Chapter Two
Four Weeks Earlier
Callum
“You look tired there, mate.” Seamus McCartney brushed the crumbs from his strawberry blond mustache and slid the pint of Guinness over toward me as I sat down at the other side of the bar.
I sighed and stretched my aching arm over my head. I’d slept wrong on my right shoulder, and the damn Donelson deal falling through hadn’t made my day any easier. The Guinness was a welcome distraction as the dark amber liquid worked its way down my throat, the bitterness tripping over my tongue.
“I’m having a bit of a headache, mate.”
If Seamus noticed the frustration and general annoyance in my voice, he didn’t seem to respond. That shite-eating grin was still stretched over his face, and he continued to lightly kick one foot against the side of the bar; I could hear the wood rattle with every hit. We’d been friends going back to primary school, but I’d also felt us drifting lately. It could be that we were working for different companies and in direct competition with each other. Then again, it might be because, deep down, there was an edge to Seamus I never quite trusted. If we were just grabbing pints to chuckle over, I could ignore the edge. When my day was already shot, it was a fuck ton harder to ignore how he grated on me.
I guess we all had one of those friends, the one most likely to be voted off the island first…but we still put up with in the meantime.
That was Seamus McCartney for me.
And so help me Mother Mary, if he didn’t stop grinning like a loon at me, I was going to dump my pint of frosty brew over his head.
“Don’t be such a lout,” Seamus said. “You look like someone killed your dog.”
“No one did that, but someone did kill the biggest deal so far this year. I worked for weeks sweet talking Donelson.”
Seamus smirked. “Should have worked that much harder, Cal.”
I groaned and finished my mug. “You didn’t.”
“You didn’t have a claim on the holdings. If McCartney Real Estate Ventures waited for an engraved invitation on every deal, we wouldn’t be the second largest firm in Dublin.”
Rolling my eyes, I signaled for the barkeep to bring me another pint. I was going to need it. “Then don’t forget who’s first.”
“For how long?” Seamus smirked at me. “Don’t be like that, mate. Besides, the refreshments are on me. I figured I owed you that much.”
Oh, he owed me a whole lot more.
“And I suppose your lead had nothing to do with a bit of banter we had last weekend at the VIP room at Hooligan’s?”
Seamus shrugged. “Whatever you say to impress the woman you’re trying to rut with isn’t my problem. Taking advantage of it, however, that’s my pleasure.”
“I’ll remember to be more close-lipped next time.”
He laughed and patted my shoulder. “That’s the way of it, Cal. Admit it. With me around, you’ll stay on your toes.”
“If not out of the poor house.”
“You’ll get the next contract, and then I’ll be blaming ya. However, now that you mentioned Hooligan’s, I have been thinking.”
“I don’t know if I’m in the mood for a VIP experience tonight. I don’t feel like celebrating when I lose a pile of money.”
Seamus snorted. “Don’t be melodramatic. I wasn’t thinking about that. I heard of this club downtown, very secretive, the whole mess. Anyway, I’ve been wanting to try it. They say that the lasses there will do anything, if you catch my drift.”
I quirked my head at him. To be honest, my tastes ran vanilla. I loved women, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t need extremes to get off. Once in a while, I’d find myself in a threesome with a couple of hot models or minor-ranking heiresses. Occasionally, there might be a bit of a blindfold and fuzzy handcuffs, novelty crap. However, I wasn’t into anything hardcore. That trend had spiked in recent years as money poured in and blokes got bored of getting whatever woman they wanted. They needed a challenge—something different—just to get excited. If that was what made other people happy, great, but I was no great shakes at bondage. If that was what Seamus was hinting at, I wasn’t feeling it.
“Meaning?”
Seamus rolled his eyes. “Meaning that they do all the naughty shit. Say it with me: BDSM. Wouldn’t some of that spice up your life, cure what ails ya?”
You mean like you being a bit of a prick?
“It’s not my thing.”
Seamus frowned and looked down at his drink philosophically. “Then what is lately?”
“Huh?”
“Except for the rendezvous in the VIP room, you’ve been like a monk lately.”
“Well, I had been prepping the Donelson deal.”
“And that’s an excuse. In days gone by, you’d have been working ninety hour weeks but still making time to party hard on Friday and Saturday night until dawn with a blonde on each arm anyway.”
I sipped my drink, wondering if my cheeks were as red as they felt. “Yes, I can’t deny that.”
That kind of behavior was how I’d reacted after my beloved wife had died. I’d spent fifteen years burying myself in anyone I could and, as my real estate wealth had grown, it had been quite a lot of ladies. However, something seemed off lately. The nubile wealth spread before me wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter if I tried movie star, minor duchess, or super model. If it were a blonde, brunette, the occasional redhead. Threesome for a bit of spice. Nope. It all had started feeling empty over the past six months or a year, and I wasn’t sure what that said about me. I was forty-seven and not dead, but it seemed like just another hot night on the town wasn’t doing it for me anymore. Maybe Seamus felt like everything was all the same too, hence his BDSM club idea. But I didn’t think he’d find satisfaction in exploring his kinkier side any more than I would from getting a few extra blondes in bed.
There has to be something more out there.
“Hello, don’t be so full of shite, Cal. You would have a rollicking good time at that club. We both would.”
I sighed and drained my second pint. “Maybe, but maybe there’s something I’m missing.” I dropped my money on the bar, taking care to leave a decent tip for the bartender. He’d need it if he was going to be keeping up with a pain in the ass like a drunk and lonely Seamus all night. “I don’t think it’s at some seedy club.”
Seamus practically growled his answer. “Suit yourself, mate, but I’ll be having the good time while you’re what? Home reading? Someone call the nursing home already.”
I ignored the continued taunts as I made my way out.
***
“Daddy!” Symone exclaimed as she pulled the shepherd’s pie from the oven.
I had to smile at that. She’d only learned to cook a few things from her mother before Priscilla had died. She could make a mean hamburger, shepherd’s pie, and, oddly enough, tacos. Maybe my daughter just had a way with ground beef. However, I hadn’t had a home cooked meal in ages, so as I sat down at the modest table in Symone’s flat, I prepared to dig into the pie.
“How are you doing, cupcake?”
She grinned, a beatific smile lighting up her entire face. Reaching up, she pushed a long strand of fiery red hair back from her face. The motion made my breath catch in my throat since it helped make her freckles even more prominent. Made her look just that much more like her mother.
God, I miss you, Priscilla.
“I’m doing great. Now, why do you look like hell?”
I narrowed my eyes at her as I bit into the pie. “I do not look like hell. What you see is the utter annoyance of having an idiot best friend or frenemy, whichever, and also losing out on a killer deal.”
She snorted and sat down on a stool across from me. “And you’re the one who always says that there’s another deal somewhere. ‘Come on, pumpkin, you just sniff it out like a shark.’ I mean, you told me that when you were talking about dating.”
I frowned. “Not that I was trying to encourage you to date too much. I was trying to help you understand that just because one boy broke your heart didn’t mean there wouldn’t be others, much to my dismay.”
“And then there are other land deals to scoop up.” She sighed and started preparing a helping for herself. “That doesn’t seem like that’s all that’s bothering you.”
“I think I’m lonely.”
Her eyes widened, and she brought a hand to her chest. “You mean that I’m not enough sparkling company for you on Monday evenings?”
“And you’re a real smart arse too,” I said.
“True, but I learned it from the best of them, Dad.” Her eyes narrowed, and the smile fell from Symone’s face. “I’m not surprised you’re lonely. You haven’t dated since Mom.”
I chuckled and mashed around the potatoes on my plate with my fork. “I think I’ve dated since then. Hell, most of the society pages on at least three continents agree on that too.”
She chuckled. “I’m not talking about a billionaire mogul entertaining himself.”
“Sweetheart, about that—”
“I’m twenty-five, not ten. I’ve definitely figured out you’re a bit of a manwhore.”
“I would not put it that way. I’m more of a rogue, perhaps a cad.”
“Or just too easy,” Symone shot back. “Seriously, though. It’s no wonder you’re lonely.”
“Really?”
“You have flings, but they don’t matter. If you want something that feels real, Dad, then it has to be real. It has to have risk. I mean, Damon and I…”
Shaking my head, I pushed my plate away. “Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s hard enough for me to accept you dating. I don’t need to hear about magical connections with your fiancé.”
“Maybe you do. Dad, I miss Mom too, but she wouldn’t want you to be alone. You have a choice to always play it safe and shallow or to look for something more, to chase a real connection. It’s up to you, but whatever you decide, you know I’ll support you.”
Sighing, I picked up my napkin and dabbed at the corners of my mouth. “Thank you. Your old dad appreciates it.”
“Thank me by really putting yourself out there. I can’t be a happy bride, not really, if I feel like I’m leaving you all alone to fend for yourself.”
“I’m supposed to take care of you.” I stood and circled the table. Then I gathered her up in my arms. “You don’t have to keep yourself back cause your dad’s just spacey lately.”
Symone pulled away from me and stood. “Just promise you’ll think about looking for that special someone. I want to know you’re trying to be happy.”
“Trust me, kiddo, I am.”
***
The next day, I dragged into the office with a hangover and a foul mood. I had a ton of research to do to find a new best bid option and a way to expand my holdings into more commercial retail in the city. As far as my buildings in Dublin went, I mostly owned warehouses and structures that housed tech firms. I wanted to get into malls and other shopping complexes. Donelson would have done that, but it was like both Symone and even Seamus had pointed out: I had to get back up on my feet. Of course, it would help if it didn’t feel like a railroad spike was being pounded into my skull.
I pressed the intercom and barked into it. Usually, I’d be nicer for my secretary, Frances, but I was dying in my chair. “What do I pay you for? Get me an aspirin and some Alka-Seltzer. Double time it, luv.”
Groaning to myself, I leaned back in my chair and rubbed at my temples. I might have tied quite a few on after getting back home to my penthouse. Being lonely didn’t suit me, and my usual tricks—and girls—to distract me weren’t working any longer. It didn’t seem like pint after pint of Guinness was a better substitute. The door yanked open, and a too loud voice rang out.
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s my first day.”
I frowned as I opened my eyes. The voice was all wrong, far younger than Frances, but also an American. Where the fuck had I gotten an American secretary from? I sat up in my chair and stared at the girl. “Who are you?”
She swallowed hard and then stumbled on her heels, sending the bottle of aspirin and the glass of Alka-Seltzer fizzy water clattering to the floor. I swore under my breath, but she was practically in tears, getting to her knees right away and slipping off her cardigan to mop up the mess on my expensive carpet.
“I’m so sorry. God, this is my first day, and I was doing the first errand Mrs. McCabe trusted me with. I didn’t mean to do this. I…”
Normally, I never tolerated anything less than utter excellence from my staff. I strove for perfection, and everyone around me better damn well do the same. Any other time, I think I would have snapped at her and forced her to turn over her ID badge and leave the building. But I’ll be fully honest. Then I caught sight of her rounded ass straining under the tight fabric of her skirt. My dick sprung to life and, for the first time in weeks, I actually gave a damn about a woman in my presence. I can’t even explain why. This girl couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, and her curves were a bit more than I cared for in my women. As she hopped to her feet and bowed her head in front of me—probably expecting her own dismissal—I also noted how short she was. As I stepped around the desk to face her, the lass barely came up to my chest.
Again, totally not my type.
And yet, there was something there I couldn’t ignore. Something primal springing between us.
Tears coated the girl’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Mr. O’Brien, I’ll see myself out.”
I paused and surprised myself by stroking her cheek. Brown eyes the color of a steaming cup of coffee evaluated me, and skin so smooth it was almost like velvet greeted my touch. “No, you don’t have to leave.”
She swallowed and stared more deeply into my eyes. “I don’t understand. I ruined your carpet.”
“I think the seltzer mixture is clear. I’m sure it’ll come out.”
“But I’m a klutz.”
I eyed her heels. “Well, perhaps next time it’ll be easier to maneuver in flatter shoes. Don’t go for impressive around here, go for functional.” Who the fuck is saying this? I’ve always been a stiletto man before. “Are you okay, Miss?”
“Miss Kilshimer. My name is Iris Kilshimer. I’m so sorry. This is my first day as an intern, and maybe I had too much coffee. It makes me jittery.”
The last name was like a sharp knife to the gut. I knew that name, had for years. Seth Kilshimer was my best friend and the first one I’d made at graduate school in the United States. Shit. I’d promised his daughter that internship months ago, and now she was here. I’d thought she was pretty—okay, gorgeous—from her picture with her photo ID and resume, but it paled to her looks in person. But she might as well be made out of damn Kryptonite.
No one was more off limits than my best mate’s daughter.
It took far too much effort to force my hand from her cheek. “Don’t worry. I just want to make sure you’re okay. We hardly want a safety complaint or a workers’ comp, do we? There’s a medical office on-site just for small things, maybe you should go get that checked out,” I said as I pointed to the small trail of red on her knee. “Looks like you got quite the bit of rug burn there, lass.”
She blushed. “It’s okay. I’m fine. I just…oh, your carpet’s white! Did I ruin it?”
I hated myself right then. Normally, I would be the type of pompous, self-obsessed jerk to make an injured person feel like shite for bleeding. Today wasn’t that day, definitely not with Iris. I reached for the tissues on my desk and pulled a few out. Kneeling down, I sponged at her leg.
“Nonsense. I’ll walk you to the medical office myself, if you like.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure the CEO has more to do today than worry about the newest and clumsiest intern.”
I stood and handed her extra tissues. “Have Frances…Mrs. McCabe take you directly to the elevator and the med facilities. Don’t want an infection.”
“Dreaded carpet burn,” she said, tossing her long, curly dark hair over her shoulder.
I desperately wanted to wrap my fingers up in the black waves and feel their silkiness for myself. Then again, if I even tried that, good ole Seth would rip my dick off, and he’d be right to do it.
“Yeah, luv,” I said, offering her a polite smile. “Now away with you, and make sure you get all the betadine you need. Can’t get blamed for an infection, hurting a pretty lass like you.”
She swallowed hard. “You think I’m pretty.”
I frowned, not even realizing what I’d said. “I…you clean up well for your first professional job, Miss Kilshimer.”
Her smile faded a little even as she dabbed at her knee. She had to make do with that much. If I let her know how I really felt, I’d bend her over the desk and give her a much better memory. Then Seth would murder me and dismember the body.
Terrible ideas, Callum.
“Get along now, Miss Kilshimer, and take a long lunch on me. Whatever you like from the commissary is from yours truly. Make sure that Frances sees to that too.”
“I’m still the one who messed up your medicine.”
“And I’m the one whose carpet messed you up. Don’t worry. Tomorrow you can try again.”
“And I’m not fired?”
“I think your father would have me in an Altoids box if I tried that.”
“True, but if I really deserved it, well, I don’t want to be abusing nepotism. I mean, more than I already have.”
“Duly noted. If you truly muck up, it’ll be off with your head,” I said, winking back at her. “Now, you’re right, Miss Kilshimer, I have work to do.”
In the executive en suite shower.
She nodded, cheeks flushing red, and scurried out of the room. Damn, but her arse was a lovely sight to watch as she hurried away.
***
I managed to keep cool for the rest of the work day, although I was intensely bothered. Instead, I plastered a fake smile on my face through meetings and tried to ignore the hard-on to end all hard-ons plaguing me. I’d felt my dick throbbing all day. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her soft hair falling down her shoulders. Every time I took a deep breath, I smelled the hint of lavender from her perfume. And every time I even breathed, I felt my cock straining against the fabric of my pants. It was a good thing I didn’t have any strenuous meetings scheduled that day. I’d have signed bloody anything as distracted as I was.
It was a blessing when I was able to call it an early day at three-thirty and rush to my penthouse.
I dismissed the staff as soon as I walked through the door and made a beeline for the shower. Shoving off my clothes, I hopped in and let the scorching hot water pour over me. It didn’t do a damn thing to slake my lust, but it did make my blood boil hotter, made the tension in my cock even more demanding. I grabbed some lotion from the side shelf and spread it out over my hands. Lathering it up, I grabbed onto my dick with my right hand, smoothing over my shaft in quick, deliberate motions. I’d been denying myself all day, and as much as I wanted to take time with this, to imagine making love to Iris Kilshimer with the care and delicacy she deserved, I was a realist. I knew when I was going to be fast, when there was too much I had to struggle to hold back.
My left hand cupped my balls, rolling them between my thumb and forefinger, and I started thrusting my hips into my right hand, fucking myself as much as stroking the shaft. Her lips had been pillowy and soft. They’d feel like fucking heaven wrapped around my cock. I knew that. I’d wrap my hands through her soft, wavy hair and stare down into those chocolate brown eyes that would just beg me for more. She’d take me in deep, swallowing me up to the hilt, and I’d make her take all of it, want to fuck her down to her throat. Let her take all of me, if she could.
She’d mewl, the softest, neediest sounds escaping her lips.
And I’d keep thrusting just as I was now. Closing my eyes, I fell deeply into my fantasy—the hint of lavender between us, the tightness in my balls as I held everything back before I came, and the soft silkiness of her tongue against my dick.
My legs felt like they were buckling beneath me, and maybe they bloody well were. Who could tell? I was fucked. That was for sure, since the first woman to move me in ages was also my best friend’s daughter. She was supposed to be off limits, yet here I was imagining the look on her face when I came down her throat. Speaking of coming, I pumped harder into my hand, a frantic, animalistic energy driving me forward. In my mind’s eye, it was her mouth I was fucking, her throat swallowing up my thick, heavy dick with equal measures of skill and appreciation. It was her tongue teasing my sensitive head and not my woefully inept fingers. It was her eyes that would beg me on and not the blankness of the tile beside me.
I came then, thinking of those chocolate brown eyes. I shot a stream of cum into the corner of the shower, one so long that it never seemed to stop. I yelled then, a long, loud curse ringing out through the quiet penthouse. Electricity raked over my body as my nerves sizzled and snapped. Stumbling forward, I had to grip onto the wall of the shower to keep my equilibrium.
Moments later, I was still gasping for breath and trying to trust my legs again.
“Dear God, lass, what have you done to me?”