The Hooker and the Hermit

Decision made.

Gripping her tight, I brought my mouth to hers and kissed her hungrily. When our lips met, I heard her make a tiny sound. Her body went rigid, and she wasn’t reciprocating. I thought it might have been down to shock, though, because when my tongue slid past the seam of her lips, she opened them willingly and trembled against me.

My fingers dug into her thighs, and I pulled her closer. I was on fire, felt like I was melting into her. Never before had a single kiss gotten me so worked up. She tasted like chocolate and mint. Annie rocked forward, and then I felt her tongue move experimentally against mine. Of its own accord, a groan emanated from deep in my chest. When I brought my hands to her neck and massaged her throat, she whimpered. I was hard as a rock already. Her hands were fisting my shirt, almost as though she didn’t know whether she wanted to push me away or pull me closer.

Then the cutest noise in the world came out of her when her stomach rumbled very loudly. Immediately, she drew away, her cheeks coloring. She could barely look me in the eye.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick, I….”

I cut her off. “It’s Ronan, Annie. Call me Ronan.”

She looked at me then, and we stared at one another for a long moment. I wanted to kiss her again. My heart was racing. I could still taste her.

“I can’t call you Ronan....” She said this, and I didn’t know if she was talking to me or herself; her fingers absentmindedly moved to her lips, touching them lightly.

“Yes, you can.”

“It would be too familiar.” Again, she sounded like she was speaking to herself.

“I like familiar.” I inched closer.

“It would be a mistake.” Her eyes were unfocused.

“Sounds like fun.”

“I can’t risk it….”

She was definitely speaking to herself, and the words had a sobering effect. I stilled and leaned back a bit, searching her face, remembering her earlier statement.

“Annie, why don’t you date?”

I was curious. I didn’t do relationships anymore, not after Brona; so I wondered if, like me, Annie had some deep-seated reason for not dating.

“Huh?” She blinked at me, dazed. She yanked her fingertips away from her mouth like she’d just realized what she was doing and shook her head.

I grinned because the kiss seemed to have made her foggy headed. “You said before that you don’t date. Why is that?”

“I just don’t.” Her eyes fell away and then lifted back to mine like she was trying to be brave. I thought that the way she spoke in short sentences was more down to her social anxiety rather than not having more to say. It was like the words were there, but they got stuck in her throat.

“A beautiful woman like you should be dating. It’s a damn shame to waste all that pretty skin.” I leaned forward, her sweet lips too tempting; but her eyes flashed, and she flinched away.

She rolled her chair back and away from me. “I don’t see how not dating is wasting my…skin.” Annie frowned and tugged on her sleeve, sitting up straighter now and obviously trying to regain an air of professionalism. It was way too fucking late for that.

I only raised an eyebrow at her in response, at how she’d pulled away, because I knew she was playing dumb now. I stared at her, trying to figure out how we’d gone from kissing to this. I wasn’t ready to talk business again, not yet—maybe never with her. Not when we’d just been wrapped around each other and I wasn’t sure why we’d stopped.

A second later her stomach rumbled again, and her cheeks grew redder.

I saw my opening, and I took it. “You’re hungry. Let’s go get some lunch.” I stood up, holding my hand out to her.

She glanced at me and then focused on my fingers. She was looking at my hand like it might bite her. “I told you I don’t date.”

“Somebody thinks very highly of themselves,” I teased, wanting to ease the tension. “I’m not asking you on a date. This is work. We still need to finish up here, and you’re clearly too hungry to continue.” Obviously, I was full of shit given that I’d just been feeling her up, telling her I wondered what she tasted like, and kissing the hell out of her. But I wanted her to feel comfortable enough to spend time with me so that I could—well, so that I could get into her pants. And surprisingly, despite myself, I kind of wanted to get to know her better, too, but I refused to analyze why.

Self-consciously, she wrapped her arms around her middle, still flustered. “I can grab something here. I’ve got some Snickers bars in my office.”

I stared at her, frowning. She mumbled something under her breath about pricks and Pepé le Pew.

“I’m not letting you eat Snickers bars for your lunch. You need real food. I’ll take you to my mate’s restaurant. You know Tom’s Southern Kitchen?”

Her eyes widened in a weird way and lifted to mine, and there was a beat of silence. “Yes, I know it. I really like the food there,” she admitted, almost reluctantly.

“Well then, how can you refuse?” I asked, still holding my hand out to her. She looked at it again, her mouth making a firm line, and then she turned and gathered her things, standing up without my assistance. She hesitated at the door, glancing at me over her shoulder. I hurried forward and opened the door for her, and she seemed surprised by the gesture.

She gave me a little glance from under her long lashes and then continued walking. I followed, liking my view of her backside as we left the offices.

“Did you drive here, Mr. Fitzpatrick?” Annie asked as we stepped into the elevator. Unfortunately we weren’t alone; three other working professional types stepped onto the lift with us.

I noticed that Annie was still insisting on addressing me formally, but I wasn’t going to let it get to me. Truth be told, her calling me Mr. Fitzpatrick was a bit of a turn-on. I could imagine her beneath me, submitting, begging Mr. Fitzpatrick for more. Just being around this woman got me all worked up, got the dirty part of my brain working overtime.

“Because if you did, I can catch a cab and meet you at the restaurant,” she continued as the doors opened to the lobby, everyone filing out.

I rested a hand on her lower back and felt her flinch at the contact, her spine straightening. But then she relaxed and let me guide her through the lobby.

“No, I didn’t drive today. Although I’d love to take you for a ride sometime. It’ll be a real experience for you.” I put a hand on her elbow just as we went through the doors and wondered if she’d picked up on the innuendo. She stopped when we got onto the street, and I saw her throat working. When she looked back at me, her gaze was heated as it moved from my eyes to my hand on her arm, and her cheeks and neck were a delightful shade of pink.

I guessed my offer to give her a ride was putting pleasant thoughts in her head.

“In the meantime,” I said with forced nonchalance, trying to school my smile, “we’ll catch a cab together. That way, we can share the cost.” I winked, having no intention of letting her pay.

She stared at me mutely but seemed to approve of splitting the bill. I made a note of that. Despite her apparent timidity, Annie struck me as the fiercely independent type. I thought it might be a matter of pride to her never to let a man (or anyone for that matter) carry her.

Christ, I knew how to pick them.

She flagged down a taxi quickly enough and didn’t protest when I slid my hand into hers to help her into the car. I sat beside her, spreading my legs wide and taking up as much room as possible. Her brow was furrowed all the while, and I rattled off the address to the driver. Gathering herself, she opened one of the folders she was carrying and began to flick through some pages.

“It’ll take us a couple of minutes to reach the restaurant. We should use the time to cover some things before we get there.”

I leaned closer, my arm brushing hers. “I’m all ears.”

Swallowing, she ran a finger down the bullet points on the page. “So, I think we should start you off with a Twitter account. It’s straightforward enough and will give you a feel for connecting with people online, engaging your audience. We can connect the Twitter to both Instagram and Tumblr.”

“No, thanks. I’m not a Twatter sort of bloke.”

Her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile, but then she flattened them into a stiff line. “It’s Twitter. Please don’t discount every idea before I’ve even had the chance to explain it to you, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I’m only trying to make life easier for the both of us.”

The exasperated way in which she spoke made me feel bad, so I replied, “Fine. Go ahead. Tell me all about this Twatter.”

“It’s not….”

“I know,” I interrupted, smiling warmly. “I’m only pulling your leg, hon.”

She shook her head and settled her eyes back on her papers, though I had a feeling she was using them as a safety blanket as opposed to actually needing them. After all, I’d been intentionally trying to get into her personal space as much as I could since we first met.

“In a nutshell, Twitter entails sending little nuggets of information about what’s going on in your life out into the world in the form of ‘tweets.’ Each tweet can be no longer than 140 characters. I suggest checking out the profiles of some other famous sportsmen to see how it works. It’s easier to learn the ropes as you go rather than my giving you a lesson because I’ll just bore you.”