Now, you might think you know what a blush is. You might think you’ve even experienced it yourself a time or two. But I was a redhead. My skin made fresh milk look yellow, and even my fucking freckles were pale. Everything about me was like I’d been dunked into white wax.
But as the heat crawled over me, taking over my skin as the man looked at me without pause, I knew things had rarely been this dire.
See, with Jenny as a best friend, I was used to the attention going her way. I could hide in the background, hide in her shadow. I liked it there. I was comfortable there. Sometimes, on double dates, she’d drag me along, and even the guy supposed to be dating me would be gaping at Jenny. As pathetic as it was, I was so used to it, it didn’t bother me.
But now?
I just wasn’t used to being in the spotlight.
Especially not a man like this one’s spotlight.
When you’re a teenager, practicing with your mom’s blush for the first time, you always look like a tomato that’s been left out in the sun, right?
I was redder than that.
I could feel it. I could fucking feel the heat turning me tomato red.
When Jenny cleared her throat, I thanked God when it broke the man’s attention. He shot her a look, but it wasn’t admiring. It wasn’t even impressed.
If anything, it was irritated.
Okay, so now both Jenny and I were stunned.
Fuck that, we were floored.
Literally.
Our mouths were doing a pretty good fish impression as the man turned back to look at me.
Shit, was this some kind of joke?
Was it April 1st and I’d just gotten the dates mixed up again?
“Ms. Keegan?”
Oh fuck. His voice.
Oh. My. God.
That voice.
It was. . . .
I had to swallow.
Did men even talk like that?
It was low and husky and raspy and made me think of sex, not just mediocre sex, but the best sex. Toe-curling, nails-breaking-in-the-sheets sex. Sex so fucking good you couldn’t walk the next day. Sex so hot that it made my current core temperature look polar in comparison. Sex that I’d never been lucky to have before, so I pined for it in the worst way.
Jenny nudged me in the side when I just carried on gaping at the man. “Y-Yes. That’s me.” I cleared my throat, feeling nervous and stupid and flustered as I wiped my hands on my apron.
Sweet Jesus.
Was this man really looking for me while I was wearing a goddamn pinafore?
Even as practical as they were, I wanted to beg the patron saint of pinnies to remove it from me. To do something, anything, to make sure that this man didn’t see me in the red gingham check that I always wore to cover up stains.
And then I felt it.
Jenny’s hand.
Tugging at the knot.
I wanted to kiss her. Seriously. I wanted to give her a fucking raise! As I moved away from the counter and her side, the apron dropped to the floor as I headed for the man whose hand was now held out, ready for me to shake in greeting.
There are those moments in your life when you know you’ll never forget them. They can be happy or sad, annoying or exhilarating. This was one of them.
As I slipped my hand into his, I felt the electric shocks down to my core. Meeting his gaze wasn’t hard because I was stunned, and I needed to know if he’d felt that, too.
From the way those eyelids were shielding his icy-blue eyes, I figured he was just as surprised.
It was like a satisfied puma was watching me. One that was happy there was plump prey prancing around in front of him.
Shit.
Did I just describe myself as ‘plump prey?’
And like that, my house of cards came tumbling down because what the hell would this man want with me?
I was seeing things.
God, I was so stupid sometimes.
I cleared my throat for, like, the fourth damn time, and asked, “I’m Ms. Keegan. You are?”
His smile, when it appeared, was as charming as the rest of him. His teeth were white, but not creepy, reality-TV-star white. They were straight except for one of his canines, which tilted in slightly. In his perfect face, it was one flaw that I almost clung to. Because with that wide brow, the hair so dark it looked like black silk that was cut closely to his head with a faint peak at his forehead, the strong nose, and even stronger jaw, I needed something imperfect to focus on.
Then, I sucked down a breath and remembered what Fiona had told me once upon a time. When I’d been nervous about asking Jamie Winters to homecoming, she’d advised me in her soft Irish lilt, “Lass, that boy takes a dump just like you do. He uses the bathroom twice a day and undoubtedly leaves a puddle on the floor for his ma to clean up. I bet he’s puked a time or two as well. Had diarrhea and the good Lord only knows what else. Just you think that the next time you see that boy and want to ask him out.”
Yeah. It was gross, but fuck, it had worked. Her advice had worked so well I hadn’t asked anyone out because I could only think of them using the damn toilet!
Still, looking at this Adonis, there was no imagining that.
Surely, gods didn’t use the bathroom.
Did they?
“The name’s Finn. Finn O’Grady.”
My eyes flared at the name.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Finn O’Grady?
No. It wasn’t a rare name, but it was a strong one. One that suited him, one that had always suited him.
I frowned up at him wondering, yet again, if this was a joke of some sort, but as he looked at me, really looked at me, I saw no recognition. Saw nothing on his features that revealed any ounce of awareness that I’d known him for years.
Well, okay, not known. But I’d known his mother. Our mothers had been best friends. And as I looked, I saw the same almond-shaped eyes Fiona had, the stubborn jaw, and that unmistakable butt-indent on his chin.
At the reminder of just how forgettable I was, my heart sank, and hurt whistled through me.
Then, I realized I was still holding his hand, and as he squeezed, the flush returned and I almost died of mortification.
Chapter 2
Finn
God, she was perfect.
And when I said perfect, I meant it.
I’d fucked a lot of women. Redheads, blondes, brunettes, even the rare thing that is a natural head of black hair. None of them, not a single one, lit up like Aoife Keegan.
Her cheeks were cherry red and in the light camisole she wore, a cheerful yellow, I could see how the blush went all the way down to the upper curve of her breasts.
She’d go that color, I knew, when she came.
And fuck, I wanted to see that.
I wanted to see that perfectly pale flesh turn bright pink under my ministrations.
Even as I looked at her, all shy and flustered, I wondered if she was a screamer in bed.
Some of the shyest often were.
Maybe not at first, but after a handful of orgasms, it was a wonder what that could do to a woman’s self-confidence, and Jesus, I wanted to see that, too. I wanted a seat at center stage.
My suit jacket was open, and I regretted it. Immensely. My cock was hard, had been since we’d shaken hands, and her fingers had clung to mine like a daughter would to her daddy’s at her first visit to the county fair.
Fuck.
Squeezing her fingers wasn’t intentional. If anything, I’d just liked the feel of her palm against mine, but when I put faint pressure on her, she jerked back like she’d been scalded.