent sent a stab through my gut. My mother used to wear rose perfume. Saoirse used to favor vanilla scents when she’d been younger.

Saoirse had changed. Matured.

“You didn’t have to hang up on Ava,” Saoirse said. “She is your wife.”

I took a step back, trying to get some space. My mind seemed to go fuzzy at her proximity.

“You’re late,” I said, trying to avoid the subject of Ava.

She tilted her head, her hands fisted on her hips, an aggressive stance if I ever saw one. “And you’re married. So what?”

I almost let out a groan of frustration. This session was not going how I planned it to go. I wanted to drop my face into my hands. But I would not. I’d had difficult assignments before. Saoirse was just another difficult case.

Except…she wasn’t, was she?

“How ’bout we just get started,” I said, wanting desperately to stop talking and start doing. “I wanted to go through some fighting basics.”

She smirked at me. “You wanna fight me, Diarmuid?”

“I want to teach you how to defend yourself.”

Her voice lowered. “I could have used that three years ago. To defend myself from you.”

Through the cracks of her snippy façade was a deep well of pain. It shone as clear as a full moon on a lake.

I had done that to her. Even in trying to do what was right for her, I had failed her.

“Saoirse,” I breathed. “Please…”

“Whatever.” She walked past me, flicked her ponytail over her shoulder, her smell hitting me right in the chest.

I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed to whatever deity was listening to give me strength.

“I’ll just get into my workout gear,” I heard from behind me.

I frowned. Her workout gear? Wasn’t she wearing that?

I spun round just in time to watch her pushing down the tracksuit bottoms to her ankles as she stood at one of the benches that lined the wall, her back to me, legs straight, round ass in the air, covered only by a pair of tiny running shorts.

I choked.

Holy shit.

Something tugged in me, something unfamiliar. Something hot and foreign like a blade. Lust. Want. Desire.

Oh fuck.

She straightened and grabbed the hem of her hoodie and pulled it up over her head, revealing her slender waist, those curves, in a tiny fitted workout singlet. She dropped her hoodie on the bench and spun to look straight at me.

I was too shocked to hide my emotions. She caught me, my raw, openly lusty stare.

I was going to burn in hell.

I slammed down my mask as quickly as I could. What the fuck, Diarmuid?

Thank God we were the only ones in the gym and I had no witnesses to my blatant drooling. That’s why I picked Friday afternoon to work out with her. I knew no one would bother us. She and I were alone.

Oh shit.

She and I were alone.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.