says softly, the pretty name catching in her throat. ‘But everyone calls me Millie.’
Both names suit her. She is elegant and gracious—Camille. But youthful and kind of sweet-seeming, with a constellation of freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose—Millie.
‘Well, Millie, why don’t you join me for a drink?’
Her eyes flare wide and her pulse begins to hammer hard in her throat. I can see it, the rapid beating beneath her fragile skin.
‘I—’ Her tongue darts out, tracing the line of her lower lip. ‘I’m working.’ The words are practically mumbled and then she hastens away, leaving me with a brooding frown and a sense of confusion at what just happened.
I have a standing reservation at Petit Pois, but I’m in no rush to leave the bar. I sit back in the chair and tell myself my reluctance has nothing to do with the pretty Australian, and everything to do with the sharp left turn my case has just taken.
* * *
Most of the after-work crowd has cleared, though there are enough people to keep us busy. I continue serving, pretending I’m ignoring him. But Michael Brophy sits with his back to me and I find I can’t stop watching him.
Am I really going to proposition a man I don’t know for sex?
This whole trip is supposed to be about adventure. New experiences. The last promise I made to my mother was that I would live a little before settling down. We plotted this together, planning where I’d go, what I’d see.
Don’t make my mistakes, Millie. There’s so much more to life than work—go. See it for yourself. Have fun. Be careless. Be silly. Then come home and do the sensible thing.
Between my medical degree and caring for a terminally ill mother, I really hadn’t made a conscious decision to be sensible. I’d simply put my head down and done what needed to be done. But, within months of graduating, my mother had died and I was left with that promise I’d made her and enough of an inheritance to make her dreams for me come true.
So here I am in Dublin, the first stop in what I’ve loosely planned to be a two-year adventure. And after six years of study, five of those simultaneously nursing Mum, I’ve woken up and realised that I am actually a woman. With normal impulses and needs, and suddenly they’re blaring inside me, demanding indulgence.
Before I can second-guess myself, I move out from behind the bar, heading to his table, fuelled only by instinct and adrenalin.
His lips curve into a half-smile when I approach.
‘Millie,’ he says slowly, his voice throaty and my name like magic in his mouth.
‘Would you like anything else?’
He lifts his eyes to mine and the very air between us seems to spark. A frisson dances down my spine. He holds the tumbler in the palm of his hand, cradling it, and his manner is contemplative. Thoughtful.
‘I’ll have another, if you’ll join me.’
‘I’m...still working,’ I say softly.
He shifts in his seat, looking over his shoulder, then turns back to me. ‘It’s not busy. Take a break.’
Such command! Such confidence. My first instinct, that I didn’t like his arrogance, reasserts itself, but it is quickly subsumed by other more immediate considerations.
I could take a break—Duncan wouldn’t care. But I’m not sure I want to concede to this man—not yet. So I stay standing, and eye him with some of the wariness I’m feeling. ‘This won’t take long.’
I’ve piqued his interest. I search for something to say to get me out of this but draw a blank. Besides, I want this.
Life’s too short for timidity.
‘Go on.’ He reclines in the chair, his large frame relaxed, his eyes intense.
‘It’s simple,’ I say, telling myself it really is simple. He hooks up with enough women for me to know that sex means very little to him. And I want this to be meaningless. A transaction. My virginity, for his experience. A first time that is pleasurable, that means nothing. A memory, for the album I’m collecting on this trip of a lifetime.
‘What’s simple?’ he asks, leaning forward a little, so that I catch a hint of his masculine fragrance, earthy and spiced, and my insides kick in immediate response. His legs are long, his thighs muscular. His pants strain across them and I force myself to hold his gaze. If he agrees to this, I’ll have time to admire his body later.
Be brave.
Be brave.
Be brave.
‘I want to go home with you. Tonight.’
One thick brow lifts, sardonic amusement the only emotion I can detect on his handsome, rock-hard features.
‘I see.’ He runs a finger around the top of his glass, a smile flickering on his lips.
‘I’m serious,’ I say with a shake of my head, swallowing past the sense of panic, ignoring a desire to wrench the words back into my mouth.
Suddenly the itch to fast forward three weeks and leave immediately for Paris wraps around me. The mortification is intense.
Heat stains my cheeks. ‘But maybe that’s a stupid idea. Forget about it.’
I take a step towards the bar but his hand reaches out, catching my wrist. It’s the first time we’ve touched and I think the feeling will stay with me for ever. Sensation zaps under my skin, setting miniature explosions raging in every cell. I’m electrified.
‘I didn’t say no,’ he growls and my stomach squeezes. His eyes latch onto mine, and I imagine what he’s like in court—formidable, intimidating, inquiring. And whip-smart. ‘Why?’
I swallow, knowing this is kind of the point of no return. I want this. I’m actually surprised by how much I want this. Now I just have to own that.
‘Because I’m a virgin, and I want you to be my first.’
HER WORDS ARE drumming through my head. I wait until we’re in the car and it’s moving and then turn to face her, the screen up between my driver and us.
‘You’re a virgin.’
It’s not a question, but I feel like I have to say it again just to try to unravel it.
She nods, her eyes shuttered. Her cheeks are stained a pale pink and her long blonde hair falls disarmingly over one shoulder, half covering her face from me.
‘Yes.’ There’s strength in the response. Defiance.
‘Why?’
Her lips twist in a half-smile. ‘Does it matter?’
My pulse is hammering me from the inside out. ‘Yes.’
She blinks, even that simple gesture distracting. ‘Why?’
Great question. Why do I care? I turn away from her a little, staring out at Dublin as it passes in a brightly lit blur.
There’s uneasiness inside me. Something I can’t put my finger on. A hesitation I don’t understand, and I tell myself it’s because none of this makes sense. I’m someone who likes to comprehend people, what makes them tick, why they act the way they do. My job and life are predicated on my abilities there. But with this woman, I can’t make sense of it.
She’s surprised me. I’m not often surprised. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-three.’ More defiance.
I barely register it though. I turn back