“Pardon me, but I’m looking for this cream, do you sell it?” a recognizable voice asked, pulling me from my thoughts. Glancing up, I saw Sean Cassidy speaking to the blonde, holding out an opened sample. Of all the gin joints . . .I knew Dublin was small, but it couldn’t possibly be this small.
After our encounter last night, I really wasn’t in the mood for a second round with Bubs and his abrasive personality, which was saying something. Loud, quiet, sassy, reserved, they were all a part of life’s color. But Sean Cassidy, well, he was something else entirely.
Keeping my head down, I swiftly turned to leave.
“Mini-Fitzpatrick, what are the chances?” he said, almost happily, and I exhaled a quick breath. There was something in me that just wasn’t rude enough to ignore him, even if he didn’t deserve my politeness. I turned back around.
“How’s it going, Bubs?”
What? If I couldn’t be rude then I could at least amuse myself.
He smiled widely. “Better now that I’ve bumped into you.”
What was with the personality change? He looked genuinely pleased to see me. I glanced around for hidden cameras.
“And if you really want to name me after a drink, then I insist you call me Macallan,” he went on. “Because I’m unquestionably both rare and fine.” His eyes heated and he leveled me with yet another smile, this one smoldering. Was I being hit with the infamous Cassidy charm? I hated to admit that it felt sort of . . . exciting. Letting my eyes travel down his muscular physique, I imagined he’d be an absolute animal in the sack. It was a pity I could never let myself go there.
I mustered a laugh. “Wow, modest.”
He grinned.
“Sir, we have 200 milliliter and 500 milliliter bottles, which would you prefer?” the sales assistant interrupted, calling Sean’s attention away. While they were both distracted, I took the opportunity to slide a compact of eyeshadow into my handbag.
Zing, zing, zing went the familiar rush in my belly. Ah, sweet relief. I missed you, old friend.
“I’ll take the 500 milliliter, please,” said Sean with disinterest as he handed her a card.
“Well, I’d better get going,” I hurried to say. “See you around.”
With extra speediness I walked off, and I was just exiting the store when someone clamped their hand around my elbow. I stilled in fear, thinking it was a security guard. But then I looked up into Sean’s light blue eyes and my pulse slowed.
“Not so fast, Mini-Fitzpatrick,” he said, bending so his mouth brushed my ear. “Don’t you know it’s rude to just run off on people like that? I wanted to speak with you.”
We were out the door and on the street when I pulled my arm from his hold.
“My name’s Lucy,” I told him.
“Fine then. Are you hungry, Lucy?” he asked, emphasizing my name as his eyes flickered between mine.
I wasn’t a suspicious person, but Sean’s question got me wondering. “What’s your game?”
“My game is buying you dinner, and maybe discussing the small matter of the item you just stole. Is Ronan such a tightwad he allows his family to shoplift to get by these days?” he asked with what sounded like amusement.
My heart hammered, wondering how he’d seen. For a moment I was frozen with anxiety, unsure how to respond, but then I grew defensive.
“That’s none of your business,” I stated, trying to stay calm.
I moved to stride past him but he placed himself in my path, and let’s face it, he was more than broad enough to block my passage.
“Now, now, there’s no need to be like that,” he chided, clicking his tongue and looking down at me. “We’ll dine at Marco Pierre’s, my treat.”
“No, thank you,” I stood firm.
“Eat with me or I’ll walk right back inside and inform the head of security about your sticky fingers.”
This riled me, and I couldn’t believe I’d been spotted thieving for the second time in less than two days. My skills were seriously slipping. “Are you so hard up for company that you have to resort to blackmail?”
Sean studied me, his features softening. “I don’t want to argue with you, Lucy. What’s the harm of one dinner?”
There was something in the way he spoke that drained the fight out of me. “Just let me leave, please,” I whispered, staring at the ground now. He was silent for a long moment, long enough that I had to look up. His face was even softer than before and I inhaled sharply.
Reaching out, he slid a hand down my arm, his touch soothing. “Come now, one meal won’t kill you,” he murmured.
I searched his eyes. “Why?”
He shrugged, then glanced away as he answered, “I’m cold.”
I left him waiting a while before I finally replied, with no small amount of wariness, “Okay, but I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”
Now he smiled, like the idea of spending money on me pleased him. “Be my guest.”