Page 3 of Redeem Me

I might be his little sister, but I’m a twenty-three-year-old woman with desires that need to be taken care of, preferably, before I start my new job. Things have been dry for too long down under. I’m determined to fix that tonight. Once I move into my new accommodation in the leafy suburbs of Dublin, opportunities to get to bars like this will be few and far between.

I try not to salivate over the men beside me. Both are beautifully masculine with shadowed jawlines and sharp, prominent bone structure. Mr Tall, Dark and Tortured’s eyes are a deep espresso colour, but instead of that rich brown exuding a warmth, it exudes a chilling sorrow.

Maybe someone did die.

Maybe they stopped in here for a drink after a funeral.

Fuck.

‘I’m sorry.’ I raise my palms in apology. ‘That was really insensitive of me.’ I’ve never been one to think before I speak. My mouth has got me into plenty of trouble in the past. But right here, this isn’t trouble, it’s just downright awkward.

Tortured composes himself quicker than a nun caught with her knickers down. ‘Don’t sweat it.’ He picks up his drink and drains it in one gulp. I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs. He might be miserable and melancholy, but he is one hundred percentmale.My pheromones kick-start into overdrive.

The barmaid flits towards us and I order a double whiskey neat. I should probably have ordered a Sex on The Beach. It might be the closest thing I get to experiencing any action tonight given the way I just sank my silver stilettos in it, but I like my alcohol the way I like my men –strong and sharp.

I pull out my phone to pay but before I can tap it, Tortured tosses a hundred euro note to the barmaid. ‘Keep the change,’ he says, taking my drink and handing it to me.His voice is deep and gruff, like the rest of him. It does things to me. Things that ignite a heat in my belly.

‘Another one, James?’ He turns to his friend.

‘No. I really have to go. Scarlett’s waiting.’ James pushes his glass away. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow. Have a good night.’ He slaps a hand on Tortured’s broad back, nods at me and abruptly leaves.

‘And then there were two…’ I edge closer to my new drinking buddy, wedging him further into the corner of the bar. I flash him my most seductive smile.

‘You ought to have a licence for that smile. It’s seriously blinding.’ He cocks his head to the side. ‘Are you always so sunny?’

‘Are you always so sullen?’ I retort, taking a mouthful of whiskey.

‘I wasn’t always this way.’ He sighs, swirling his drink around the glass.

‘What happened?’ There goes my big mouth again.

‘It’s not exactly Saturday night chit-chat material when I’m trying to get into your knickers.’ His face deadpans.

‘How do you know I’m wearing any?’ I’m going to make him smile if it kills me.

Torrid flames flicker in his irises. ‘Careful, sweetheart, or I might be compelled to slip my hand under that indecent little dress to find out.’

A million butterflies sweep through my stomach. ‘Careful, Tortured, or I might just let you.’

‘Tortured?’ he scoffs, ‘What kind of nickname is that?’

‘It was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment.’ I shrug.

‘I’ve been called many things before, but that’s new. Not to mention eerily accurate.’ He leans casually on the bar. ‘What’s your name?’ His cologne swirls through the air. It’s expensive, unique and masculine.

‘Does it matter?’ I trace a finger up my glass and watch as his gaze follows the movement before flicking back to my face.

‘Oh, you’re one of those girls, are you?’ The flames in his irises intensify, bleeding into his pupils.

‘Tell me what “one of those girls” is and I’ll tell you if I am one.’ I bring the glass to my lips and drink without breaking our stare. The air crackles like a live wire and I am here for it.

He leans closer until his hot breath brushes my lips, mingling with mine. ‘One of “those girls” who knows what they want and aren’t afraid to grab it by the balls.’

He’s partially right. I’m sort of one of “those girls”.

When it comes to men, I know what I want. Which is more than I can say for every other aspect of my life. Much to my parents’ dismay, I took a gap year to work as a nanny in the States. It was only supposed to be until I figured out what I want to do with my life. Five years later, the only thing I’ve actually figured out is that I want to be a mother myself one day. Not that Tortured needs to know that.

‘I’m not afraid to grab anything, or anyone, by the balls, as you’ve probably gathered,’ I shrug, ‘but you have one thing wrong.’

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