Off Course

  "Because I don't want to leave you alone, Renner. You're under my skin, and it's an itch I mean to scratch."

  Renner surprises me when she sits down across the table from me. "Look, Cillian. I don't understand why you're pursuing me. There's plenty of other women out there. You certainly had no problem finding someone else to kiss after me five years ago, I'm sure you can do it again."

  Bells go off in my head. "You saw me kissing someone else after I kissed you, did you? And you're mad about it."

  She scoffs at me. "Of course, I'm not mad about that. I barely remember your kiss."

  "Then why bring it up at all?"

  "Because I'm trying to make the point that there's nothing special about me. Move on."

  I lean forward across the table. "Aaaahhh. But there is something special about you, Renner. Five years ago, you told me no. No girl had ever done that before, nor since. It sort of makes you stand out."

  Her eyes narrow at me. "Shouldn't this be the part where you tell me that kissing that other girl didn't mean anything, that I was the only one on your mind the entire time?"

  My insides squirm a bit because it's truth time and I hope it doesn't hurt too much when I lay it on her. "Renner...I was nineteen years old then. I was young, stupid and perpetually horny. I'd be lying to you if I told you I hesitated before moving on to that girl. But hold these words as true...I've thought about you plenty over the years, and you're all that's on my mind now."

  Her face goes a little pale at my admission and I'm sure I've harmed my own cause by telling her that. I expect her to get up from the table and storm off. Instead, she takes a deep breath and looks at me with such seriousness, my breath catches. "Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I'd be more than happy to be your friend, but that's all it will be. I'm just not interested in you in any other way."

  I lean forward a bit closer, my face just as serious. "And I'm not interested in being your friend. You have Cady for that. No... I want something a bit different from you. And don't expect me to stop trying to get it."

  She sighs and stands back up. "Whatever. I'm done trying to talk sense into you."

  "Good. Because it's an absolute waste of your time to try to deter me. So, I'm ready to go whenever you are. And I'll see you home, safe and sound."

  She wavers just a minute, and I can see that she's probably trying to come up with a really good curse to let loose. Then she deflates and turns away, stomping off to grab her purse from behind the bar.

  CHAPTER 5

  Renner

  This is the fourth night in a row that Cillian has come in to eat dinner at The Hibernian. He always sits in my section and nurses a few beers. He eats his meal and either types on his laptop or scratches stuff on a pad of paper. Whatever he's writing, he gets very involved and has no clue what's going on around him.

  Sometimes he'll peek up and look around the pub. His wandering gaze will stop when he finds me and makes eye contact. Then he'll give me a sly grin... sometimes a wink ...and go back to working.

  And it bugs the shit out of me that I know all this because I find myself staring at him all too much. For instance... like right now.

  He looks incredibly hot tonight, wearing nothing more than jeans and a dark gray t-shirt that molds well to his chest and upper arms. He has a beanie on his head covering most of his hair, except for some thick locks than hang down over his forehead. And I'm not sure if it's weird or not, but I find it incredibly sexy that he's wearing wire-rimmed glasses tonight. I've noticed him take them off a few times and rub the bridge of his nose. This caused me to notice more details about the tattoos he has on the inside of each wrist. One says "Love" and the other says "Hope" and he has his band's logo inked on his left forearm.

  Shamefully, I've apparently watched him enough to know that he has a habit of tapping the end of his pen on his side-by-side lip rings when he's concentrating.

  Yes, I stare at him a lot.

  For the last three nights, Cillian has walked me home and I hate to admit it but he's wearing me down. That first night, I didn't say a word to him. He tried to engage me, but I refused to answer any of his questions. So he just started talking and I had no choice but to listen for the fifteen minutes him to walk me to my apartment.

  I learned all about his band it was actually interesting stuff. He met his drummer and best friend, Sean Lundie, while they were both attending The Royal Academy of Music in London. Surprised would not even describe the emotion I was feeling when Cillian told me he was there on a scholarship, but I refused to budge and ask him more about it. He motored on with his one-sided conversation, telling me that he and Sean dropped out before completing their first year and formed OTE. They picked up their keyboardist, Daniel Paden, and bassist, Maeve Mullowney, after holding open auditions at The Hibernian one night.

  Cillian had just started to tell me about their rise to success when we reached my apartment door. I hate to admit it, but I wanted to hear more because, regardless of whether or not I wanted to get involved with Cillian, I did find him fascinating. Instead, he just watched me patiently as I unlocked my door. I didn't look at him as I stepped inside and heard him murmur, "Good night, cailin alainn," before shutting the door on him.

  The next night when he walked me home, I couldn't help but ask why he dropped out of The Royal Academy of Music. I had been thinking about it all day, particularly because I had always thought about dropping out of college on more than one occasion but never had the guts to do it. And even more perplexing to me, was that The Royal Academy was prestigious... I mean, world-renowned. I know this because I Googled it. I wanted to understand why he would leave that behind.

  He merely shrugged his shoulders. "It just wasn't for me. I wanted to be a musician but didn't want the formal education. I was anxious to start a good band because I felt that I had the talent to make it without getting a degree."

  "But aren't your parents upset?"

  "Hardly. They're dead." His voice was low and flat.

  That surprised me so much that I had stopped walking. Cillian stopped too, turning to look at me with curiosity.

  "I'm so sorry," I said.

  "Don't be," he growled. "It has nothing to do with you." His voice was brittle and his normally warm and expressive eyes held a shade of frost. Still, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

  "No. It doesn't have anything to do with me, but it doesn't mean I can't feel sympathy for you."

  He sighed and I was relieved when the warmth returned to his expression. "You're right and I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's just not something I like to talk about."

  "I get that. We all have things we don't like to talk about."

  We started walking again and he looked over at me. "So what are some things you don't like to talk about?"

  I just shot him an exasperated look, and didn't bother to respond. We were just barely starting to converse, so there was no way I was sharing my secrets with him.

  The third night he walked me home, he got me to open up just a bit. He asked me questions that were harmless and benign, and because I was starting to get tired of the silent treatment game, I went ahead and humored him with some background info on my family. He got me to tell him about where I grew up and about my time at college. Luckily, we reached my apartment before I figured out how to gloss over my Delta fiasco should he ask, and I was shutting the door on him as he murmured again, "Good night, cailin alainn."

  Tonight, I can't help but be hyper-aware of Cillian as he works studiously on his computer. He's interrupted a few times by some female fans that ask him for his autograph. As always, he's warm and gracious, but he makes quick work of sending them on their way, never even noticing the longing glances he gets from them. I'm sure over the years he's had his share of adoring women to choose from--a thought that makes me feel strangely displaced.

  I start clearing off a table, trying to banish Cillian from my thoughts, when my phone buzzes in the pocket of my apron, indicating a text. No one except for Cady
or Teagan really texts me, and they never bother me at work. I decide to check it because I want to make sure it's not someone from home with an urgent matter.

  Pulling my iPhone out, I glance at the text and my heart literally stops in my chest.

  It's from Cormac.

  I miss you. I've wanted to contact you for a few weeks but didn't know how. I would really like to see you and I know you're in Dublin. To apologize. To see if we still have something together. I can explain more, but seeing you in person would help. Please call me. I do love you.

  I read the text one more time and my heart starts thumping madly in my chest. The man I thought I loved... the man who destroyed my reputation is contacting me, and I'm not sure how to feel about it. And how in the hell does he know I'm in Dublin?

  I realize my hands are shaking as I turn the phone off and slide it back into my apron. Glancing at my watch, I see I'm overdue for a break. With a short word to Keefe that I'll be outside for a few minutes, I feel like I practically stumble out the front door. Walking along the edge of the brick building, I find a quiet spot, lean back against it, and close my eyes.

  Cormac's image comes to mind. His black hair and deep blue eyes. The way he would smile at me first thing in the morning on those nights we stayed together. Or the knowing look that would pass between us when he would first step onto the plane.

  We had to be careful because Delta frowned upon relationships between pilots and flight attendants. We knew it was wrong but we were powerless to stop the attraction. And there was that part of me that liked the danger... the risk... the naughtiness of breaking the rules for the first time in my life.

  I had no regrets. I loved Cormac and I believed he loved me. We even talked about me quitting Delta so that we could be open in our relationship, but he wanted me to get at least a full year under my belt before we did that. He wanted to make sure I had good experience on my resume should I want to work for another airline.

  I simply wasn't prepared for my world to come crashing down on me in the blink of an eye. Within a matter of days, I found out the man I loved had been lying to me and I had been forced out of a job under the most shameful of circumstances. The black mark against me would follow me forever.

  Just thinking about it made the tears well up under my closed lids and I rubbed the back of my hand over my eyes to dispel them.

  "Renner... are you okay?"

  My eyes fly open and Cillian is standing before me, his backpack slung over his shoulder. Worry and concern are etched on his face. His hand reaches up and catches a stray tear that slides down my cheek.

  Embarrassed he caught me in this vulnerable state, I turn my face away and mutter, "Sure. Yes. I'm fine."

  "But you're crying," he points out.

  "I'm hormonal... PMS and all that."

  Taking my face with both of his hands, he forces my eyes to his. "Try again."

  My gaze is unflinching when I tell him, "It's nothing I want to talk about. You remember what it's like not to want to talk about something, right?"

  He drops his hands and takes a step back, shoving his hands in his pocket. "Fair enough. I just came out to tell you that something's come up and I have to go, so I won't be able to walk you home tonight."

  "That's okay. I don't need you to walk me home anyway." That statement is absolutely true but why did I have a sinking feeling in my stomach when Cillian told me I was on my own for the evening walk home? Why would that even bother me when he holds nothing more than a passing interest...in his music, that is?

  Okay, I'm lying. I've been thinking about him more and more the last few days, and apparently I had been looking forward to him walking me home tonight, otherwise I wouldn't be feeling disappointed that he's not. And that is just not something that is acceptable to me. I do not want to have feelings for him, or anyone for that matter. I'm still trying to sort out the bruised and battered feelings I have left from my fiasco with Cormac.

  Bolstering myself and needing to say the words out loud so I accept them as true in my own mind, I harden my voice and say, "Cillian... let's just cut this farce off. I don't want you walking me home anymore and I don't want you trying to get to know me. I have absolutely no interest in you."

  For good measure, I put on my most ferocious glare.

  And what does the bastard do? He smirks at me.

  Dropping his backpack to the ground, he steps forward. He then takes his hands and slaps them against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in. My body immediately goes still, keenly aware of how close he is. "Now that's just a fib, Renner. You have plenty of interest in me. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you've been staring at me the last few nights. I can see the interest in your eyes. I can read it in your body. In fact, I bet if I leaned in to kiss you right now, your eyes would glaze over just a bit and your lips would part open, ready for me to taste you. Shall I prove it?"

  Somewhere in that crazy, sexy speech of his, my insides start squirming and my body flushes hot. I let my breath out slowly, so I wouldn't inadvertently moan over his words and give myself away.

  God help me, but I want him to kiss me.

  Instead, I whisper, "There's nothing to prove."

  His gaze leaves my eyes and wanders down to my lips. His tongue flicks out over his lip rings, wetting them slightly. He doesn't look back up into my eyes when he growls, "Oh, there's something to prove, Ren. And I will."

  The timber of his voice is hypnotic. The intent is carnal and possessive. It overwhelms my senses and causes my common sense to fade into nothingness.

  My head is spinning and my troubles with Cormac are forgotten as he just stares at my mouth. I hold absolutely still, waiting for him to lean in further to kiss me.

  But his head doesn't move. Instead, he moves in one step closer, bringing our bodies flush. The heat is searing and electric, and my knees almost buckle when I can feel his hardness against my belly. I've never had a man so overtly attracted to me before, and it makes me feel powerful and hungry to find out more.

  Although our bodies are pressed together, he still just stares at my mouth. A tiny sigh escapes my lips and I breathlessly ask, "What are you waiting for?"

  His breath is warm against my face and he smells of Guinness and mint. He drags his gaze up and his eyes are molten when they make contact with mine. "I'm waiting for you to fucking demand it of me. I don't want you to ask, and I sure as hell don't want you to beg. I want you to fucking demand that I kiss you."

  Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

  No man has ever spoken that way to me and I'm dismayed that his words are a complete turn on. The proud, independent woman in me wants to be affronted, but the shaking mass of sexual nerves wants me to submit.

  Then I do something that is totally against my nature. I decide to push good, old responsible Renner Caldwell into the closet--at least for tonight--because I really want to see where this goes. I want to know what I might have been missing. And I want to push Cormac all the way out of my thoughts.

  I push my hips forward against him, taking feminine pride when he sucks in his breath from the contact. "Kiss me. Now."

  There is no hesitation from Cillian. Just a low rumble of thanks in his chest and his mouth plows into mine. I feel the first, cold bite of his ring piercings digging into my lips, and the slight pain is erotic. He pushes my mouth open with his and his tongue slides in slowly, exploring my mouth. I can feel the ball of his piercing gently massage me, sometimes clacking against the inside of my teeth. Cillian's hands come off the wall and gently encircle my throat, his thumbs supporting my chin to hold me in place. I place my hands on his hips, just above his belt, and dig my fingers inside his waistband just a fraction.

  He plunders and possesses my mouth. He makes it his own. I may have demanded he kiss me, but make no mistake, he's the one that's in charge right now. I find it thrilling and naughty, and it reminds me of the way I felt five years ago when I was a young girl on the verge of turning into a woman.

  Cillia
n's kiss doesn't last long. It's hard and hot, and filled with the promise that he has only shown me a small part of what he has to offer. He pulls away, feathering a last, light kiss over my lips. I notice his rings are no longer cold but have been warmed by the friction of our mouths together. He then places a kiss on my forehead and my eyes flutter at the soft touch.

  "I have to get going." His eyes are no less hot, and he's still hard as a rock pressed up against me. He looks frustrated to be leaving me and sighs as he steps away.

  I just nod my head because I don't feel the need to say anything.

  Besides, I'm afraid the power of speech will never measure up to the quality of the actions we just took.

  CHAPTER 6

  Cillian

  Fuck, what a night.

  I glance around at the drab waiting room and check my watch again.

  3:32 a.m. and I'm still waiting on the doctor to update me.

  I had left Renner just a few hours ago, her face flushed, her lips swollen, and my dick hard as a rock. But I couldn't follow through with anything more than that fucking fantastic kiss because something more important had come up.

  Yes, something that shouldn't be more important but unfortunately in my fucked-up world, it was.

  I had been having a great night at The Hibernian. I was composing some awesome music when I got a call from Maeve. I hesitated before answering, honestly not wanting to deal with her. I was having far too much fun watching Renner covertly trying to watch me.

  Instead, I answered it and the nightmare began. She was drunk... I mean really drunk. She was rambling about how much she missed me, and that she wanted to give us another chance.

  I cut her off and told her this had to stop. I knew when I said those words that she wouldn't even remember them the next day, and it frustrated me to no end. I decided to end the call and deal with her later--when she said something that made my heart sink.

  "I just took a whole bottle of sleeping pills, Cillian."

  "Tell me you're lyin', Maeve."

  Please tell me you're lying.

  She giggled, then with slurred words, she said, "Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Only way to find out is to come see for yourself."