House Calls: Callaghan Brothers, Book 3 (2 page)

“All I have to do is dance?”

“I swear it, no funny business.  These guys are first-class.”

Five hundred bucks plus tips.  Total anonymity.  Dancing.  An illicit thrill went through her at the thought of doing something so brazen, so naughty, so un-Maggie like.  “Alright.”

“Yes?” 

“Yes.” 

Sherri bounced up and down and almost knocked Maggie over with her fierce embrace.  “You’re not going to regret this, Mags.”

Maggie wished she could be as certain.

J
ake’s Irish Pub was closed to the general public.  Those allowed in were by invitation only in honor of Ian’s upcoming wedding, and consisted of family and a few close friends. 

“Oh.  My.  God.”  Sherri stared slack-jawed at Maggie, seeing her for the first time in full regalia.  She was dressed the part in layers upon layers of thin veils and silk, bedecked by rings and bracelets, her unique green eyes outlined in black kohl beneath the mask, her dark ruby hair cascading freely . 

“Honey, it’s a good thing Crystal’s not here, because if she saw the way you fill out her costume she’d hang up her veils for good.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You look amazing,” Sherri said, shaking her head in disbelief.  “I can’t believe you are the same woman who spent half the morning horking cookies!  How can you eat that much and have a body like that?  I don’t think I like you anymore.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, but refrained from an acerbic retort when there was a soft knock on the door.  Sherri opened it, allowing one of the largest men Maggie had ever seen to slip into the room with them.  She swallowed audibly as her face lifted up... and up.

“Hey, Sherri, you look stunning as always.  We’re ready when you are,” he said with a smile that could have powered half the state for a month.  Then he seemed to notice Maggie, who had instinctively taken a step backwards toward the corner.  His smile faltered for a moment.

“You’re not Crystal.”

Maggie couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to.  Clearly this was one of the infamous Callaghans.  Sherri hadn’t been exaggerating when she described them as forces of nature.  If anything, she hadn’t done them justice.  Thankfully, Sherri was not quite as stricken and managed a coherent, even amused, response.

“Crystal broke her leg.  This is my friend Maggie, and she’s filling in tonight.”

The man’s eyes were hypnotic as they regarded her.  Maggie had never seen that color blue before.  His devastating smile returned, slowly.  The wider his grin, the faster her heart beat in her chest.  What the hell had she been thinking, believing she had the courage to go through with something like this?

“Nice to meet you, Maggie,” he said smoothly.  “My name is Jake, and this is my place.  You need anything, you let one of us know, okay?”

Maggie somehow managed a nod.  It only made his grin wider.  “I like her,” he said to Sherri with a wink.  “She’s less verbally abusive than Crystal.”

Sherri laughed.  “That she is.  But this is her first time, so go easy on her, ‘k?” 

“Mmm.  A sacrificial virgin.  Been a while since we’ve had one of those.”  His blue eyes glittered like finely cut sapphires.  Or aquamarines.  Or both.

“Play nice, Jake.  I promised her you’d behave.”

He chuckled.  “Sorry, Maggie, couldn’t resist.”  He winked and turned back to Sherri.  “We’ll be good, Sher.  Taryn will totally kick my ass otherwise.” 

Maggie had a hard time imagining anyone kicking his ass.  Even under the blue button down and jeans – the standard uniform of the Pub staff – he looked like he might have been carved from solid marble.

“I’ll be out in just a sec, Jake,” Sherri said, handing him a CD.  “Get this loaded, will you?”

“You got it.”  Then he was gone, and Maggie released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Relax, girlfriend,” Sherri laughed.  “Jake’s married and a daddy. And insanely in love with his wife, by the way.  Lucky bitch.”

“Are they all like that?”

“Yep, pretty much.”

“Shit.”

Sherri laughed.  “Yeah.  Come on.  Sit at the bar and have a drink.  It’ll loosen you up.  I’ll go on first.”

Minutes later, Maggie found herself in the shadows of the bar as the lights dimmed and the music began.  Sherri appeared on the small raised platform, looking dazzling as always.  Maggie fidgeted nervously, fighting the sudden urge to throw up, or pass out, or both.

“A little nervous?” the bartender asked, startling her enough that her rear-end left the bar stool entirely for a moment or two.  He was huge, just like the other guy, but a bit leaner maybe.  And gorgeous.  All hard, masculine features over a clean-shaven face.  Sinfully long, dark lashes that had no business on a face that stunningly male.   Dark hair that captured the lights and made them dance in it.  Blue eyes deeper than the ocean.  Maggie could only nod, afraid that anything that came out of her mouth at this point would be utter nonsense.

“Don’t worry, we don’t bite.  Sherri thought you might like one of these.”  He placed a drink in front of her, his eyes dancing with amusement.

Maggie eyed the glass uncertainly.  She’d already had a few shots of what remained of her grandfather’s Irish whiskey before she left the house, just to get herself out the door and into Sherri’s car.  Not being much of a drinker, she was not particularly adept at holding her liquor, but she figured her supercharged case of the jitters was probably burning off the alcohol before it could fully absorb into her bloodstream.  She glanced back to the stage where Sherri was seductively removing the ankle-length trench coat she wore, and decided that she definitely needed more alcohol if she was going to pull this off.

With trembling fingers, she lifted the glass and tipped it into her mouth as she’d seen her grandfather do.  Whatever it was, it burned like crazy but went down smooth.  Much more so than the cheap stuff she had at home.  She coughed a bit as her eyes started watering. 

“Thanks,” she rasped out in a choked voice. 

The bartender laughed.  It was a rich, deep sound that made her feel all warm inside.  Or maybe that was the bourbon.  She curved her index and middle fingers toward her, indicating that she wanted another.  He smiled, and she couldn’t help thinking how beautiful that smile was. 

Clearly the alcohol was playing tricks with her, because she’d never been quite so stricken simply by looking at a man before.  Now it had happened twice in one night. 

“I take it this isn’t your day job,” he said as he poured her another drink.

“It’s that obvious?” 

“It’s very subtle, really.  I doubt anyone else would notice.” 

He was being kind, but she appreciated it all the same.  Men typically weren’t all that kind to her, if they noticed her at all.  And why was he talking to her when he could be watching Sherri dance?

It took a moment for her to remember that tonight she wasn’t her usual, boring self.  Tonight she was a temptress, a seductress.  The veils and the mask were proof of that.  And that explained everything.  There was no way in hell a man like him would ever be talking to a woman like her otherwise.

The bartender folded his arms on the bar between them and leaned in close as if to share a confidence.  He smelled heavenly.  Feeling bold, Maggie took a deeper sniff.  She’d never smelled a man like that before.  She had the sudden strange desire to bury her face in his neck and take a little nibble, see if he tasted as good as he smelled. 

“You don’t have to dance if it makes you uncomfortable,” he said quietly.  “I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well.  They’ll understand.”

He was giving her an easy out.  The question was, should she take it?  Maggie looked uncertainly at Sherri dancing in front of the men.  She sure looked like she was having a good time.  What would it be like to feel that free, she wondered?  To move like that, like some wicked fantasy? 

They were hooting appreciatively, but not one of them tried to touch her.  Even when Sherri grew bold and slid into their laps, they were careful to keep their hands off of her.  No wonder she liked dancing for these guys.  And there was the strong allure of five hundred dollars cash in her pocket.

“Thanks,” she said, lowering her voice a little in an attempt to make it sound sexier.  At least she hoped it did.  She really had no experience with this sort of thing, but that’s what always happened in the movies. “But I promised my friend...”

He smiled again, and she couldn’t help but notice that one side of his mouth curved a little more than the other when he did so.  He had nice, full lips.  Maggie fixated on them for a few seconds as she felt the warmth of the bourbon coursing through her limbs, wondering what it would be like to be kissed by lips like that.  No doubt she’d find out when she drifted off to sleep that night, because she was pretty sure this hot tender would have the starring role in her dreams.

“Taking one for the team, huh?”

She giggled, surprising herself.  This guy really made her feel at ease, which was strange, because people – especially men of godlike beauty – tended to have the exact opposite effect.  But, she supposed, that was one of the things that distinguished a mediocre bartender from a great one – the ability to put people at ease.  And this guy was definitely
good
. 

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Ah, then I think you’d best get ready,” he said, glancing up to where Sherri’s performance was coming to an end.  “Because it looks like you’re up.”

A brief moment of panic shot through her at his words.  She took the shot glass he offered, brushing his fingertips in the process, and tossed it back in one shot.  His eyes glinted with surprised amusement, his deep chuckle lending her courage.

“That I am.”  She winked at him, feeling a bit wicked as she let the feel of the hard, pounding bass reverberate through her body.  Touching the mask to make sure it was in place, she walked carefully toward the back, letting her hips sway just a bit, praying she would not trip over her own feet.

As it turned out, it wasn’t nearly as hard as she thought it would be.  With a bit of liquid courage and the anonymity of the mask, she let her body respond to the music.  The cheers and catcalls died away as the men watched, transfixed, as she moved before them.  Her muscle control and isolation were excellent, the result of more than a dozen years of dance and yoga.  She spun around them, teasing them with veils, jingling the trinkets that dangled from her hips, and encircled her ankles and upper arms.  Her natural, ruby colored hair hung loose, moving with her body; her emerald eyes, outlined in a smoky black, sparkled through the openings of the mask.  Tonight she wasn’t Maggie, jilted anti-social recluse; she was Magdalena, exotic male fantasy.

She lost herself in the music, in the lights, in their blatant appreciation.  For a little while, she allowed herself to become someone else, someone sexy and desirable, someone without worry or fear.  Before she knew it, she was on her last song.  With a deep-seated feeling of satisfaction, Maggie worked her way back up to the stage for her grand finale, her movements serpentine and hypnotic. 

Her heart pounded in excitement, her mind and heart freer than it had been in a very long time.  She felt wonderful as she gave her final bow to their appreciative applause, her steps light as she walked out of sight.  Sherri was already taking her place back on stage, the music transitioning into something hard and sexy.

Maggie felt like her body was filled with light.  Dancing in front of those men had been one of the most exhilarating – and terrifying - things she’d ever done.  She had let herself go, mind, body and spirit, freed by her costume and mask, and they had been enraptured.  It was a feeling she would remember for a long time.  And if Sherri asked her to do this again, she realized, she probably would.

At least until her mask shifted and she stepped off the back of the stage.  Then the trance was broken and she tumbled down, all grace forgotten as she landed face-first against one of the small bar tables pushed back there in storage.

Lights exploded behind her eyes with the impact.  Her body followed behind, crumpling unnaturally as she rolled off the corner and hit the floor with a resounding thud.  As if from far away she heard deep rumbling applause.  Or maybe it was thunder. 

Thunder was good, she decided, her head swimming deliriously.  Maybe it would bring with it cool rain to ease some of the white-hot pain across her face.

She cried out when someone tried to turn her over, the sound not unlike the keen of a wounded animal.  Instinctively she curled herself into a ball to make a smaller target, though for the life of her she couldn’t fathom why someone was trying to hurt her. 

The music was still playing, the vibrations of the bass were hammering into her head like a sledgehammer.  Someone was talking, but it sounded muffled, wrong.  A bright light shone in her eyes and she tried to bat it away.  Then she had the feeling of movement, right before the blackness claimed her.

M
ichael was enthralled, unable to take his eyes off the woman.  He was quite sure they hadn’t met before; he definitely would have remembered the exotic-looking redhead.  She hadn’t even noticed him behind the bar, which gave him a chance to study her.  Not old, but she was no kid.  A full, lush figure.  And totally out of her element – she looked scared stiff. 

And then she’d spoken, and he knew he had been right.  Her voice was soft and gentle, completely at odds with the lusty harem girl costume.

All traces of uncertainty vanished, though, when she took the floor.  There was no hesitation in her movements, just sensual, hypnotic beauty.  He barely moved during her entire performance, unwilling to turn away even for a moment. 

“Her name is Maggie,” Sherri said, when she joined him at the bar.  Michael’s rapt attention hadn’t escaped her.  “Maggie Flynn.”

“She’s incredible.”

“Yeah, she is, isn’t she?” Sherri said thoughtfully as Maggie worked her way around the room.  “This will be good for her,” she mused. 

“Yeah, why’s that?”