Page 27 of An Angel's Share
The dinner is quiet, hardly any chatter at the large mahogany table. The tinkle of ice in glasses accompanies the scraping of cutlery on porcelain plates. The ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous' to the waiting staff the only discourse. Even Maggie, who is dressed to kill in a long, black, curve-hugging dress, can’t force any conversation out of Marshall. She picked the wrong night to go all out.
Liam stands to usher Aoife out to a room with more comfortable chairs, and I have to grip my chair seat to stop myself going over and ripping his hands off her back. Marshall checks out my hands, his eyes widening as my knuckles are white. Aoife twists her back a little as if to throw off his hand and I grin a little. It helps break the tension for me. Yeah, his days are numbered.
Mae catches the gesture and sucks in a breath. She knows Liam is skating on the thinnest of ice. She makes a beeline for Liam and engages him in quiet conversation for most of the night, their heads together, plotting.
“I’m going to call it a night, Daddy. I’m tired and I’ve got another busy day tomorrow,” Aoife states to the room at large.
“More prep for the meeting?” puts in Patrick.
I smile as Aoife rolls her eyes. “It is, Patrick. I need to be prepared and ready. It’s so important forO’Clerys.”Her voice is quiet but certain.
“I don’t think you’re in a fit state to keep going at this rate. This meeting isn’t more important than your health.” Mae sticks her oar in and I realise how desperate she really is to keep her daughter out of the business. “Why don’t you let Liam take over for this one. He’s always fully prepared. He’ll be just as good as you. I mean, you’ve been really tired of late. I’m worried you’re overdoing it.”
Liam’s eyes light up, followed by Patricks. None of themhave a clue about what is happening. Or if they do, they seem determined to ignore it.
None of them want her at this meeting. My radar is buzzing around these two, but they appear so stupid, surely it can’t be them. This scam is huge. Millions of euros, dollars, pounds, all wandered off to an anonymous home. No, it has to be someone more shady, clever.
But then, I suppose, who was there to stop them? Seamus was ill; Dermot, their father; Marshall, preoccupied in England. Conor and Aoife were both away, fully invested in their schooling. Mae? Not interested. A perfect storm of disinterest and apathy, leaving a vacuum for liars and thieves to flourish.
“I’m good, Mammy.” Her voice rings true and clear, and my body fires to life, answering the call in that voice. Okay, now I’m listening. “I’ve got to be in a fit state, otherwise you can all kiss this house goodbye.”
Mae sucks in an even bigger breath, Patrick gasps out, and Liam starts to laugh.
“Melodramatic much,” he states, the dickhead fiancé.
“No, not really, Liam. Accurate, I think. Especially after looking over the accounts. But we’ll leave it there and deal with it all in the boardroom, as it should be.”
She ignores any additional protest he might attempt and goes over to kiss Seamus and then Marshall good night.
She comes over to me and I pick up her scent, pumping out at me. My heart rate picks up like a crushing schoolboy.
“Night, Jonno. Sweet dreams,” she murmurs, and I close my eyes as her lips brush my cheek.
Fucking hell. Who’d have thought a peck on the cheek would get me so hot and bothered? I’m well and truly fucked.
12
Aoife
My nights are restless,dreams and worries intermingling. I wake up unrefreshed every morning. Sitting up in bed, I can’t stop thinking about the upcoming board meeting. How the cull I’m planning is going to go down. The structure of the meeting is important. Am I really going to do this? Dictate my terms from the off in that boardroom. Can I? But I know I must. There is no room for error or weakness. The stakes are too high.
I don’t go down to breakfast, but ask for a tray in my room. I don’t want to listen to the bullshit my family and all of the senior management team will be spreading. I also can no longer stand the fact that all our money is being shovelled down their throats. Every time an egg gets consumed, I’m adding up the bill. It’s exhausting.
I get the shock of my life when the knock at my door turns into the most beautiful brown-gold eyes staring down at me, holding my food.
I huff out an astonished laugh. “You didn’t have tobring it up. Someone else could have.” But I smile at him, glad he has bothered, as he places the tray down and goes to open the curtains. I’m drooling, and it’s the biggest competition ever. Hot croissants with melted butter or Jonno Greystone stretching his muscular torso, his abs on show. Oh, but butter on them, just think, licking that off.
I must make a noise—he probably heard my breath stutter in my throat—as he snaps his head my way, those chocolate-cookie eyes staring into mine. A hunter hearing its prey. God knows what he sees, but his face changes, and as he stalks back towards me in the bed, I can hear myself panting.
What the hell is wrong with me? It surely can’t be normal, this level of horniness.
“Do you like what you see?” God that velvety chocolate voice. I could dive in, and not come up for air. Chocolate croissants…
Oh God, give me the lot. I’ll take a chocolate stupor any day of the week if he’s involved.
He comes and stands next to the bed, pretending to straighten the bed clothes, but not touching my skin. It feels like a phantom touch. I watch intently, his long fingers moving with purpose. I can imagine them on my heated flesh.
I lift my eyes from his fingers to his incredible face. He’s grinning at me. The cheeky bastard knows what he’s doing. I know he knows what he’s doing, too. It’s written all over his debauched face.
