Emboldened, Cillian's hands start to roam a bit further, and I find that I want him to plunder every bit of me.
At least I want that, at first. My inhibitions are lowered from the alcohol and my common sense is blurred from the exhilaration of making out with a hot musician. But when one of his hands starts to undo the button on my pants, I start to snap out of the lust-induced haze I'm in.
My hand covers his and I say, "Wait."
Cillian slowly pulls his hand away and takes a small step back. His eyes search my face. "Too fast for you?"
I nod shyly, looking down at the floor. "I'm sorry. I can't."
"Don't be sorry, cailin alainn. Just be you." He smiles at me warmly and he doesn't look mad at all. "It's not a problem."
Giving me a kiss on my forehead, Cillian takes my hand and leads me back out to the party. My head is spinning, because God help me I wanted him to go further. I chew on my lip, wondering if I made a mistake... wondering if I missed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to become a woman in the most sinfully naughty of ways. To give it up to a gorgeous Irish musician who I would probably never see again.
But no... I remember Cillian's last words. Just be you.
And I know I did the right thing, and clearly, he respected that.
Dropping me back off in Cady's care, Cillian tells me he'll be back and melts into the crowd.
"Where were you two?" Cady asks as she grabs my arm.
"Um..."
"You didn't... you and he didn't...?"
"God no, Cady. We just... kissed."
"He kissed you? I'm going to kill him."
"No, you're not," I admonish her. "Besides... it was nice and he was a gentleman."
Cady gave huge snort. "Cillian? A gentleman? That wanker doesn't want anything but to get in a girl's pants, Ren. I love him to death but he's not for you."
"How do you know he's not for me?"
"Well... for one... you live in the States. He lives here. But mainly, because he doesn't take girls seriously. He's just in it for... you know... the sex."
Cillian didn't seem that way with me. He didn't come on to me in an overtly sexual way, and his kisses, while steamy, were above board. He stopped when I asked him to stop, and he didn't make me feel guilty or call me a tease.
Cady glances at her watch. "Shit... we have to go. Da's goin' to kill us because we're out so late."
"Uncle Keefe is going to kill us because we've been drinking."
"Nah. We both turn eighteen in just a few months. Besides, as long as we get home safe, it's easy to smooth his feathers."
She takes my hand and starts leading me toward the door. I start to pull away from her because I want to say goodbye to Cillian. I want to give him my email address and ask him to stay in touch with me. As I'm thinking this, my eyes are scanning the party, looking desperately for that dark, shaggy head.
Then I see him... in the corner... with his arms around another girl, kissing her deeply. His hands are on her waist, pulling her hips flush with his.
My heart actually bottoms out with disappointment. I'm disappointed in Cillian that he could so easily forget that we were just kissing, and I'm disappointed in myself that I stopped him. Most of all, I'm disappointed that any of this is even bothering me in the first place, because come tomorrow, I'll be on a plane back home to the States and I'll never see him again.
Cady gives my hand another tug and pulls me out the door--the entire time I'm looking at Cillian kiss that girl.
Cady was right. I was nothing to him. When I said no, he didn't push me or pester me to give it up. And why would he? He could snap his fingers and have any other girl at that party in his arms in a matter of seconds.
Which is exactly what he did.
Suddenly, my longing for home grows tenfold. Just minutes ago, I was yearning to feel Cillian's body against mine, now I'm just yearning to get back to New Jersey and have my mom wrap her arms around me in a hug.
CHAPTER 1
Renner
Present Day
"I'm sorry I'm late, Uncle Keefe," I call out to the large man behind the bar, just as I duck under the service flap. Reaching underneath, I pull out a black apron and tie it around my waste.
"You're not late, Renner," he answers me back in his thick Irish brogue. "You're five minutes early."
I flash him a cheeky grin. "Yeah, but I'm usually fifteen minutes early, so that technically makes me ten minutes late."
Uncle Keefe tweaks me under the chin and laughs. "You're a good girl, Renner. Always so responsible."
Yup. That's me... a responsible girl. I'm habitually early wherever I go, I pay all of my bills five days before the due date, I plan everything because I hate surprises, and I'm as dull as a brick sometimes. I had hoped my decision to live in Ireland until I could figure out what to do with my life would make me live life a little more wildly. After all, it was a big deal to move here away from the security of my family.
At least my decision to move to Ireland was made spontaneously, so that should count for something. It was probably the only spontaneous thing I've ever done in my life.
And a new life is exactly what I need.
I've been living in Dublin now for three weeks and for the time being, I'm waitressing at my Uncle Keefe's restaurant and pub, The Hibernian. It's a wonderful place with over fifteen thousand square feet of dark mahogany floors boasting four separate bar areas, quiet nooks where you can sip on a pint to relax, and there's even a large stage in the back where some of Europe's best bands play. The Hibernian is practically a landmark that sits in the middle of Temple Bar just off the River Liffey and is a popular local and tourist hangout. Uncle Keefe has owned it for almost twenty years now and he makes a damn good living from it. He never even hesitated when I asked if I could work here. He just said, "Of course, ye can, lass," and before you know it, I had a new job.
Making sure my apron is stocked with a few pens and an order pad, I step back underneath the service flap.
"Do you want me working Section One again tonight, Uncle Keefe?"
"Sure enough and that's a good girl. There's a private party in the back and I might need you to help with that later."
"Gotcha."
I wasn't looking forward to helping with the private party. The few I'd worked so far were nothing but a bunch of drunks trying to cop a feel when I'd walk by, which is extremely annoying while trying to balance several pints on a serving tray.
Still, I was generally enjoying my work here. The people were usually very friendly and Uncle Keefe ran his business like a well-oiled machine. Which meant I never had any problem getting the drinks or food orders to the proper tables on time, which made for happy customers. When I was a flight attendant for Delta, it seemed I never had a flight where by at least one passenger didn't get extremely pissed off over something.
Of course, just the mere thought of my job with Delta has my good mood plummeting. My face still burns with shame and rage when I think of the circumstances of my dismissal. It was a situation that was wholly unfair to me--completely not my fault--and yet here I am... without my job as a flight attendant and hiding out in Ireland because of my mortification.
Mentally shaking my head so I can get back in the game, I try to think of all the things that are good in my life. I am currently living in a beautiful country, working in a job I am thoroughly enjoying--for the time being--and I am surrounded by loving family members. I really don't know what I would have done had Uncle Keefe not given me this job and welcomed me here with open arms.
Walking up to one of my tables, I give a warm smile to the family sitting there. A husband, wife, and two small children peruse a menu but look up as I approach.
"Hi. Welcome to The Hibernian. I'm Renner and I'll be serving you this evening. Can I get you some drinks to start?"
The husband looks at me in slight astonishment. "You're American?"
My smile turns brighter, always happy to meet up with a fellow Yank. "That's right. New Jersey.
How about you?"
He turns to smile at his wife and takes her hand. "We're from California. This is actually our delayed honeymoon so to speak. We couldn't afford to take one when we got married, so five years and two kids later, we're finally getting around to it."
"That's awesome. Better late than never, right?"
The wife laughs. "That's right. Kevin promised me Ireland years ago and here we are. How did you come to be here?"
There is no way I am going to tell this lovely family the entire tale of woes that befell me, so I keep it simple. "I'm just taking some time to find myself and decided Dublin was the place to do it. Luckily, my mom is originally from here and my Uncle Keefe owns this pub so he gave me a job."
"Dublin is a great city. We've really enjoyed our time here."
We chat for a few more minutes and then I take their drink orders. I suppress the giggle that tries to slip out of my mouth when the husband orders a Smithwick's and pronounces it incorrectly.
"Ah... yer a true Yank," I tell him, trying to impersonate my best Irish accent. "I went three days working here calling it Smithwick's before someone kindly filled me in that it's pronounced 'Smitt-icks'. My Uncle Keefe still teases me to this day.
The husband laughs with good nature. "Appreciate the heads up. Smitt-icks it is!"
Shooting the family a wink, I head off to fill their drink order. If the rest of the night goes like this first table, it's going to be a pleasant night indeed.
***
I bring change to a table of college students and give them a wave as they leave. My section is almost dead now, being as how Section One is at the front of the pub and where the less rowdy patrons tend to hang.
Heading toward the back, I track down Maureen to see if she needs help.
"Sure do," she sighs. "The party in the back doesn't show any signs of slowin' and I could use an extra pair of hands."
Helping her load up her tray and mine with drinks, we make our way back to the party. When we enter, it's wall-to-wall people and I have to do my best and most graceful maneuvering through the crowd as I follow Maureen in. It's noisy between the jukebox in the corner playing and the roar of over fifty drunken Irish laughing and telling stories.
We make our way to a back table where the largest crowd seems to be congregated. I smile as Maureen yells at them, "Move your bums or you'll not be gettin' your beer tonight."
Bodies shuffle out of the way, and one drunken fool actually falls on his ass. I give him a sympathetic smile and someone helps him to his feet.
Now that the way is paved clear to the table, I lower my tray and set it down on the edge, using my free hand to pull the pints off the tray and set them down. I don't bother looking at the partygoers and assume they'll take whichever beer is theirs.
Just as I remove the last glass, I hear, "Thanks for the beer, gorgeous."
That voice.
It couldn't be... not after all these years. Gentle Irish brogue, words coated in silky butter.
Could it be?
Slowly, I lift my eyes to the man who just spoke and I'm pinned by a set of chocolate irises staring at me. His hair is shorter, trimmed close on the sides but longer on the top and stylishly spiked in a dozen different directions. Two hoop piercings grace his bottom, left lip--resting side by side. He looks different, but the same. Slightly older, definitely more built, and still has eyes that are glittering with sensuality.
Cillian O'Bradaigh.
"You're welcome," I manage to squeak out and reach to pick up my tray.
His hand snakes out and wraps around my wrist. "Don't go yet, darlin'. Stay and have a drink with us."
My heart calms a bit with relief when I realize he doesn't seem to recognize me. My eyes flick to the woman sitting next to him. She has long, dark hair that flows down her back and her arms are covered in tattoos. She's got her body snuggled tight against him, with one arm lying possessively on his chest. She's glaring daggers at me, her gaze moving slowly down to where his hand is holding on to me.
"Um...I can't. I'm working, but enjoy your beer."
I try to pull my wrist out of his grip but he's not letting go. He leans forward in his seat, effectively dislodging the girl hanging on to him. Her look is positively livid and she crosses her arms against her chest in a huff.
Glancing back at Cillian, he's still staring at me with intensity. "Just one beer... surely you can spare some time."
Reaching down with my other hand, I peel his fingers off me. "I really can't but thank you for the invitation."
Something flashes in his eyes and I can tell he's not used to being told no. "Some other time then?"
I don't respond but take my tray and exit the room, my heart beating like mad again. I'm so glad he didn't recognize me because that would have been even more awkward.
Once I make it back to the safety of the front bar, I busy myself by helping to clean. I don't want Maureen asking me to help her back there again, so I pull out a broom and start the tedious task of sweeping the floors so the night janitor can mop.
I can't believe I ran into Cillian O'Bradaigh. I had thought about him plenty over the past five years, and usually at the most inopportune times. Like for example, when I lost my virginity to my college boyfriend, I wondered while he was making love to me if Cillian would do it the same way, or if it would be better. I guiltily had to banish those thoughts from my head, and worried myself silly for weeks that I was being "unfaithful" to my boyfriend because I thought of another man while we were intimate.
Cady had kept me updated on Cillian. Oh, not because she thought I harbored feelings for him, but because she had introduced me to him that one night, long ago, and thought I'd be interested in his progress.
Well, progress is sort of an understatement.
Apparently, not long after I left, Uncle Keefe started letting his band play at The Hibernian one night a week. Having heard Cillian's music, it was no surprise to me that they developed a hugely popular, cult following. According to Cady, it wasn't long after that a music producer was handing his card to Cillian and asking for a demo.
I hate to admit, but outside of Cady's infrequent updates about Cillian's success, I had Googled him more than once. The year after I met him, OTE released a single that went to the top of the Irish billboards and that led them to playing at bigger venues. Soon, they were opening for major acts and I even saw that they had toured on the West coast of the United States last year. They still hadn't made it onto the American charts, but from what I had read, they were hugely famous throughout the European Union.
I wasn't surprised he didn't recognize me. Let's face it... I was a blip on the radar for him, a young girl, not yet eighteen, that he had spent a few hours with one night five years ago. There's no reason I would have stood out, and frankly, I'd rather sort of forget that time. I've grown up and moved on.
Nope... nothing about Cillian O'Bradaigh interests me in the slightest because he is so not my type. Everyone knows that Renner Caldwell is responsible. She arrives to work early, pays her bills five days before they are due, and she never, ever would get involved with a musician. That is way too risky, far too wild, and didn't fit in with her ideals as to what made up the perfect relationship.
Walking up to the bar, I pull the tips out of my apron and start counting. Tips here are decent, even though it's standard not to tip more than ten percent in Europe. That's because our base wage is far better than what you get paid in the States. But we get so many American tourists in here and they tend to tip a little better so I actually make some pretty good money. At least it's enough to rent a tiny apartment and pay my bills without having to dip into my savings.
Just as I count out the last Euro, a voice says from behind me, "So what's a pretty American doing working at The Hibernian?"
Spinning around, I find Cillian standing right behind me. His hands are tucked into his back pockets and he's standing casually, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. But despite his casual slouch, his ey
es are full of potency. It makes me uneasy.
"Oh, just trying out something new." I try to sound breezy and completely unaffected by his presence, but I'm sure he can hear the quake in my voice.
He steps closer and I have nowhere to move, as my back is resting up against the bar. Taking his hand, he drags his knuckles down the side of my bare arm, a move that makes me break out in almost catastrophic shivers. His gaze is on his own hand as it trails down my arm and he has an almost dreamy look on his face. When his knuckles reach the end of my fingertips, his hand falls away and he looks back up at me. "Would you like to have a drink with me tonight? I take it you're off duty now."
My heart is slamming inside of my chest and I can still feel his touch on my arm. "Um... no, thank you. I'm tired and need to get home."
He takes another step toward me and there's only a few inches separating our bodies now. "How about I walk you home, then?"
His voice lays over me like warm chocolate and I literally have to restrain my body from leaning into him. He is annoyingly magnetic and it doesn't help that I know the magic of what his lips can do to a woman.
"No, thank you." Sliding my body two steps to the left, I remove myself from his overwhelming closeness and walk back behind the bar. Removing my apron, I throw it underneath and glance at him. He's watching me with slyness as he leans over and places his forearms on the bar.
"Don't ya know who I am, darlin'? I don't offer a walk home to many ladies." The look on his face tells me that he's probably never been turned down before, and I can also tell he doesn't really expect me to turn him down now. He has confidence written all over his face.
Something about his smug attitude rubs me the wrong way, and the memory of him kissing that other girl five years ago flits through my mind. It makes me remember that Cillian isn't the type of man you take seriously. He's only looking for one thing and if he thinks his rock-star status impresses me, he has another thing coming.
I can't help myself when I snap, "Of course I know who you are, Cillian O'Bradaigh, but your name doesn't impress me much. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going home... by myself." That last bit was just in case he wasn't clear in my distaste of him.