The Wicked Bad (Crimson Romance) (13 page)

Nick didn’t know what to say. He still wasn’t sure himself. He wanted to see her again — a light went on in his brain like someone flicked a switch.

“Listen, Lorcan. I’d like to see her again, but not alone, not now. I need to get a few things sorted. How about we arrange a double date? She has a friend that works with her in the bakery.”

“Bloody hell, mate. A fix-up? Do I look desperate?”

“Maybe you’d like to be with a woman who wasn’t a stripper for once,” Nick taunted good-naturedly.

“What does she look like?”

“Shit, I don’t know. I’ve never seen her. The woman can’t be that bad. Come on, this Saturday night. We’ll go out for drinks. A couple of hours.” Nick urged.

“You must have it bad, mate. Being alone with her sends you all aflutter? I want to meet this woman. All right, a couple of hours. But that’s it. No going off and leaving me alone with this bakery assistant, you follow?”

Nick laughed. “Sure, I follow. Her friend’s name is Julie. Do I have it bad? I’ve no damned idea. That’s why I need time to think, but I want to see her. Jesus, talk about confused.”

And he didn’t have any idea. He looked at the Irishman sitting across from him, grinning from ear to ear. Funny, as soon as Ronnie entered his life all of the sudden he had a friend. Something he never really had before. Did Ronnie unlock a part of his heart? Kick a hole in that protective fence? Obviously she did or Nick would’ve never let Lorcan get close.

• • •

Shortly after two in the morning, Ronan McCarthy stood out in the parking lot of The Chief. He stayed well out of sight. The bar had closed, he could see the big biker stacking chairs and collecting bottles.

Ronan parked his car around the corner. A cold, stinging rain fell, the type that chills to the bone, but Ronan felt none of it. He had ice water in his veins anyway. He’d not forgotten Nick Crocetti, he was in his book. His book of revenge he had since he was a kid. Anyone mess with him or insult him,
in the book.
When he found his revenge he stroked the name out.

What surprised him was the fact his bloody cousin started hanging out at this bar. He watched as Lorcan left at closing, laughing and talking with the biker at the door. What the feck was going on there? His cousin better not get between him and his plans.

What to do? Setting the place on fire seemed an option. Take away his feckin’ source of income and his home all in one fell swoop. Kill the shite? No, that was too harsh for the insult given, though murder had been tempting the night of their confrontation. It was not like he hadn’t done it before.

Ronan had his own twisted sense of personal justice and Crocetti’s insult did not warrant killing despite his initial reaction. He watched Crocetti stack chairs. The place was closed now.
Big bloody bastard.
Hand to hand combat was out, that bruiser would win.

Burning the place looked more of an option. The plan required a good deal of thought. He wasn’t an arsonist by trade so he would do have to do a little research.

Revenge he would get, no worries there. Then he would strike out his name. No one talked to him the way Crocetti did. No one.

• • •

After ten in the morning as was now the ritual, Veronica brought out two steaming mugs of tea for her and Julie. This morning they were having Twinning’s Irish Breakfast Tea. Seemed appropriate for what she had to relay to her friend. Getting comfortable on the stool, Veronica pushed the plate of plain tea biscuits to the middle of the counter.

Julie shook her head. “No, I’d better not.”

“There are hardly any calories in them. Take two of them to dunk in your tea. I promise I’ll not tempt you with anything else.”

Julie laughed. “Okay. You twisted my arm. It’s better than those sinful peanut butter cookies and yes, I confess, I had one the other day. They are to die for.”

“That’s my mother’s recipe. Never fails. Julie, Nick called.”

“Finally, took him four or five days. He’s not going to make this easy, is he?”

Veronica took a bite of the tea biscuit. “No, he isn’t. He’s asked if you and I would go out with him and a friend.”

“The Terminator has a friend? Sorry.” She grinned sheepishly.

“I’m surprised as you are. Nick never said a word, must be recent. Anyway, drinks this Saturday night. What do you say?”

Julie looked down into her mug of tea as if it would give her magical insight or answers.

“I don’t think so. I haven’t been on a date in three years. I’m rusty as hell. A guy I’ve never seen before?”

“I asked Nick about him. He’s Irish and his name is Lorcan Byrne, he’s right off the plane from Dublin, accent and everything. Said he’s almost as tall as him, at least an inch or so over six feet.”

“Well, at least he’s not a leprechaun,” Julie murmured. “I hate to ask this, but what about his looks?”

“Well, I didn’t want to ask and Nick never really said. You know men. He would’ve been useless describing him. He’s thirty, Irish, or did I mention that? Even I’m intrigued. The accent alone would have me interested,” Veronica teased.

• • •

Julie didn’t like it. She never liked blind dates, or fix-ups, or whatever. She always had been hurt in the past. Back to when she was a teenager and fat. Even now with her new figure the feeling never went away, that sense of inadequacy. Her body was decent and almost as curvy as Ronnie’s, though she stood a couple of inches taller. If only she had Ronnie’s beauty.

But she didn’t, she would have to make do
. Irish.
No chance he’d be Daniel Day-Lewis in
Last of the Mohicans
? Irish boy probably was tall, skinny, red haired, and freckled with an Adam’s apple that bobbed like a top every time he drew breath. No doubt looked like the cartoon guy from the Lucky Charms cereal commercials. She glanced at her friend.

“Is this important to you? That I go?”

Ronnie held her mug between her hands rubbing them back and forth as if to draw the warmth from it.

“Like you said, Nick’s not going to make this easy. He wants to see me, but it seems he doesn’t want to be alone with me. Julie, I don’t know what to make of him. He’s so closed off. Yet — ”

“Well don’t leave me hanging, what?” Julie demanded.

“He’s an amazingly tender lover, but he is also wild and feral and I love it. I told you he came over to see how I was doing after Tyler had been shot?” Julie nodded. “He was so gentle and kind. I almost melted at his feet right then and there. Then the next time he became distant and cool. I can’t figure it out.”

“The man obviously has walls up. I know you said his past wasn’t great. Sounds like he has emotional issues,” Julie replied.

“ Join the club.”

“It’s a big membership. I’m a card carrying member myself. Look Ronnie, you have to decide what you want from Nick. If it’s just great, mind-numbing, soul-stirring sex, then take what you want and move on. If it’s more than that, you have to find away to tear down the walls between you. Listen to me, Dr. Phil over here,” she chuckled softly, “Like I’m one to give advice.” She shrugged. “I’ll go with you on this drink thing Saturday night with shamrock boy. But don’t you dare slip off with Nick and leave me alone with this guy!”

Ronnie reached over and hugged her tight.

“I’m glad we hooked back up, I so need a friend right now. Thank you, I’ll call Nick. How bad can it be?”

Ronnie almost skipped into the back room to make her call. Julie shook her head. Ronnie had it bad. She just didn’t know it yet. She took another sip of tea. Her stomach rolled. A blind date.
Wonderful.

Saturday night arrived quickly enough, and Julie did nothing but fret for hours. What to wear, how to style her shoulder-length hair, and sitting now in the White Owl Pub with Ronnie, she tried to keep her hands from trembling. First, she hated these damned pubs and bars that insisted on having these high stools you had to perch yourself on like a young robin nervous at the thought of flying south. Damn, she sat so high off the ground she was in nose bleed territory here. At least she and Ronnie faced the entrance.

She kept glancing every few minutes for the arrival of the men. Why she was flustered she’d no idea. It wasn’t as if this was a
serious
date, her and Celtic boy were here as buffers only. Actually, they were being used to an extent, but for a good cause. Julie had to admit she was curious to see Nick Crocetti up close and personal, how he acts and reacts around Ronnie. The only time she’d seen him was in full Terminator mode riding around on his big-ass Indian motorcycle, usually scowling. Well, there was that time in the parking lot he was shirtless and washing his bike. She could’ve sold tickets. Stunning chest and muscles on display. Reaching for the long stemmed wineglass, Julie took a sip of the Riesling.

The two men walked through the door. You could’ve heard a collective gasp throughout the pub which seemed to be filled mostly by women. Never had Julie seen such a pair of glorious looking bookends. Neither did all the females in the pub, apparently.

Nick Crocetti was even better looking up close. Tonight he did not appear in full Terminator mode, but wore tight, black jeans and black sneakers and a white sweater which accentuated his golden, dusky skin. He smiled and talked to his friend. Nick was utterly stunning and ruggedly handsome.

Nothing however, prepared Julie for the sight of Lorcan Byrne. He was in a word — beautiful. He had those classic handsome looks that are rarely seen on a man except in a cologne ad in a magazine. Yet, he didn’t have any of the femininity some of those men possessed. Julie’s insides roiled and fluttered. She felt entirely inadequate. If she could’ve scrambled down off the damned stool she would’ve run for the back door and headed home. A vision of him running through the woods shirtless and carrying a musket with that long, thick glorious hair rippling behind him — which was longer than hers by the way — ran through her mind. Yep. Daniel Day-Lewis in
Last of the Mohicans
, only — better.

He smiled in return to whatever Nick said. Oh, dear god, he had dimples. Deeply carved dimples on either side of a full, generous, sensual mouth. She glanced away. It hurt to look at him. This was the type of man she would never, ever have and it tore at her heart. She wished now he did resemble the animated guy from the Lucky Charms commercial, it would’ve made it far more bearable. Oh, why couldn’t he be some wizened leprechaun?

“I can’t,” she murmured to Ronnie who waved to Nick.

“What did you say, Julie?”

“I can’t do this, look at him. I have to go.”

Julie tried to get down off the stool, but Ronnie grabbed her arm firmly.

“You’re staying right here. I know what you’re thinking, Julie. You think he’s too good-looking for you. Don’t you dare think that! You’re better than any woman in this room,” Ronnie said.

Julie felt beads of sweat pop out at her hairline. Oh yeah, that would be attractive. She managed a quick glance as they were almost to the table. Byrne’s eyes were large and framed by thick lashes. Under the shimmering lights, she could see red highlights in his walnut-brown hair. Beautiful.

She couldn’t quite make out the color of his eyes, hard to tell under these illuminations, but a blue-green combination she’d never seen before. Suddenly, those lamps of his were fixed on her and she swallowed hard. She could imagine what he thought;
she’s a mongrel, sitting next to the best in show.

Next to Ronnie she felt like a shabby, unwanted mutt. Taking another sip of wine, she watched the men over the rim. Nick placed a kiss on Ronnie’s cheek. Nick turned and held out his hand to her, it was large with long, elegant fingers.

“You must be Julie.”

She took it. His hand was warm and masculine. He let go, and he and Lorcan took seats opposite them.

“Julie, Ronnie, this is my friend, Lorcan Byrne. Lorcan, this is Veronica Barnes and Julie Denison.”

“Pleased to meet you, ladies,” Lorcan replied.

Julie had to grip the table or she would’ve slid off the stool into a puddle on the floor. A voice deeper than Nick’s, with that wonderful, expressive, rolling, Irish brogue she thought only existed in the movies. His eyes twinkled mischievously and his smile was pure wicked sin.

He was too much of everything she ever wanted and would never have. This was heartbreaking. She toyed with the idea of dying her hair a few shades lighter or perhaps adding golden highlights into her perpetually mousy brown hair. She wished now she’d done it before tonight. He gazed at her, assessing and grading her no doubt.

Grabbing the wine glass, she threw the contents back. Reaching for the bottle, she poured some more. She needed courage and if the liquid variety was the only thing available, then hell, she was using it.

She could think of nothing to say, her voice all but dried up and closed over in her throat. Nor could she follow the conversation. The voices around her became muffled and intermixed with the music into a cacophony of unintelligible vowels and consonants. She could feel his gaze on her. Be damned if she would look at him.

“So what do you do, Lorcan?” She heard Ronnie ask over the din of pub noise.

Julie perked up. This she wanted to hear.

“I’m running a club with a mate on the outskirts of town. The Playpen.”

Julie all but snorted her wine through her nose. “You’re running the Bada Bing? What are you, an Irish Tony Soprano?” The table became quiet. “Ah, the Bada Bing — it was a strip club — ” She tried to explain lamely.

“We had
The Sopranos
in Ireland, darlin’. I know what the Bada Bing is,” Lorcan said.

Julie felt her cheeks flush in hot embarrassment. What made her blurt that out? What if he was a gangster? She took another long swig of wine. They way he said
darlin’
made her thighs sweat and her breasts tighten.
Oh please, I don’t want to be attracted to this guy!

Ronnie laid her hand on her arm gently as if telling her to slow down on throwing back the vino. Or maybe she sensed how uptight she was. Regardless, the gesture helped. Julie took a large breath, held it and exhaled.